In the Mood for Love (13 page)

“My reflexes aren’t what they used to be,” Daisy said. “At least that’s what my family tells me.”

“You seem spry enough to me,” Harper said then gestured to the boat of a car backing out of her driveway. “Vincent’s more than welcome to join us.”

“That’s kind of you, Slick,” Daisy said, “but he has some errands to run. He’ll be back.”

“You changed your hair,” Harper said as she ushered Daisy into the house. Between living in a big city and being ensconced in the entertainment industry, Harper had seen it all. But for a small and conventional town like Sugar Creek, Daisy’s penchant for neon hair color and bohemian fashion was pretty radical. As far as Harper could tell, the woman was fearless.

Daisy patted her bright blue curls. “You like?”

“Bold and dynamic,” Harper said as she led her toward the kitchen. “Just like you.”

“Once upon a time I was demure and conservative. Practically invisible.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Sometimes we stuff down our true nature in order to keep the peace, or to please others, or because we’re intimidated or, heck, brainwashed. I came out of the closet four years ago.”

Harper tripped over the kitchen threshold. “Excuse me?”

“I released the inner child. The real me. Spoke my mind. Took chances. Had fun. I’m sure my once beloved, dearly departed husband is spinning in his grave.” Daisy hooked her handbag over a ladder-back chair, sniffed. “Gingerbread?”

Harper blinked. “Yes. I, um, baked a treat to go with our mimosas.” Still absorbing Daisy’s ramble, Harper revealed a platter of orange-frosted gingerbread cupcakes and the pitcher of orange juice spiked with champagne. The same beverage she’d been sipping prior to the spa shooting. She considered it a conquest that she’d been able to mix the cocktail this morning without flashing back and obsessing. Staying focused on the future had helped, part of a mind game Sam had taught her the day before in an effort to instill cool confidence.

“I’m sure they’re as delicious as they look,” Daisy said. “You impressed the club when we met here in February. You’re a fine baker, Harper.”

“Coming from a senior Cupcake Lover, that’s an epic compliment. Thank you.”

“If you lived here all the time, in addition to being our publicist, you could be a full-fledged member. Which, if you ask me, would be pretty spiffy since Mary Rothwell was a founding member and since you’re living in her house. Although it’s
your
house now and a fine house it is.” She gestured to the refurbished cabinets and floor, the retro knickknacks and crockery. “You’ve worked magic on this place.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Rocky and Sam,” Harper said, her heart tripping as Daisy led the conversation in the very direction Harper wanted to go. “Would you like to have our chat and refreshments on the back porch? It’s a beautiful day.”

“I’ll grab the cupcakes and napkins,” Daisy said, springing into action. “You pour the mimosas.”

By the time Harper joined Daisy outside the woman had already dished out their cupcakes and was now resting comfortably in a bright red Adirondack chair. Harper set their flutes on the matching table. They held silent as Harper dropped into a second Adirondack, both gazing out at the vast lawn and the rippling pond beyond. Colorful wildflowers sprouted everywhere, their vibrant petals fluttering in the warm breeze. The temperature was mild, the sun bright, and the sky a vivid blue with scattered fluffy white clouds. If one looked beyond the fields and the surrounding woods, you could see a long stretch of rolling green mountains. Rothwell Farm, Harper’s farm, was surrounded by nature. A far cry from the asphalt, glass, and steel surrounding her small apartment in a bustling section of Los Angeles. She didn’t miss the crowd and chaos now, but in a week? A month? Once she’d conquered her phobia and the anxiety attacks, would this isolated property feel like a prison? Half a dozen pulse-tripping what ifs manifested, but Harper pushed them back by thinking ahead.

“About Sam—”

“Speaking of Sam—”

Harper smiled. “You go first.”

Daisy cast a curious look over the purple rims of her rhinestone glasses. “I heard he invited you to Sunday dinner.”

Harper passed her guest a mimosa. “I know how intimate those dinners are, Daisy. I feel like I’m intruding.”

“Do you have eyes for Sam?”

So Harper wasn’t the only one intent on being direct. “I, um, yes. That is, there’s an attraction.” Why lie? As Sam had said, it would make their hasty marriage less jarring.

Daisy gave a fist pump. “I knew it!” She clinked her glass to Harper’s. “To
my
intuition.”

They both sipped and Harper wondered how many other people had heard about the Sunday invite and Harper and Sam’s touchy-feely lunch at the Shack? TMZ had nothing on the Sugar Creek gossip vine.

“Next question,” Daisy said after another sip. “Do you think you could be happy living in Sugar Creek full-time because I don’t think Sam would do well with one of those long-distance relationships. He had enough of that when he was deployed overseas and separated from Paula. Plus you have to think about Ben and Mina. Sam and the kids are a package deal.”

“I’m no longer working for Spin Twin Cities,” Harper blurted. This conversation was moving along at breakneck speed, which was usually Harper’s speed except she wasn’t as quick on her feet with her own problems as she was with those of her clients.

Daisy’s penciled eyebrows shot to her hairline. “You quit?”

“We parted ways. I’m going to freelance. I hope this won’t have a negative bearing on my relationship with the Cupcake Lovers. I still have my contacts and my skills and the same, no, an even stronger determination to get things done. In fact, I called in a favor and I think I might be able to get the Cupcake Lovers a feature on
Brice and Kaylee—Live!
”

Daisy choked on her drink, massaged her chest.

Harper patted her back. “Are you okay?”

“
The
Brice and Kaylee?”

“I only know of one,” Harper said with a smile. She understood Daisy’s shock. Brice Kendall and Kaylee Davis had risen to fame on the talk show circuit somewhere near the height of popularity of
Regis and Kelly
. Then Regis had left and Kelly had scrambled to retain favor with a new cohost while Brice and Kaylee soared higher. Considering their nationwide viewership, landing a guest role on their show was a very big deal. “It might not happen until the fall,” Harper said. “But I’m ninety-nine percent sure it
will
happen.”

Daisy jabbed a scrawny finger in Harper’s direction. “
You,
my dear, are a miracle worker. And you wonder why I call you
Slick
!”

“Not a miracle worker,” Harper said. If she was she’d go back in time and handle things differently with Andrew.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asked. “A cloud just passed over your face.”

Harper shook off dark thoughts. Ever since the spa shooting, ever since Edward’s last taunt, she’d been bombarded with memories and regrets from the past.
Focus on the future.
“Just wishing I could make the talk show appearance happen sooner.”

“Any time’s a good time in my estimation. National exposure for the recipe book and our causes. We’ll take it! So … since you’re no longer with that L.A. firm, does that mean you’re free of L.A.?”

Harper wouldn’t say that exactly since she’d yet to shake the gloom of the spa incident, but she was absolutely free to relocate. And because Sam was marrying her, it meant she could stay in the States. “I’ll be making Sugar Creek my main residence.”
At least until I have my green card.
She couldn’t think beyond that. She could look ahead a week, a month, but she couldn’t think in terms of forever. Especially since it would be a loveless marriage. A marriage of convenience. Which screamed of a very rocky road if not a full-scale disaster. As a way of making the situation bearable for all concerned, Harper was committed to make the best of it. Learning about Sam’s background and that of his family was the first step in smoothing the way.

“Hot diggety! One for two so far. I might as well attack the next name on my family bucket list since Vincent was right and nature got the jump on me with Sam.”

Harper frowned. “Why are you working on a bucket list? Are you okay? I noticed you rubbing your chest.”

“Heartburn,” Daisy said. “Nothing a cupcake won’t cure.” She bit into one of Harper’s creations and moaned. “Heaven,” she said after chewing. “Dark rum? Golden raisins?”

Harper nodded.

“Ginger syrup?”

“Crystallized ginger.”

“You’re a natural-born Cupcake Lover, Slick.”

Harper wasn’t sure why that statement made her so happy except it gave her a sense of belonging. For the first time in a long time, Harper reached out. “I need a friend, Daisy.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she licked cream cheese icing from her thin smiling lips. “I can be your friend.”

Thinking back on all the coworkers and acquaintances who’d simply tolerated her, Harper swallowed an emotional lump. “I’m not an easy person to like.”

“Sure you are,” Daisy said, her old face shining with compassion. “You just have to look past the bluster to the nice person trapped inside.”

THIRTEEN

Adam prided himself on a few things. First and foremost being a stand-up guy. Ask anyone in Sugar Creek, except maybe Jayce Bello, and they’d sing Adam’s praises to the moon and back. Yet he’d gone to bed and woken up feeling like a world-class jerk.

He blamed Peppy Redding.

Or rather their awkward exchange.

He felt guilty for hurting her feelings which was crazy because it hadn’t been that big of a deal. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. She probably dealt with crap like that all the time. Part and parcel of performing in bars. Dealing with schmucks like him. Not that Adam was a genuine schmuck. Ask anyone. Except maybe Jayce and Peppy.

The more Adam thought about that doe-eyed spitfire, the harder he ran. He usually jogged in the morning, but he’d overslept. Then he’d had a business appointment. Even though he’d cinched yet another freelance gig at a regional resort, he couldn’t shake his shitty mood. Craving solitude, he’d blown off a fishing trip with Kane and Nash, returned home and changed into running gear.

By the time he hit the trails snaking through the woods behind his house, the temperature had climbed to seventy. Regardless Adam tacked on an additional two miles, craving an extra kick of endorphins. By the time his house came into view, he was drenched.

Chest tight, he blew out of the woods and sprinted across his back lawn. A lawn in need of mowing. He added that chore to his mental check list as he hit the back deck and pushed through the kitchen door. Shower, OJ, clean clothes, water. All needed pronto, but not in any particular order. He nabbed a bottle of chilled water from the fridge, swigging as he cut through his cramped living room. He had recently sold his place and moved into a small two-bedroom rental in order to save money. At one time he’d hoped to partner with Rocky, running a local bed-and-breakfast. That plan had fallen apart and Adam had set a dream goal that challenged his bank account. He’d been living on a shoestring and was in the process of yanking the straps even tighter. He’d been so motivated, so focused, he hadn’t felt the stress of it all until today.

That’s because your mind’s not on the prize. It’s on Peppy.

“Damn.”

He peeled off his sweaty tee, tossed it in the hamper, and swiped back the shower curtain. Just as he reached for the nozzle, someone knocked on the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone and most locals gave a shout before dropping over. It had to be Kane and Nash. Kane had given him a hard time on the phone about bailing on the fishing trip. He probably coaxed Nash into stopping by on their way out of town, a last-ditch effort to change Adam’s mind. Kane had always been one to push.

Overheated and short on politeness, Adam wrenched opened his door. “A damned pain in my…” Oh, no. Oh,
shit
.

A waif girl with big brown eyes and windblown hair blinked at him through the warped screen door. She gaped. “No way.”

That was pretty much his thought.

She glanced at a folded napkin in her hands. “Is this 187 Route 3?”

“Yeah.”

“Adam Brody?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Hell, no. Sorry. Bye.”

She turned on her heel and Adam nearly knocked the screen door from its hinges. “Wait. Don’t go. Don’t … Peppy!”

She froze in her tracks. Her back was to him, not good, but at least she wasn’t running away. Not yet anyway.

“You’ve come about the room?” He’d only placed the ad yesterday. Wasn’t supposed to run until Monday. He’d told his brother and his best buds, Luke and Nash, that he was on the lookout for a roommate. They knew he was saving for a business venture. Other than that he’d kept the specifics of his dream goal to himself. “Peppy.”

He stepped closer, noting the stubborn set of her shoulders, her slight height, and her cute butt. No shapeless dress today. A pair of 501 Levi’s, a fitted black tee, and black-and-white hightops. He’d seen the front of her T-shirt through the screen door. Johnny Cash, a guitar, and a banner that read:
I WALK THE LINE.

Peppy Redding:
rebel
.

“Are you looking for a room?” Adam asked. “I have a room. Rent includes access to the kitchen, bathroom, and living room—which is every room but my room.”

Her fists clenched and he knew he’d said the wrong thing.
Again
. “Not that I wouldn’t want you in my bed … room.”
Damn
. “Just pointing out the house is small. Small, but comfortable.”

She’d yet to face him, but she’d yet to walk away.

Feeling even more flustered than the night before, Adam jammed a hand through his damp hair, remembering suddenly that he was shirtless and sweaty. Is that why she wouldn’t turn around? Because he was shirtless? Was she shy? A prude? Turned on? Not that he cared. Oh, hell. He cared. Mostly, he just didn’t want her thinking he was a jerk. Nash had mentioned she had money problems. Adam wasn’t strapped. Just focused. “Did I mention rent includes utilities? And…” He shrugged, scrambling. “Three months’ access to a personal sports trainer?”