Worthy of the Harmony (Mountains & Men Book 2)

by Martin, R. C.

  “You look—amazing,” he murmurs.

  Giuseppe’s isn’t the fanciest Italian restaurant in town. In fact, that’s part of the appeal. It has more of a homey feel, a lot like the place where I ate growing up. Nevertheless, I figured a date with Sage called for a dress, at the very least. I chose my dark green bandage dress with the capped sleeves and the zipper that goes down the front. I paired it with my nude stilettos; and even with the extra height, Sage still has at least three inches on me.

  He’s wearing black Chucks and black jeans—which is not the least bit surprising—but he’s completed his ensemble with a gray button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled and pushed up over his elbows, exposing the generous amount of ink on his left arm.

  God, he’s sexy.

  “You look nice, too,” I say, feigning a sense of calm I have yet to grab hold of since he first knocked at the door.

  He smirks at me as he takes a step in my direction. Then he reaches around my waist, pulling me against him tightly. “You feel that?” I can hear it as my breathing grows shallow in response to my awareness of him. My lips part in an attempt to suck down more air. “Do you feel that, doll face?” he asks again, sliding his hand a little lower, pulling me a little closer. I manage a nod and his smirk grows wider. “With you in that dress, this will be a very long and uncomfortable meal. I think you’ve earned yourself a little punishment, baby doll.”

  I reach up, gripping my hands around the back of his neck. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

  His chuckle is lost in my mouth as I free a sigh into his. One of his hands rests securely just below the small of my back and the other slides up and around my neck, his fingers buried in my hair. He kisses me long and hard and I know my lips are starting to swell, but I don’t give a single shit.

  “Fuck. Me. Millie,” he breathes against my lips. He rests his forehead against mine and I can tell he’s staring at the small amount of cleavage I’m able to manage in this dress. He shakes his head and then backs away from me. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll never leave. And I promised you a date, gorgeous.” He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Let’s jet.”

  I nod, turning to grab my clutch from off of the coffee table, and then wrap my fingers around his. He gives them a squeeze as I shut and lock the door behind us, and I swear, another piece of my heart goes missing.

  HE WALKS ME to his car—his black Audi convertible—and opens the passenger side door for me. I remember the first time he made the same gesture. I was drunk and desperate with desire, anxious to leave The Brew Cycle so that we could be alone; but I wasn’t so out of it that I didn’t take note that his vehicle didn’t seem to make sense in regards to what I knew about him. Three and a half weeks later, it still doesn’t make sense.

  How does a twenty-one-year old college drop out—part time rocker, part time barista—own such a sleek, modern, sexy sports car?

  As he slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, I decide that I’ve endured the mystery for as long as I can. “Sage?”

  “Millicent?”

  I fight the urge to press my hand against my chest, but I so desperately want to. It’s stupid, of course, but the irrational part of my brain assumes that if I cover up the place where my heart resides, then he’ll stop stealing bits and pieces of it.

  For reasons I cannot explain, I adore the way he says my name. My full name. No one calls me Millicent. Since I was a child, I’ve introduced myself as Millie. It’s not that I don’t like Millicent, it was just easier to use my nickname. Then, of course, there’s my mother, who hasn’t called me by either of those names since I was six years old. To her, I am Tatiana, or Tati. After my father left us, she refused to refer to me by the name that he had chosen. My middle name had been her choosing. Only she calls me Tatiana, and I don’t respond to it fondly.

  But when my name falls from Sage’s lips—his rich, manly voice caressing it—it steals my breath. Every time. I’m sure he knows, which is why he does it, but I couldn’t stifle my reaction even if I tried.

  “Doll face?” he says with a chuckle, reaching for me. His warm palm covers the top of my hand before he laces his fingers between mine, holding my hand upside-down. For a second, I wonder why he’s positioned our hands this way, and then it clicks as he moves them over the gearshift. I wrap my fingers around the smooth surface and he clutches mine effortlessly as he accelerates down the road, shifting to a higher gear.

  Now, I’m feeling oddly turned on.

  He chuckles again, pulling me from my thoughts, and it dawns on me that I haven’t said a word since I spoke his name.

  “Um—I’ve been meaning to ask you about this car.”

  “What about it?”

  I furrow my brow when I realize that every version of my question sounds horribly rude. As if he can read my thoughts, he speaks before I can.

  “You want to know how I can afford it.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but as a statement. I look at him hesitantly and he peeks over at me with a knowing smirk. All I can offer in return is a nod. “It was a gift from the good Dr. Harold Montgomery,” he says, exaggerating his emphasis on the name I’ve never heard.

  “Who is that?”

  “My brother-in-law,” he says with a grin.

  I shift in my seat, turning toward him as much as my seatbelt will allow. His answer only sparks more questions. “I’m confused,” I admit. “Your brother-in-law gave you a sports car and Rosemary drives an old, beat up, VW Bug?”

  Sage laughs. “Better not ever let her hear you talk about her baby in that tone. She loves that thing.”

  “Sage,” I mumble, wishing for a straight answer.

  He sighs, giving my fingers a squeeze before he concedes. “When Pepper turned sixteen, my parents bought her a car. When I turned sixteen, they bought me one, too. When I turned eighteen, I pissed them off and they took it away and gave it to Rosy on her sixteenth birthday.”

  “So you used to—”

  “No,” he cuts me off with a shake of his head, sure that he knows what I was about to say. “Rosy only drove my old car until she graduated high school, at which point she had saved up enough money to buy the car she drives now. It was her way of asserting her independence.

  “Anyway, I went about a year without a car. It wasn’t a big deal. I’d moved into the house with the guys by then and they helped me out when I needed it. Plus, we weren’t so far from campus that I couldn’t bike when the weather was nice. Then, for my nineteenth birthday, Harry and Pepper decided to gift me with this. It was Harry’s. Carter had just been born and, with two kids in car-seats, he needed something more practical.”

  “That’s very generous.”

  He nods and I watch as a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. You’re right. It was sort of their way of showing their support.”

  “What did you do to piss your parents off?”

  “I didn’t choose the college they wanted,” he replies with a shrug. “And when I told them I wasn’t going to leave the band for school, they told me I was free to do whatever I wanted—just not on their dime.”

  Again, his answer floods my mind with more questions; but this time, I keep my mouth shut. I know, eventually, my curiosity will get me into trouble. I certainly don’t want to talk about my parental issues, so I won’t badger him to talk about his.

  “What about you? How’d you end up in Fort Collins when you grew up in Jersey?”

  “Oh, well…” I pause, completely aware that his broaching the topic of my relocation is entirely my fault. If not for me starting the conversation with my nosey questions, then for me agreeing to go on this date in the first place. It’s just as he told me weeks ago—getting to know each other is what dating is all about.

  I decide that avoiding the topic of my mother is paramount, and I come up with the most vague explanation possible. “I just wanted to go somewhere different—be somewhere far away. I only applied to universities in the west, and Colorado State a
ppealed to me the most. So—here I am.”

  “You never thought about going home after graduation? You don’t miss it?”

  “No. I don’t miss it at all,” I answer, the words coming out faster and harsher than I intended.

  He gives my fingers a squeeze and I look over at him when he lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my palm as he smiles over at me. “You just miss your favorite Italian restaurant.”

  Grateful for the segue, and for his awareness that the topic of home is an uncomfortable one, I smile and nod at him. “Precisely.”

  Given that it’s the middle of the week, Old Town Fort Collins isn’t crazy busy. There are definitely enough people out, seeing as the weather on this fine September evening encourages an outing, but it’s not so crowded that we can’t find parking. As we exit the car, crossing the street to head the short distance to Giuseppe’s, Sage takes my hand. I can’t help but notice that it’s becoming another habit of his—one that I kind of like, which worries and thrills me at the same time.

  The Italian restaurant is located just a couple doors down from the corner, in a long stretch of food places that line the street. When we step inside, the hostess looks up at us and immediately her eyes brighten at the sight of Sage. I don’t think much of it at first, as I’ve seen the way women respond to him—myself included—but then the glint in her eye turns mischievous before she speaks.

  “Hey, stranger,” she practically purrs. “Long time, no see.” She props her arms against the hostess stand and leans forward, exposing a generous amount of cleavage that puts mine to shame. Suddenly, I wonder if I’m invisible.

  “Hi, Kathy,” Sage replies, his tone seemingly indifferent. “Table for two, please,” he says, lifting our joined hands.

  Finally, she looks my way. Feeling suddenly visible again, I smirk at her, boasting with my eyes that while she mans the door, I’ll be enjoying a meal with the delicious man whose fingers are wrapped affectionately around mine.

  I’m being quite the silent bitch, but I don’t care.

  I won’t bother reading into why I feel the need to stake any sort of claim over him, either. He’s not my boyfriend.

  Kathy clears her throat, standing upright as she picks up two menus. “Right this way.”

  We’re seated on the edge of the room, at a table for two, and she leaves us with not another word.

  “Friend of yours?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at him.

  “Not really.” He nods to the narrow menu in the middle of the table. “You like wine, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pick one. I’ll have whatever you have.”

  “Okay.” I pick up the menu and scan the list before it occurs to me—“I assume you'll be having pasta?” He nods once, smirking at me. He hasn't even bothered to look at the food options. “What kind of sauce?”

  “I like a mix of marinara and alfredo.”

  “Hmmm,” I hum, perusing the list once more. When I've decided what wine I think would pair well with my usual order and, apparently, his usual, I fold the menu closed and set it down. Before Sage can ask me what I'm ordering, our waiter arrives. He starts to introduce himself, but then pauses when he recognizes Sage.

  “Hey! What's up, man? Surprised to see you here. Oh, I was at The Wash last time you and the guys performed. You sounded pretty damn sick!”

  Sage looks from the yet-to-be-named waiter, to me. It's only a quick glance, but I can tell by the regret in his eyes that when he thinks about that night, it's not the show that immediately comes to mind, but what happened after.

  “Thanks, Jacob.”

  “Does Rosemary know you're here?” he asks, craning his neck as he looks around the room.

  “Shit,” Sage murmurs under his breath.

  I sit up straighter, remembering the last time I had a run in with Sage’s younger sister. To say that I’m not really prepared to meet the woman who saw me naked just a few days ago would be an understatement. When Sage starts looking around the room as well, I step on his foot underneath the table, demanding his attention. His eyes are on me in an instant.

  “Your sister works here?”

  Jacob snorts. “His whole—”

  “Can it, Jake,” Sage mutters, his gaze still locked with mine. “And get us some water while you're at it, will you?”

  Jacob leaves without a word. Considering Sage's rude dismissal, I'm sure the expression on his face is doing all the talking, but I don't see it. I refuse to take my eyes off of the icy blue ones they are focused on now.

  “Sage?”

  “Millicent?”

  “No. Don’t. Don’t do that.” I narrow my eyes at him, and all at once, I begin to piece a few suspicious clues together. His initial reaction to my suggestion of this place. His familiarity with the staff. His awareness of the menu. “You're hiding something. Something bigger than the fact that your sister works here. What is it?”

  He doesn't answer me at first. Just when he opens his mouth to speak, a pair of arms fling around his chest and an absolutely stunning face appears on his shoulder. I know who she is without an introduction. I’ve never actually seen Rosemary, a completely humiliating thought, but you could spot the family resemblance between her and her brother in the blink of an eye.

  “Holy shit! I cannot believe you’re here! Mom and dad—”

  Sage twists around just enough to clap a hand over her mouth. “Tell them I’m here, and I won’t speak to you for a month. Do you hear me, Rosy? A month.”

  “What the fuck?” The words tumble from my lips of their own accord. I didn’t mean to say them, but I’m having a hard time keeping myself together. If I’m understanding them correctly—“Your parents work here?”

  “What the hell, Sage,” Rosemary blurts out, pulling his hand away from her face. “You didn’t tell her?” Again, he opens his mouth to speak, but she looks at me and steals his chance to explain. “Our parents own this place. Mom’s the executive chef. Giuseppe was our great-grandfather’s name.”

  Sage groans, tilting his head back as he looks up at the ceiling. “Fuck—Rosemary, stop talking!”

  “What?” she asks innocently. “There’s no need to be shy about it. I’m Rosemary, by the way,” she says, offering me her hand. “You can call me Rose. I’ve heard so much about you.” Her cheeks fill with color and I have a guess where her mind just went. “Anyway, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  I feel like I can’t breathe. My eyes dart from Rosemary’s outstretched hand, to her face, to Sage’s face, then back to Rosemary. I don’t know what triggers my brain to shake her hand, but I do. She beams at me, but all I can think about is the fact that Sage’s parents are somewhere in this restaurant and I can’t do this! I can’t meet his parents. I’m the woman their son is sleeping with, not the woman he’s meant to bring home.

  Home. God, I barely even understand what that word means to me, let alone what it means to Sage and his family.

  And don’t even get me started on the concept of family.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask him, dropping his sister’s hand.

  “Hey.” He leans across the table and brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “Breathe, baby doll.” I bat his hand away, but he catches my fingers and holds onto them. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wouldn’t have brought you here if you hadn’t told me it was your favorite. I didn’t know Rosy would be here. I thought we could be in and out without anyone even knowing.”

  “I won’t tell them that you’re here,” Rosemary promises. “But…”

  “But what?” asks Sage. Just like earlier with Jacob, he doesn’t look at Rosemary as he addresses her. Instead, his focus stays locked on me.

  “Well, if you order your usual, mom will know.”

  “Sage,” I barely manage, shaking my head as I try pulling my fingers out of his grasp.

  “Don’t you fucking dare, doll face.” He laces his fingers with mine and then stands to his feet. “How do you feel about burgers? There’s
this place down the block—”

  I’m on my feet in an instant, willing to go anywhere that will get me out of here.

  “You’re really leaving?” asks Rosemary, obviously disappointed.

  “I haven’t stepped foot in this place in almost two years. I’m only here because of Millie, and if she doesn’t want to stay, I’m not staying.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  I watch her shoulders sag and I see the compassion in her eyes as she stares up at her brother. Somehow I know that the love they share is deep and wide, their bond thick and impenetrable. I’ll never know a sister’s love like that. Hell—not even my mother loves me like that.

  “Call me later?”

  “Tomorrow,” he assures her, playfully placing a hand on top of her head and messing up her hair before he leads me out.

  He doesn’t say a word as he guides me down the sidewalk, heading to grab a burger, I suppose. At first, I’m not sure what to say. I can’t tell if I’m angry, irritated, or curious. This is not at all how I thought our evening would transpire. A couple minutes ago, I felt completely blindsided; but the more distance that is put between us and Giuseppe’s, the more my anxiety dissipates. After another moment of silence, it’s my curiosity that begs me to speak.

  “If you didn’t want to go there, why didn’t you tell me?”

  He coughs out a humorless laugh as he looks over at me. “Do you realize how long I’ve been trying to get you to go on a date with me? I wasn’t going to argue with you about where you wanted to go.”

  “But your family’s restaurant? You could have said something.”

  “I know. God, I know,” he groans. He stops walking and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I fucked up, okay? Can we please just forget the last fifteen minutes and start over? You look hot and there’s no way in hell I’m taking you home without feeding you.” He arches a brow at me suggestively. “You’ll need the sustenance for energy.”