He stood and reached a hand out to help her up. She ignored it, picked herself up off the ground, then looked down at their work with a swelling of pride. “This looks great. It’s really nice of you to do this for them.”
He nodded. “It does seem to cheer up the residents.”
Harper eyed a small group of women who appeared to be gabbing at a table on the other side of the lawn. Sure enough, each one of them was ogling Cowboy, just as Heather had suggested.
“Man, she really wasn’t kidding. First Pearl with that flirty smile, now these ladies are eyeballing you like you’re a senior citizen discount or something.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? Older women love me.”
“I’m not sure it’s as age specific as all that.” She looked around again, crossing her arms over her chest. At some point in their flower planting, a group of men and women had started what looked like a dance class in the white gazebo. Soft music hummed through the air while couples danced in each other’s arms to a slow and steady rhythm.
“You wanna take a turn? Show these people how it’s done?”
“Definitely not,” she said, her eyes narrowing on his. Did he really think she was dumb enough to fall for that one? “Besides, I’m not a dancer.”
“Ah, you forget. I’ve already seen you dance, twice, and I think you could teach these ladies a thing or two.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it. That night at the club, you had some serious moves. Every guy in there had his eyes on you.”
Harper felt her cheeks flaring with heat. She remembered that night so vividly, how often his eyes had lingered over her shape. How good it felt when they did.
She took a deep breath. Cool. Calm. Controlled.
His gaze was on her now, traveling from one eye to the other, over her cheeks, down to her lips. His hand came up slowly toward her face, and a tiny part of Harper almost welcomed the gesture. But a sudden burst of sanity made her pull away at the last second.
“Don’t.”
Cowboy’s hand fell between them, his brow furrowing.
“I appreciate you helping me out today, and I really did have fun. But I was serious when I said we can’t be more than friends. If you can’t handle that or if this is some kind of ploy to try to get me back, we should just end this all right here.”
He bit his bottom lip, fighting a small smile. “You have dirt on your chin.”
“Oh.” Her hand went straight to her chin, rubbing away a layer of grime as her face grew warm. “I—I’m sorry. I thought—”
Cowboy chuckled under his breath. “It’s fine, Midge. Lucky for both of us, my ego’s not that fragile.” He looked down at his watch. “I need to check in on the guys. Okay for me to take you home, friend? I’ll try not to throw myself at you on the way.”
She studied him a second too long—his bright, round eyes and crooked smile that gave away nothing but lighthearted amusement. “Fine, whatever,” she muttered.
Cowboy turned away, and she could just make out his muffled laughter. Either he really was okay with just being her friend or he was a really good actor.
Unfortunately, she already knew the second to be true.
Chapter Thirteen
Harper hummed a tune from My Fair Lady, one of her favorite musicals, wondering how Grams hadn’t accidentally smothered herself with one of her afghans years ago. Or blown the entirety of her parents’ life insurance on yarn alone. There were bundles of it covering nearly every flat surface of her grandmother’s bedroom, along with piles of blankets and scarves and whatever else she’d made in the last several years.
Despite Grams’s lack of logical organization, she’d at least managed to keep all her crocheting materials corralled in the one room. To Harper’s relief, it all had left little room for the boxes of junk that had taken over the rest of the house. This room had been dedicated solely to crochet books and hooks and patterns and yarn. So, so much yarn it made Harper’s skin itch.
Still humming, she continued to sort through the piles of yarn and needles, separating things into labeled boxes. All with a smile on her face and a song in her heart.
Harper couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been in a truly good mood, though she knew it was sometime long before she’d left Boston. Before Grams’s passing, before the funeral and moving back home. Before she realized she was on the verge of flunking out of med school and ruining any chance she’d had at becoming a doctor.
She stopped herself and pushed the negative thoughts about school and death and lost dreams out of her mind, determined not to let her emotions get the best of her. Not when things were finally starting to fall into place.
It had been a week since her walkthrough with Keith Tucker at the B&B. He’d apparently had some experience updating old plantation homes and was intrigued to see what the “old girl” had to offer. They’d discussed the things they wanted to keep—the original wood flooring, the grand staircase, the high windows and arches—as well as the things they wanted to tear out. Like the outdated floral wallpaper that, no offense to her parents, didn’t fit the direction she was leaning toward and therefore really needed to go. For everyone’s sakes. Not to mention a complete remodel in the kitchen and bathrooms.
Keith had taken pictures and measurements before they left, promising to have some plans drawn up soon. When he’d shown up at the house with them a few hours ago, Harper was beside herself. She’d liked the ideas they came up with together, but in true Harper fashion, she’d spent the entire week second-guessing them.
One look at the plans and drawings he’d made up and she realized her concern was unwarranted. This house was going to be beautiful. And the best part…it was going to be hers. It was no medical degree, but it was definitely something.
They discussed a timeline, and Harper’s excitement grew as he assured her work could start once everything was approved by the city and the historical society. They’d have to start by replacing the plumbing and electrical, which wouldn’t be cheap, but as soon as that was done, the fun stuff would begin. Keith left soon after, and Harper proceeded to dance around the house doing laundry and dishes while singing Elvis and show tunes. Then she’d decided to put her ebullient mood to good use by tackling the one room in the house she’d been putting off since she moved back in.
Now, three hours later, she was still sorting through yarn and crocheting hooks in Grams’s bedroom. She’d just finished going through several bags of homemade hats and gloves and the like when her eyes caught on a large cardboard box hidden in the corner of the room by the closet door. Harper almost hadn’t noticed it buried under a fluffy stack of blankets. She hefted the foot-tall stack of afghans and placed them gingerly on the bed, then shimmied the heavy box into the center of the room. She knelt down in front of the box and opened it, expecting to find yet another collection of miscellaneous papers and bills.
What she hadn’t expected was a hodgepodge of old art and gifts she and Sadie had made for Grams when they were little. Harper blinked several times, fighting the moisture in her eyes as she pulled out handfuls of handprint art and glittery birthday cards that had lost most of their shimmer. She’d forgotten about most of these but was delighted to recognize her own messily scrawled name on half of them.
Beneath these sat a scrapbook Harper had insisted on making Grams for Mother’s Day when she was seventeen. She’d never been the creative or artistic type and, after failing miserably, had resorted to asking Sadie for help. Her little sister had taken to it effortlessly even at eight years old, creating something infinitely more beautiful than Harper could have ever dreamed of making on her own.
She sat cross-legged on the worn, beige carpet, fingering through the pages of pictures and paper scraps and pressed flowers her grandmother had cried looking at that first time. There were pictures of the two girls hand in hand, of Harper pushing little Sadie on the swing. An entire page dedicated to all the stray animals Sadie had tried to sneak into the house over t
he years—each one unsuccessful given Grams’s allergies to both cats and dogs.
There were pages and pages filled with photos of her parents, a few pages with pictures of Grams and her late husband, Teddy Maddox. He’d died long before Harper or Sadie were born, but they’d found plenty of pictures of him to add to their scrapbook in Grams’s old things.
Harper’s head snapped up at the sound of someone coming through the front door down the hall. She heard keys jingling and the barest tap of light footsteps before the front door shut again.
“That you, Sadie?” she called out, and the lack of response cleared any doubt. Her sister had gone back to giving her the silent treatment after Harper had essentially grounded her indefinitely.
“Hey, come in here for a sec,” she continued, hoping to catch Sadie before she stomped herself up to her room for the rest of the evening.
The footsteps at the end of the hall hesitated before the tapping finally started up again, drawing closer. Soon a blond head and burnt-orange top became visible in the open doorway. Sadie crossed her arms and leaned her side against the doorframe, silent.
Harper held up the scrapbook in her hand. “You remember when we made this for Grams? I was just cleaning up in here when I found this huge box filled with all the old stuff we gave her over the years.” She set the book to the side, scrounging around in the box for more. “There’s cards and drawings. Even old mugs and sculptures and stuff. And here’s the patchwork apron you made for her for your sewing assignment.”
Harper couldn’t help smiling as she pored through memory after memory from their childhood all in this one box. She pulled out the apron she’d mentioned and held it up for Sadie to see. “I still can’t believe you made something this good in middle school. Grams was so proud of you.”
Sadie eyed the apron for several seconds, then the bags of knitwear by the bed. “So what, now you’re going through all Grams’s stuff and throwing out whatever you feel like without even asking me?”
Harper frowned. She’d actually been bagging it all up for the two of them to go through together and pick out whatever they wanted to keep. But her sister’s tone and accusatory glare made her bite back. “Well, it’s not like you’ve really been around much the last few weeks for me to ask.”
“Gee,” she said flatly, “I wouldn’t have any clue what that’s like.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just ironic. You’re upset I haven’t been around much for the last couple weeks when you’re the one who hasn’t been here for three years.”
“I’ve been at school, Sadie. I’ve been working my butt off trying to get a medical degree. I thought we were running out of money, and if I could just get through school and get a job I could make enough to take care of us.”
“Last I checked, med students are allowed to come home every once in a while. But you didn’t. You never came home.”
“I—” Harper came up short. She’d never told Sadie what happened that summer before she left, why she had to leave. “I had my reasons.”
Sadie stood tall. Harper expected her next words to come out loud and angry, but she just sounded tired. “I know that.” She sighed, looking anywhere but at her sister. “But you keep acting like Cowboy was the only person you left behind when you went to Boston.”
Harper felt a flicker of panic in her chest. “How do you know about that? Did Grams tell you?”
“She didn’t have to. I don’t know what all happened between you two, but it didn’t take a genius to tell he was the reason you left. But he wasn’t the only one you abandoned. You left me and Grams, too. And apparently we weren’t enough to come back to.”
Harper stood hastily and took a step toward Sadie. “That’s not how it was. Grams always said she understood why I stayed away…why I couldn’t come back.”
“Did you ever ask me how I felt?”
Harper stared blankly at her sister. She hated to admit it, but she hadn’t. She didn’t want to unload all that drama on her baby sister.
“You got to go off and live your awesome Boston life. But I was still here, taking care of Grams. When she started getting sick, who do you think was doing all the dishes and the laundry? Who had to make sure bills got paid? Who had to fight Grams to get her to eat and take her medication, to convince her everything would be okay when she’d get confused, all while trying to juggle school and homework and friends?”
A tear darted down Sadie’s cheek, and she brushed it away instantly. “I get that it was hard being around after whatever happened with Cowboy. But it wasn’t easy for me either, and I didn’t get to run away because then there would be no one left to take care of Grams.”
Harper sniffed, struggling to take in this image her sister had just painted of the last few years. “I didn’t—” She stopped, wiping at her own wet cheek. “I had no idea it was like that for you here.”
“Yeah, well, you never asked.” Sadie shifted on her feet for several seconds, not looking at Harper. “Margot’s mom invited me over for dinner, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure,” she muttered, not sure what it was she was supposed to say in this situation. She needed to process it all. “Just be back by eleven.”
“Yeah, I got it.” She started to turn away.
“Wait, Sadie.” Harper took a deep breath. “I really am sorry it was so hard for you here.”
Sadie shrugged. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now.”
DAY 53
The sun had set hours ago, which was probably a good thing since Cowboy had been creeping around Harper’s house for the last three minutes, peeking in windows like some kind of Peeping Tom. A normal person would have called or knocked at the front door, but it was late, and he didn’t want to wake Grams or Sadie if they were already in bed.
He wanted to talk to Harper, needed to see her, even if that meant throwing rocks at her window minutes before midnight like in one of those god-awful teen movies.
He rounded the corner to the left side of the house just as the sounds of “It’s Now or Never” floated through an open window ten feet away. With slow, quiet steps, he approached the window and chanced a look inside.
Harper sat on her bed with her back nestled snuggly among a wall of pillows in a pair of sleep shorts and the Georgia Tech sweatshirt he knew was her favorite, flipping through the same Boston U med school course catalog she’d been carrying around with her all summer. She reached for her phone and checked the screen before setting it aside again. Her eyes scanned intensely over the page while her full lips mouthed the words of the Elvis song playing, and instantly all the tension he’d been holding onto for half a week vanished.
It had been three days since he took her to that club in Dublin, three days since he’d dragged her away from the dance floor and out into the parking lot, three days since he dropped her off in front of her house with little more than a nod before he drove off again. And yet it had felt a thousand times longer.
He’d had a lot of thinking to do, needed to make sense of what exactly had gotten into him that night. He’d felt like a child watching some other little shit playing with his favorite toy. Not that he thought of her as a toy. She’d become one of his best friends over the last several weeks. But the rage he felt when that guy kissed her hadn’t been simply one friend worrying about another.
He’d felt territorial, something he didn’t think he’d ever felt over a woman before. And it had taken quite a bit of self-examination and alcohol to realize he’d actually been jealous of the asshole touching her. He knew he’d been attracted to her—he’d be an idiot not to be—but this was something different. Part of him worried about what that meant for him, while the other part felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to.
It didn’t matter which because 100 percent of him had felt like he was drowning without her these last few days. And if that wasn’t proof enough of how much he really cared about her, the ridiculous fluttery feeling
he was getting in his chest just looking at her now sure as hell was.
Harper huffed from her spot on the bed as she pulled her sweatshirt up over her head, revealing a thin, white tank top, then reached for her phone once more only to roll her eyes and set it aside again. She tossed the course catalog across the room, where it landed with a thunk. Then she set her glasses on the bedside table and snuggled deeper into her covers before turning out the light.
“Midge,” he whispered seconds later. The sky was dark, but the moonlight glowed brightly and illuminated the small bedroom almost as well as any sun could have. “Midge.”
The lump of sheets on the bed shifted as she threw the covers off and squinted in his direction. She replaced her glasses and scooted to the end of the mattress. “Cowboy? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
He grinned, ignoring her questions. “You always sleep with the window open?”
“What?”
“You realize that’s how bugs get in, right? Not to mention scoundrels looking to have their way with you.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me how lucky I am that it’s you skulking around outside my house and not some guy with ungentlemanly intentions?”
“I could, but that would imply that I am a gentleman.” His head tilted to the side, and he allowed himself an appreciative look at her. “But I can assure you my thoughts are far from gentle at the moment.”
She glanced down at the thin tank top and very short sleep shorts that were barely covering her. She crossed her arms over her chest, her blush visible even in the moonlight, and he swore he detected a hint of a smile on her lips.
“It’s the bushes,” she finally muttered.
“What is?”
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a nervous habit of hers he’d picked up on weeks ago. “The reason I keep the window open. The gardenia bushes under the window are mine and Grams’s favorite. When they flower and there’s a nice breeze, my whole room smells like them.”
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