Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)

by Adair, Marina

  “The toppings are prepped, the orange slices are candied and ready to go on the cupcakes, and the troops are waiting for orders.” Roger pointed to the cluster of tyke-sized #GOGREEK hats sitting on the steps of the food truck with promotional shirts on. “Look, even their uniforms are ironed.”

  That wasn’t all. Each girl had hand drawn a sign for the competition, proclaiming Pita Peddler the best streatery in wine country. They’d also handed out over two hundred fliers to tourists who had come out to taste some of the best eats in the country. Including several corporate scouts interested in finding new potential franchising opportunities.

  And the crowd reflected their hard work. Peering out the window, Emerson could see the bright colored trucks lined up side by side, stretching all the way through the parking lot of the Napa County Fairgrounds. Bold flags flapped in the wind as the crowd of foodies took in the quirky menus and vinyl-wrapped trucks boasting their mascots. Thousands of street food enthusiasts had turned out—and a good handful were swarming her truck, waiting for the window to open so that they could sample the menu she and Harper had labored over.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Emerson said, wondering how so much had changed in just a few short weeks. Her sister was happy, her dad was on to an exciting new chapter, and Emerson had opened the first truck in her soon-to-be Greek streatery fleet.

  She’d also fallen in love, had her heart broken, and yet somehow she was surviving. It still hurt every time she breathed, and even thinking about Dax made her stomach knot, which happened every time she slowed down, but she was pushing forward, and her family was there to help her.

  “What do you think Mom would say?” she asked, wondering if Dax was allowing his family to help him or if he’d decided to go it alone.

  “I think she would say the nachos are ingenious, the baklava tastes just like your great-great-grandmother’s, and that the lamb needs more salt.” Roger wiped his hands off on his apron and pulled Emerson in for a hug. “She’d also say that you are an amazing chef and an amazing daughter. Then she’d wipe her eyes on her sleeve and blame it on the onions.”

  Emerson laughed and did a little wiping of her own. “Yeah, she would. And she’d be wrong on the lamb. It’s seasoned perfectly.”

  Roger smiled but added a sprinkle of salt. “It looks like people are already starting to line up, and the girls did a great job handing out the fliers.” Harper had the brilliant idea to make up coupons—a buy-an-entrée-and-get-a-cupcake-free campaign to bring in a crowd. And from the looks of things, it was working. “I’d say we’ve got less than ten minutes until opening.”

  “Okay, give me a minute.” Emerson took a breath and forced her heart rate to slow. She wanted to be in the moment, experience how it felt when everything finally came into focus and things that had seemed so impossible just a few weeks ago were suddenly real.

  This was her time and she didn’t want to miss a second of it.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Emerson opened her eyes and turned around, and everything slowed to a stop.

  Dax stood in her truck, dressed in full camo fatigues, wraparound glasses, and his army cap. He looked big, bad, and combat ready. There was also a duffel bag at his feet that had her going lightheaded.

  “The truck looks great,” he said. “And the food smells amazing, even the green stuff.”

  “You came here to try my food?” she asked and a painful laugh escaped her lips. “Or is this some twisted I am a man of my word moment? Because I meant what I said, I’ve got this.”

  She didn’t want his crumbs. She wanted it all: love, magic, all of him.

  “I came here to give you this.” His face was carefully blank, not giving a thing away as he handed her a one-page, handwritten letter.

  She swallowed hard and took the paper. Her heart was hammering too fast for her to make sense of anything, so after a few lines she gave up. “What is it?”

  “An application.”

  Her throat went tight. “But you already have a job.”

  “I quit that one,” he said, removing his glasses, and when his piercing blues met hers, she stopped breathing altogether. “This is for a new job. One here.”

  “With Jonah?”

  He shook his head. “With you.”

  Not sure how to take that, she lifted the paper again, but she was shaking so bad it was impossible to make out anything beyond a few words, like chopping and sous. She looked up. “You want to be my sous chef?”

  “Today I do. And tomorrow, if you’ll let me, I want to be your pillow. And the next day your first and last customer.” He took her hand in his and trapped it against his heart. The beat was steady and sure. “The day after that I want to cook you dinner. It won’t be perfect, but I’m willing to try. And that brings us to Thursday, which means I’d be your co-leader.”

  “And Friday,” she asked, hating how her voice shook, her heart so heavy with hurt she was too afraid to hope. “What happens then? Because we did all of that, and it wasn’t enough for you.”

  “Friday,” he said, his voice so raw she had to look away. Gather her thoughts. But he wasn’t having it, waiting until she was ready to look at him again. And when she couldn’t, he lifted her chin until she was gazing into his eyes. “Friday, I want to be your fun. I want to take you for a ride down the coast, maybe pitch camp on some isolated beach, and spend the entire night telling you just how amazing you are. And just how sorry I am.”

  “Sorry doesn’t take away the hurt,” she said. “You hurt me, Dax.”

  “I know. I had everything I wanted right in front of me, but grabbing it meant staying here. In my hometown.”

  “We could have worked it out,” she said, taking a step back, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “I was scared too but I was willing to risk the ache for a shot at something amazing.”

  “Did you know I was the only person who came home on my plane who didn’t have a family member waiting for them at the airport?” he asked quietly. “Not because they didn’t want to, but because I didn’t tell them I was coming.”

  His words were like an arrow to her already broken heart. Dax was surrounded by more love than one could imagine, yet he chose to stand alone. It was so incredibly sad—and terrifying.

  “The truth is, I wasn’t ready to come home,” he said and she could hear the shame in his voice. “I didn’t know how. Everything was exactly the same, except for me. No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t seem to fit here anymore. But then I met you, and damn, Emi, you were so warm and real and the perfect distraction. In fact, your big heart and smart mouth had me so distracted I didn’t even realize that you’d become my safe haven. You accepted me for who I was, at every moment, giving me the time I needed to figure things out. I just figured it out too late. And I hurt you, and for that I will forever be sorry.”

  As much as she wanted to say it was okay, that she was okay and wanted nothing more than to spend every day with him, she couldn’t. She deserved someone who was willing to stay and fight. For love and for her.

  “What did you figure out?” she asked.

  “That I had already come home. I came home that first night in San Francisco.” He cupped her face. “I was looking for a place to fit in, but I found you. With you I fit. With you I am whole. You’re my home, Emi.”

  “My home is crazy and you need easy,” she reminded him.

  “I need you,” he said and she almost believed him. “Emerson Blake, you are my kind of crazy. Please tell me I’m yours, because I love you.”

  “You let me walk away,” she cried, everything inside of her breaking all over again. “My whole life I have clung to everyone I’ve loved, fought to spend every second with them. That’s love, Dax. And I told you I loved you and you threw it away, then watched me leave.”

  “I did,” he said. “And I can promise you that will never happen again. And you know how I am with promises.” A little bead of hope bloomed at his sweet words, because even though he’d crushed her world,
he’d always come through on his promises. Always. “Just give me one more chance to be the kind of partner you need.”

  Emerson felt the first tears well up at the intensity in his words and expression. “What would you do if I gave you another chance?”

  “I don’t have a ring,” he said and, sweet baby Jesus, right there in the middle of the Pita Peddler Streatery, dressed like a hero for hire, Dax dropped to one knee. Emerson’s heart dropped to the floor.

  “Dax,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. “What are you doing?”

  “This is me going all-in,” he said, looking up at her as if she was the only thing in his sights. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that I love you. I love that you love the people in your world with complete abandon, and that you never back down. And I love that you hide green stuff in my eggs because it’s good for me. And I love your tough side and your soft side, and I especially love your backside.” She choked out a laugh. “I love you, Emi, and I’d love it if you’ll let me be your foundation, your fun, and your family.”

  Dax looked deep into her eyes and all of the hurt and anger faded because she saw the truth in his eyes. The way he loved her was the same way she loved him.

  Unconditionally.

  “Knock knock, Emi,” he said.

  “Who’s there?” She laughed but it came out more of a sob, as hope and something warm and safe filled her chest.

  “Al.”

  “Al who?”

  “I’ll promise you always if you just give me the chance to win your heart.”

  “You already have my heart,” Emerson said, tugging him to a stand. “You had it before I even knew it was gone.”

  “Thank Christ,” he said, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in his love. “Because you already have my heart, and if I didn’t have yours, things might get weird.”

  “You know how I hate weird,” she whispered as he covered her mouth with his, his hands threading in her hair and holding her to him. And Emerson let herself be held, gave herself over, because when she closed her eyes she could feel the truth: all the avenues led straight to Dax. And if that wasn’t proof that magic existed, then she didn’t know what was.

  acknowledgments

  A deep and appreciative thank-you to all of the men and women who risk their lives and sacrifice time with their families to protect our freedoms.

  As always, a special thanks to my editors, Maria Gomez and Lindsay Guzzardo, and the rest of the author team at Montlake for all of the amazing work and support throughout this series.

  Finally, thank you to my fabulous agent, Jill Marsal, for always being in my corner. And to my daughter and my amazing husband, you guys are my world.

  There wasn’t a person on the planet who Harper Owens couldn’t friend. The problem was, there wasn’t a single man in wine country who hadn’t already sentenced her to a lifetime in the friend zone.

  Until now, she thought giddily, staring up at her Mr. Tall, Dark, and—ohmigod—Mine.

  It had taken her eighteen long months of casual conversations, lots of lash batting, three new shades of lipstick, and finally a well-orchestrated flash of cleavage, but Harper was about to get her kiss.

  From Clay Walker. Respected pediatrician, a Doctors Without Borders frequent flyer, and on top of being revered by every kid and parent in town, the guy Harper had been hot for since he moved to St. Helena with his son nearly two years ago.

  “Thank you for walking me home,” Harper said as they stopped in front of the yellow-and-white Victorian storefront on Main Street. She pointed to the upstairs window of her apartment. “Do you want to come up? I have some wine in the fridge.”

  Clay checked his watch. “I wish I could, but I promised the babysitter I’d get her home by ten,” he said, and didn’t that warm her heart. He was such a good dad. Devoted, involved, loving, and—holy cow—was he looking at her boobs?

  Was Dr. Dreamy checking out Harper Owens’s cleavage?

  She watched his eyes to see if they’d dart again, and they ended up doing a minidip—not enough to be called an ogle, but enough that she decided it was the bra, which took her from a moderate B to a sexy C in one shimmy.

  St. Helena rolled up its welcome mats at dusk so there weren’t many people out. Just Harper and Dr. Dreamy, alone on the lamp-lined sidewalk, the gentle spring breeze wrapping around them as they stood under the twinkling lights of her grandmother’s shop—and the million or so stars overhead. So she shimmied again and—bingo.

  He was sizing up the goods. Which meant this was a premeditated escort.

  With the latest crime spree including senior citizens, barrel tipping, and indecent exposure in the community fountain—all related events—Clay hadn’t offered to walk her home for her safety. He’d offered to walk her home so he could make his move.

  And since her body hadn’t been moved on in far too long, she was ready.

  “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but there was never a time when Tommy wasn’t around, and I didn’t feel comfortable calling you at work,” Clay said, that deep voice rolling over her and lighting the anticipation that had been simmering since he’d pulled up the bar stool next to hers, offered to buy her a drink, then started asking all the right questions. “So when I saw you at Spigots tonight, I figured it was perfect timing.”

  “Perfect,” she repeated, stepping closer and looking up into his deep brown eyes. It was perfect. The perfect place for their perfect first kiss. The perfect moment to take their relationship from I teach your kid how to paint to I know how to make you pant in a single brush of the lips.

  “I’m going to San Diego for a conference the second week of May and I’m scheduled to be the keynote speaker. It’s a weekend conference, right on the beach.”

  “San Diego is beautiful in the spring,” Harper said as if all of her knowledge about the coastal city hadn’t come from the passenger seat of her mom’s car when she was nine and headed toward Mexico for a month-long artist retreat on native beading.

  “It is,” he said. “And the conference is only one night, but I was wondering if you were free.”

  “The second weekend in May?” That was the worst possible time for Harper to get away. It was spring inventory prep at the Fashion Flower, the couture kids’ boutique and art store she managed, and she was the only person who could handle the delivery. But a weekend away? With Clay? Naked? “I’m all yours.”

  “Really?” He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled.

  At her.

  It wasn’t the same smile he gave her when picking Tommy up from class, or even the one he’d flashed when seeing her around town. This smile was different. He was looking at her different. As if she were special. As if she were—

  “A lifesaver, Harper. That’s what you are.” Clay released a long, relieved breath. Funny, since she had stopped breathing altogether. “Tommy’s mom can’t take him that weekend, and his sitter is only fifteen, hence the reason I need to get her home by ten. I didn’t know who else to ask and you are so good with him.”

  “You need me to babysit? Tommy?” She had to ask because she’d had a drink or two, and her brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders, but she was pretty sure he’d just demoted her from quirky-but-cute art teacher to backup babysitter. And her competition didn’t have a driver’s license.

  “That would be great. He really adores you. You know?”

  Oh, she knew. She knew this moment so well she wanted to cry. It was just like senior prom when Daniel McCree passed her a note saying he wanted to ask a special girl. Only after Harper had mentally picked out her dress, shoes, and the perfect place to lose her virginity had he explained that the “special girl” was Janie Copeland—the captain of the dance team and Harper’s neighbor.

  Harper had delivered Daniel’s invite on her way home, then received a record eleven more invites to the prom that year. None of them were addressed to her.

  “Tommy would probably be more comf
ortable at my place. You can sleep in my bed, if that works for you,” Clay offered, and Harper had to bite her lip to not laugh at the irony. He looked at his watch again. “I’m late. Can we work out all the details later? Kendal’s mom flips if I get her home after ten.”

  “That’s the great thing about thirty-year-old women,” she pointed out brightly, holding on to that smile even if her cheeks hurt from the weight. “No curfew.”

  “Something to keep in mind,” he said with a wink. “Oh, and you have some kind of punch on your dress.”

  Harper looked down at her favorite daffodil-colored dress and saw the bright red splotch, right below her minuscule cleavage he’d been eyeing all night. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, he pulled her in for a hug. Not a dual-armed embrace, bodies touching kind of event. But a side-hug/pat-to-the-back combo that bros gave each other. “Thanks, Harper. I owe you,” he said and headed back toward the bar.

  Unless he was offering up a tangled sheets kind of favor, Harper wasn’t interested. In fact, Harper wasn’t interested at all. She didn’t want a favor. She wanted passion, connection, adventure, to be wanted.

  And speaking of wanted, she wanted cookies.

  Not the kind with sprinkles that her grandmother made, but the kind that only a strong, sexy man could provide. And she wanted a baker’s dozen, she thought as she fished out her keys to open her grandma’s shop. The scent of rosewater and lavender greeted her as she stepped inside and felt as though she were transported back in time. The Boulder Holder was a lingerie shop specializing in vintage seduction for the curvy woman—it also had a great stain remover in the storage closet.

  Still at a complete loss, or maybe not so complete, since looking back, the intimate questions Clay had asked earlier were all standard résumé info for applying nannies, Harper closed the door behind her and reached to disarm the alarm—which was already disarmed.

  “Dang it, Baby,” Harper mumbled, making a note to reprimand the closing manager for neglecting the alarm again. And, apparently, her job, since there was a vast collection of high-end merchandise hanging outside one of the changing room doors.