Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1) (14 page)

Five hours and thirty trips up and down the stairs
later—in the boiling afternoon heat—Harper collapsed on her living room sofa
directly in the path of a floor fan turned on at full blast. Propping her feet
on a packing box that contained God-only-knew-what, she swigged a bottle of
cold water. Would she ever be cool again? And not stink to high heaven? She’d
passed pig farms on the way to Sunnyside that smelled better than she did.

Where had she gotten all this
stuff
? Surely it hadn’t all come out of that minuscule apartment in
Chicago. If it had, she couldn’t imagine what had prevented the walls from
bursting at the seams.

One of the movers stuck his head inside the front
door. With his tousled blond hair and freckles combined with He-Man muscles, he
reminded her of Dennis the Menace on steroids. “We’re all finished, Harper.
Anything else we can do for you before we take-off?”

“I don’t think so, Clem.” She hoped the guys’
departure would require only a minimum of movement for her aching body.
“Thanks. You guys were great. Tireless in your efforts. My energy gave out long
before yours did.”

“We’re more used to heavy lifting than you are.”

“That must be it. Do you have some paperwork for
me to sign?”

He brought her a sheaf of papers. She signed where
indicated, thanked him profusely again, and handed over a substantial cash tip.

“Thanks a lot.” Clem beamed. “You’ve got our card.
Call and ask for us when you’re ready to move back to Chicago. Or anywhere else
in the Midwest.”

“I’ll keep you in mind, but it won’t be for a couple
of years.” She felt a little pang just thinking about having to relocate again.

“Good luck.” He picked up the extra packing
materials and headed for the door.

“Safe travels back to Chicago. Close the door
behind you, will you?”

She should get up and move before her muscles
stiffened up completely. She needed something to eat, but her poor tired feet
and legs just wouldn’t obey her commands to move.

Maybe she could just doze here for a minute.

An abrupt knock on the door woke her up. She’d
been dreaming about her worthless ex-fiancé. In the dream scenario, he’d been
taunting her about being alone again or being isolated again or running away
from her problems... or something. She couldn’t really remember, but he was
definitely taunting her, his handsome face so smug and supercilious that she
wanted to smack him.

When the knock came again, she jumped up,
disoriented, and aware of the protest from her overused muscles. “What?”
Standing in the middle of the room, she tried to get her bearings until she
realized she needed to open the door.

“Delivery man,” a voice said from the porch.

Suspicious, she looked out to find Zach on her
doorstep. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a T-shirt, looking very rugged and
relaxed. Her heart kicked into a funny little two-step at the sight of him. She
unlocked and opened the door wide.

“I didn’t place an order.”

“But you should have. I bet you’re starving.”

“I am.” She grinned. “And bless you, you’re always
arriving to feed me. What did you bring me this time?”

“Chinese.” He held up a big white bag first and
then a smaller blue one. “And ice cream. Can I come in?”

“Welcome.” She made a sweeping gesture that
invited him inside. “
Mi casa es su casa
.”

“In this case, literally.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean you can come and go
like you live here.”

“Too bad.” He looked around at the disarray. “I
like what you’ve done with the place.”

“It does have a certain appeal, doesn’t it? I’m
really into the new hunt-and-search style of decorating. If you want it, and I
mean really want it, then you have to hunt and search for it.”

“Well, the style works for you. Do you have
somewhere we can eat or should we just pull up a box? I brought paper plates
just in case.”

“Let’s retreat to the kitchen where there’s a
slightly more organized level of chaos. And we should put the ice cream in the
freezer.”

“Wow, this looks great. You have most of your
kitchen stuff unpacked and put away.”

“Don’t be too impressed. In Chicago, I had an
efficiency apartment, so my kitchen storage consisted of four cabinets, and two
drawers. My kitchen collection is very limited, and for the time being anyway,
I have room to spare.”

He looked back through the living and dining
rooms. “I can’t believe you had all this stuff in a five-hundred-foot efficiency.”

“My thoughts exactly. I don’t know how I did. I
had a little storage cubicle, but all the stuff from there went into the
garage.”

While Harper swept a stack of stuff off the
kitchen table, Zach hunted for plates and silverware. Lucky guesses led him to
them on the first try.

“How did you do that?”

“I guess subliminally I remembered that’s where
they were kept when my aunt and uncle lived here, so it must be the right place
for them.”

“Good to know I didn’t screw with your cosmic
memory.” She pulled an assortment of little square boxes out of the white paper
bag. “What do we have here?”

“I have Kung Pao Chicken and Shrimp for me.
There’s a tofu and broccoli thing for you. Spring rolls and vegetarian fried
rice to share. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect. I’m so hungry I could devour the carton
and be happy.”

“After the day you put in, I imagine so.” They
took seats across from one another and dug in. “I almost got you the Kung Pao
Shrimp, but I didn’t know if you ate fish.”

She looked at him funny. “Um, no. Vegetarian,
remember?”

He looked right back and shrugged. “I know some
vegetarians who eat fish.”

“No, you don’t,” Harper stated unequivocally.

“Yes, I do.” His chin jutted out stubbornly.

“Let me clarify for you.” She rested her fork on
her plate. “Do they eat fish?”

“Yes.”

“Then they aren’t vegetarians. People who are
vegetarians in all aspects of their diets except that they eat fish are called
pescatarians or pesco-vegetarians. True vegetarians don’t eat anything that has
a face. Or a mother.”

“That’s a pretty strict interpretation, isn’t it?”

“It’s what you are or it’s not. I don’t make this
stuff up. I adhere to a set of principles that are important to me. But
everyone else gets to make up their own mind.”

“Okay, then. Let me ask you something. Don’t you
were shoes made of leather?”

Her face flushed as she admitted the
contradiction. “Yes.”

“So how is it all right to wear the skin of an
animal that had a face but not to eat its flesh?”

“I’m not vegan, so I allow myself to eat or use
animal byproducts. It was already dead when someone decided to use the rest of
it and make its skin into shoes. That’s just practical. And efficient.”

“I don’t see the logic there.”

“Actually, I have some problems with it, too, but
my vegetarianism is a preference, not a religion. I try not to buy things made
of leather, but I’m not quite there. You’ll never see me in a leather jacket,
but shoes, belts, and purses...
 
I
sometimes make allowance for those. And if someone gives me something made of
leather, it would be rude to refuse.”

He chuckled at her faulty reasoning. “What made
you become a vegetarian?”

“I’d never been a big meat-eater, but when I was
sixteen, they showed a movie at my school about the inhumane treatment of animals
by the meat-packing industry. That was enough to turn anyone off meat. I don’t
want to eat a living creature to be ill-treated or shot up with steroids or fed
by artificial means just so I can eat it.”

“Honey, the people around here grow their animals
humanely. Then they slaughter, butcher and eat them.”

She could only shrug. “Their choice.”

“It’s survival of the fittest. Animals were put
here on earth for us to eat.”

She’d heard this argument before but couldn’t be
that cavalier about it. “Then let’s go get Pippa and Cleo and roast ‘
em
up.”

“You know that’s not the same thing.”

She sipped. “It is to me.”

“I admire your principles. I just don’t share
them.”

“But as a physician, don’t you think it’s a
healthier diet and lifestyle?”

“Most people overeat and consume too much salt and
sugar. A lot of them eat too many fatty or fried foods. Vegetarianism has some
benefits for some people. I don’t advocate eating a meat-heavy diet, but meat
is a major source of protein. A well-balanced diet includes moderate meat
intake.”

“But too much meat is terrible for the digestive
system and a major contributor to colon cancer and heart disease.”

“In excess. And many people who leave meat out of
their diet lower their immune systems. Fruits and vegetables are good for you,
but the addition of fish and meats with fruits and vegetables is better.”

“I attribute my good health and weight to my
vegetarian diet and plenty of exercise, so I think I’ll stick with it.”

“Since it seems to work for you, and I’m not your
doctor, thank God, I won’t try to change your mind.” He forked in another bite
of his Kung Pao. “But that outlook won’t make you very popular here.”

She nearly snorted. “The jury’s still out on that
one. And I’m not sure I care if they don’t like me, I just want them to like my
library.”

“I heard a lot of complimentary comments after you
offered to pay the workers.” He considered her for a moment, and she felt the
pull of that connection between them again. “You do care what people think,
though.”

Crunching into a spring roll, she couldn’t
honestly deny it, but she sure as hell didn’t intend to admit it.

“Why is that?”

“Classic Outsider Syndrome, I guess. I traveled so
much with my mother when I was young, I never felt like I belonged or fit in
anyplace. It was quite the untraditional lifestyle, and like so many people
that don’t have a place to call home, I always craved what I didn’t have.
Acceptance. Stability. Roots.”

“Why did your mother travel so much?”

“As a professional stylist, she goes where the
work is. Sometimes she works for fashion magazines or couture houses, even
television shows. Sometimes for individuals or clothing stores. Either way, the
jobs are temporary and involve extensive travel. We were always jetting off
from one fashion hot spot or photo layout to another. She’s very chic and
sophisticated and, in some circles, she’s quite the last word on what to wear
and when to wear this with that.”

“And is your sister older or younger?”

“Half-sister.” She’d taken a sip of her drink
before correcting herself. “Two half-sisters, actually, and a half-brother, if
you count my father’s other children, which I don’t.”

“Because you don’t spend time with them?”

“My mother had kind of a hot fling with my father
that burned bright for a few months and then fizzled out. They were the
quintessential example of opposites attracting only long enough to conceive a
child and realize their mistake before moving on. It was textbook, really, and
now they have nothing but disdain for one another.”

“So you’re the oldest?”

“Yeah, when I was four, my mother went the other
romantic direction by attracting a tempestuous, artistic personality exactly
like her. He was a… musician, and pretty good to me, all things considered.
They were together for quite about five years before the constant drama wore
everyone out and they parted ways. But they shared custody of my sister, Fiona,
and I frequently tagged along with her when she stayed with him. Once India and
Fiona’s father grew up a little bit, they realized they couldn’t live without one
another and eventually got back together. They’re my family. They drive me
crazy sometimes, but I can’t imagine my life without Fiona. Or her father.”

“Where does Fiona live?”

“Much like my mother, she lives anywhere and
everywhere, but she has an apartment in New York City she calls home or she
stays with her dad at one of his... Well, she stays with her dad.” She didn’t
want to identify Fiona’s dad’s just yet since his fame superseded Fiona’s and
India’s combined, and he had more houses scattered around the world than Harper
could usually keep up with. And even someone like Zach would recognize Wexley
Wilde’s name.

Frankly, she adored Wex. Everyone assumed he still
lived the excessive sex-and-drugs lifestyle of a rock-and-roll superstar, but he’d
given all that up a long time ago and made sure Fiona and Harper stayed away
from it, too.

“And Fiona’s a model?”

Harper nodded. “One of the best, most beautiful,
and well-paid ones. You’d recognize her name if you kept up with such things,
but you’d probably recognize her face even if you don’t. She’s quite
well-known.”

“Does she look like you?”

The answer to that question must be obvious. She’d
said Fiona was beautiful, hadn’t she? “No, she looks like my mom, with a dash
of her dad’s sultry swagger thrown in.” Fiona hated it when anyone said Wexley
was hot, but fifty million women couldn’t be wrong. “She hit the jackpot in the
genes’ lottery. But she’s a great sister, and a lot of the time growing up, it
was just me and her toughing it out through some of our mom’s or her dad’s more
creative escapades.”