Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (9 page)

“Douche move?”

Placing the two cups in his hand and the binder under his arm, Megan ushered him to the door. “Tell Harper I said hi!”

The door slammed behind him, leaving Adam with no caterer, no planner, and no one to drink his Fifty Shades of Chocolate.

However, he had a few choice words to tell Harper. The first one was a heartfelt sorry for screwing up her week. The second would be exactly where she could stick all of her sunshine. Adam wasn’t the only one with some explaining to do.

He might have messed with her week, but she’d destroyed his game.

L
ater that day, Harper moved carefully through the rows of easels, taking the time to study each and every student’s Picasso-inspired self-portrait. Some had crowns, others had capes and laser guns, but all of them told a unique story.

It was why she loved art so much. Almost as much as she loved her pint-sized artists. Each and every one of them touched her heart—even the challenging ones. Especially the challenging ones. They usually had the most important stories to share, but were often overlooked.

Not by Harper. She glanced around the Fashion Flower, at the bright and expressive clothes cheerfully displayed, then to the Budding Artists Gallery that filled the shop’s windows, and a sense of pride welled up.

She understood that every superhero smock worn and finger-
painted canvas made was a purposeful statement that her little custom
ers were too young to put into words. It was important that their art
was seen and appreciated—that the
children
felt seen and appreciated.

Harper was well aware of the connection between her job and her personal life. Growing up with an actress for a mother, who was happiest when center stage, and being overshadowed by her had become a way of life. No matter how boldly she behaved or dressed, Harper had never managed to find her own spotlight.

Something she was determined to change.

The shop door opened and in blew a warm gust of summer air—and her second chance. Clay was no longer in the dark suit and tie he’d been wearing when he’d returned home from San Diego a few hours ago. It seemed Dr.
GQ
had shed his professional attire for something more date-like—dark jeans, blue button-up, and a to-go bag from the Sweet and Savory bistro—too big for a party of one, but not big enough to be leftovers.

“Hey,” she said, walking over to meet him, happy she’d worn her favorite dress. It wasn’t red, but it was a bold teal and bohemian, and it made her butt look amazing. Not that he was looking at her butt right then, but if he did she knew it would look its best.

He smiled and then the most wonderful thing happened. He leaned in and kissed her. Not on the mouth, but on the cheek. A sweet and charming greeting that felt safe and warm—and encouraging.

“Am I interrupting?” Clay asked quietly, taking in the ten sets of eyes curiously aimed in their direction.

“Eyes on your own canvas, I’ll be right back,” Harper said, and after some disappointed grumbling, paintbrushes were moving again. She slipped off her smock that read
FLOWER POWER
, in case Clay wanted a better view, and ushered him outside. “They should be fine for a few minutes.”

“As long as they know you can see them, you mean,” Clay said, and Harper had to laugh.

“Yup, as soon as I turn my back, paint will fly.”

“If Tommy is doing a craft, I can’t turn my back for even a second without fearing the glue will wind up in his mouth and the house will explode in camo-colored paint bombs.”

“Tommy’s a smart kid with a big imagination, and he’s very talented,” she said, knowing it must be hard to keep up with a kid as high-energy as Tommy. “And you’re a good dad for indulging him.”

“Thanks. Being a single parent wasn’t how I imagined this all going, and this last year has been rough, but I finally feel like I’m getting a handle on things. San Diego got me thinking that I should find a way to carve out some time for myself again. Like you said. Maybe even get back out there and start meeting people like—”

People like me?
Harper wanted to ask, because when Clay had returned from his trip earlier that day, she may have only imagined the way he’d looked at her when he’d seen her in his bed watching cartoons, but she wasn’t imagining how he was looking at her now. As if he wanted to kiss her.

But a squeal erupted from inside, and Harper turned to find two students mixing all of the colors into one.

“You’d better handle that.”

“Yeah.” Harper stuck her head in the door. “William. Violet. What are the rules when we use acrylics?”

Both kids stopped to look at her, then their hands went behind their backs. Too bad their brushes were dripping paint all over the floor.

“No mixing,” Violet said innocently.

“Then what are you doing at the supply table?”

“Mixing black paint,” William said. Violet held up her brush and smiled in agreement.

“You both have black paint”—she lifted a brow—“at your easels. Which is where you should be standing.”

“Yes, Miss H,” they said in unison, then moped back to their respective places.

Harper closed the door. “Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem.” Clay laughed, a warm and understanding laugh, and she felt everything inside her go soft. Clay understood kids, understood her job. Being a single dad made him the perfect match for her. Yet she didn’t feel any tingles today. “I came by to say thanks for watching Tommy today. He really had a great time.”

“I did too. Tommy’s a great kid and we had fun.”

“Which is why I wanted to give you this.” He held up the bag and smiled. “I asked around and found out that you have a sweet tooth. And since you’ve been so slammed, I wanted to indulge
you
a little, for saving my hide.”

“I do like sweets. A lot.”

Blaming the lack of tingles on stress and knowing it was now or never, Harper licked her lips to bring Clay’s attention there, then thought of a sexy scene from a book she’d just read and flicked her hair. Because, according to rule six in creating lasting appeal, feeling sexy makes one appear sexy—and with being covered in finger paint and glitter glue, Harper needed a little help in the allure department.

She wanted Clay to see her as more than a friend who was good with his son. She wanted him to see her as a sexual being who would be good in his bed.

Lowering her voice, she leaned in and rested a hand on his arm, making sure her head was tilted in case he wanted to aim that cheek-kiss somewhere more central. “You know what else I like a lot?”

Clay shook his head.

“When it’s a little dirty?” a voice cut in.

Before Harper could respond, she was spun around and two full lips crashed down on hers. Hard and demanding and with enough irritated male to have her staggering back. Because it wasn’t Clay cashing in on those benefits she was so eager to dole out—it was her very own kissing bandit there to steal more smooches.

Smooches meant for Clay.

Harper pushed back, surprised to discover just how many packs Adam had under his shirt. A twelve-pack for sure.

“What was that?” she demanded, wiping her hands across her lips, painfully aware they were tingling.

Dang misfiring tingles.

“Me, missing my girl,” Adam said, holding up a to-go bag of his own. He also held the paintbrush that had been holding her curls back, which meant her hair probably looked like an electrocuted Q-tip.

“Your girl?” she asked, a sinking feeling settling in her gut.

“According to Facebook you have some big status change you’re dying to announce.”

Harper felt her hands start to sweat. There was no way he could know she had a favor to ask. A favor she had been putting off asking because she didn’t know what she’d do if he said no. A favor that, if she asked in front of Clay, would make everything awkward.

She looked at Clay’s expression of shock and snorted. After that kiss, awkward would be a welcomed state. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Huh,” Adam said. “Aunt Luce has placed ten-to-one odds that it is a ring-required kind of status change. Which is why I thought I’d drop by and let you know I’m a size fifteen.” He wiggled a brow. “Special order.”

“You wish,” Harper mumbled.

“Ring required?” Clay said, not as horrified as Harper would have liked. In fact, he seemed excited to be chatting with Adam. “I didn’t know that you two—”

“We’re not,” Harper clarified, right as Adam said, “She had me at hello.”

Clay’s eyes bounced between the two of them like he was watching the final set at Wimbledon. Adam’s eyes? They were firmly affixed on Harper’s cleavage.

“One look at her Parisian peek-a-boos and,
pow
, it was like witnessing a goddess being born.”

“Parisian peek-a-boos?” Clay asked, his brows folded in on themselves.

“You
peeked
at my Parisian peek-a-boos,” Harper clarified.

Adam grinned, wicked and with purpose—and Harper’s knees wobbled. “I did a lot more than peek.”

“He’s kidding.” When Adam didn’t comment, only twisted one of her loose curls around his finger, she elbowed him in the ribs. “Tell him you’re kidding.”

“No can do, sunshine. Parisian peek-a-boos are powerful stuff,” he said, slinging his arm around Harper’s shoulder. “Plus, some girl was seen wearing my jacket and was nearly mobbed. I can’t imagine what would happen to anyone who spoke out against Hadam.”

Oh God
. Harper’s stomach constricted—Adam had seen the post. Not wanting to get into it in front of Clay, Harper used her best teacher tone and said, “Cut the bologna. This is about the jacket, isn’t it?” Without giving Adam the chance to respond, she turned to Clay. “Can you give us a minute to straighten this out? I promise this is not what it seems.”

Clay looked at his watch. “Actually, I have to go. I just wanted to say thanks for babysitting. Enjoy the gift.” He handed her the bag. “Nice to see you, man.”

“He kind of walks like a girl,” Adam said as Clay headed down Main Street toward his car.

“He does not. And what was that? Payback for me interrupting you and Baby?”

He laughed. “No.
That
was nothing like me and Baby. What happened with me and Baby was a gigantic cock block.
That
”—Adam wiggled his fingers in an animated wave as Clay drove by—“was just me interrupting some friendly chitchat.”

“That was not friendly chitchat! You totally co—” She looked in the shop’s window at the kids, who were looking back, ears peeled. “Well, you know what you did.”

He grinned. “Maybe you should explain it to me.”

She grabbed a pencil out of her apron and resecured her hair into a messy bun at the back of her head, ignoring the flyaway curls. “Clay was about to ask me out and your kiss was to chase him off.”

“He wasn’t about to ask you out, sunshine,” Adam said in a gentle way that made Harper question herself. She hated questioning herself, even though she did it often when it came to the opposite sex.

“You don’t know that.” But somehow she got the really sick feeling that he did. That she was the one misreading the situation—again. Which was impossible. She was sending the right messages this time, and receiving them.

She opened the bag and wished she had the ability to make herself disappear.

Inside wasn’t a set of pastries and napkins for an impromptu sweets break. Inside was a gift card and a pencil drawing of a big stick figure with a paintbrush, holding hands with a smaller stick figure. They were both smiling, only the bigger one had a halo of curls that took up most of the page. At the bottom, in hard-won scribbles was a big
#1
followed by the word
SITTER
.

“Maybe he’s just not ready to start dating,” she said quietly, reminding herself that his divorce had been finalized just last year, and twelve months wasn’t all that long to mourn the loss of a dream. So she’d be patient. Not that Clay would forget her and Adam locking lips on Main Street.

“Maybe,” Adam said, but he didn’t sound all that convinced.

“What do you mean
maybe
?”

“I know guys, and he’s not the guy for you.”

Humiliating moment complete, Harper closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to get the burning red embarrassment to recede from her cheeks. It didn’t help.

“I bet this will make it better.” He held up his bag with two fingers and shook it. Harper could hear a pastry tumble around. The grease stain on the side of the bag told her whatever was in there was frosted. The size of the bag said there was more than one.

Maybe cupcakes? Or a dozen cookies? She was an equal opportunity consumer when it came to baked goods, but cookies were her favorite. Especially ones with enough butter to stain a bag. But this bag made her uneasy, because this bag felt like a bribe.

“What’s going on, Adam?” Her gaze fell to his chest when she asked, “And why did you kiss me?”

“You looked like you needed to be kissed, and dumbass wasn’t perceptive enough to see that,” he said in a tone that had Harper looking up and,
holy smokes
, Adam was looking back.

It wasn’t the look she expected—it was protective and hungry, if not a tad bit confused.

Welcome to it,
Harper thought. Two minutes ago, she was so focused on Clay’s chaste kiss she had convinced herself he was going to ask her out. Now she couldn’t seem to remember why she wanted to go out with him.

“He needed to know that it wasn’t you missing out on something amazing. It was him who was missing out.”

“Oh,” she whispered, her stomach clenching a little. “I thought you kissed me as payback for, you know . . .” She waved her hand at his fly and groaned. God, she was so awkward. “So you kissed me to save me from embarrassment?”