Sparks (3 page)

“I don’t need you to come get me like I’m a child. I can get home.” He paused, then sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Fine. You’ll do whatever you want anyway.” His tone was bitter and resigned.

The man hung up and gripped the counter with his hands. He shook his head. Bernie shifted and cleared his throat. The man looked up sharply, his hazel eyes weary.

The man straightened. “Sorry. Did you need help, or to check out?”

“To check out,” Bernie replied, putting the book on the counter.

Something niggled at him. The man was very familiar. Suddenly, it dawned on him.

“Harper Hillman?”

“Yes. Do I know you?” Harper glanced at him, frowning.

“Umm… I’m a friend of Robert’s. We’ve played poker together a few times before….” Bernie trailed off as he realized what he was about to say.

A sad look flitted across Harper’s face. Bernie shifted, remembering the last time he had seen Harper. It was at Karl Provenza’s—Harper’s partner’s—funeral. They had been together for more than ten years before Provenza was murdered. Harper had been grief-stricken. The tribute that Provenza had asked Miguel and Ramirez—his two best buddies—to do for Harper had been touching. When Harper had broken down, they had all been relieved he had finally started grieving. In the almost seven months since then, Harper and Ramirez hadn’t come to the poker night, or any of the other get-togethers the poker crew had. Bernie studied Harper. He looked better, but there was still a brittleness to him. Harper was an intense man, but had a devilish side, at least when Provenza, who’d been more affable, had prodded him to it.

“I remember you now. Bernie, right? Nice to see you. Been a long time. Let me ring you up.” Harper rang up his purchase.

Bernie frowned at the total. Mentally, he calculated the book and tax.

“That’s not the right price for the book.” He shook his head.

“It’s a discount for friends.” Harper smiled.

Bernie blinked, startled at the statement. “I can’t do that. I have money for it. I can afford it. I know what Robert probably told you guys, but I have money this year. I was awarded a special grant to use for my expenses,” he insisted.

Harper seemed surprised. “I’m sure you can afford it. And I’m not sure what you mean by Robert told us something. He didn’t tell me anything. This is the discount I give to all my friends. Provenza liked you.” Harper’s voice faltered, and then he said firmly, “And I do too. I see you as a friend, so take the discount. Unless you don’t see me as a friend.”

“I do see you as a friend.”

“Good. Then give me the money for the total here.” Harper beckoned with his hand.

Bernie handed over the money. Harper finished the transaction and gave him his change. Harper put the book in a bag that had the same design as the window.

“Did you find the science section had some good titles? I asked Robert to give me some recommendations so I could order them. Since he did, I’ve noticed that more of the science majors from Mapson University are coming in and buying them. Do you have any titles you think I should get?” Harper asked as he handed Bernie the bag.

“Ahh… that explains why you have such a good selection. I did notice there were a few that you could add. But they might not sell that well, since they’re more for hard-core researchers. Your boss might not like that,” Bernie said.

“I’m the owner of 2H, so that won’t be a problem. I don’t mind trying out some of the titles,” Harper replied.

“2H? Is that because of your name?”

“Yep. Provenza came up with it.” He cleared his throat, then continued. “So give me the titles.”

“Con—”

Harper interrupted him. “Wait. Let me get someone to cover this counter, and we can have some coffee.”

Before he could answer, Harper hurried away. Bernie walked a little away from the counter.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Harper glanced at Bernie, and Bernie followed him. As they walked, Harper greeted various customers by name. He spoke to them and made recommendations for books. They all seemed to like him, and he was personable. Inside the coffee shop, Harper walked over to a back booth with a reserved sign on it.

“Have a seat, and I’ll get the coffee. What do you drink?” Harper asked.

“Ummm… I prefer tea with a stick of cinnamon, if you have it.”

“Got ya. Any special type of tea? We carry lots of kinds.”

Bernie shrugged. “Anything is fine.”

He’d only had regular tea, so he was unsure of what other types there were. Harper walked away. Bernie sat, putting his bag on the seat next to him. He glanced around. The coffee shop part of the store was larger than he’d thought from the glimpse he’d had of it. The combination of the bookstore and coffee shop made the store larger than it looked from outside. He looked over at the counter across the room.

Harper went behind the counter and made their drinks. He was talking with the man at the counter, but Bernie was too far away to make out the man’s features or hear their conversation. Moments later, Harper took up a tray and came out of the swinging gate toward him. When he got to the table, he placed the tray on it. Harper placed a pastry in front of Bernie along with a steaming cup of tea before sitting on the other side of the booth and sliding closer to him.

“Hope you’re not allergic to pecans or caramel. Since you mentioned liking cinnamon, I got us each a caramel sticky bun.”

“No, I’m not allergic.” Bernie grabbed a fork and took a bite. He moaned as he ate the first gooey bite.

“Good, huh? We make them here in the shop. Actually, all the pastries are made here. We have a kitchen beyond those doors.” Harper looked at Bernie with a slight smile on his face.

Bernie swallowed and asked, “Can I have the recipe? I’d like to try and make them.”

“I’ll give you a copy of my recipe,” Harper said.

“Yours?”

“Yeah. Came up with it for Provenza. He loved caramel and pecans,” Harper said softly.

Bernie frowned, sorry he had made him sad again. “It’s okay to talk about him, sharing the memories you have.” He reached out and touched Harper’s hand and then squeezed it.

“Ah… you don’t want to hear about all that,” Harper said.

“I do. I had started to know a little about him from the games, but didn’t get to know him before”—he paused, then went on—“he was gone.”

Harper’s gaze was intense, and then he gripped Bernie’s hand. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“Acknowledging he was here and gone. Everyone is so afraid of saying his name to me. They act like since he’s gone, they can’t talk about him. They treat me like I’m broken. Not like me anymore. I miss him so much, but I miss being able to talk about us, him, or me, without being treated as if I’m so fragile I’ll shatter. I won’t.” His voice was fierce.

“Tell me about him.” Bernie turned his hand and held Harper’s.

“He was the one who pushed me to open 2H. He knew of my love of books and said I was friendly to people, not to mention too stubborn to fail or do it halfway. It was supposed to be just a small bookstore. Two years ago, when the two shops on either side were empty, Karl was the one who went and bought them so I could expand. He gave me the spaces for my birthday and paid to have them redone to expand the store and open the coffee shop. Even convinced his brother Kenton to run the coffee shop so he could bake the pastries he loved. Kenton didn’t formally go to school for baking, but he’s really good. Karl knew that Kenton would thrive at making pastries. Hell, Kenton has even started taking special orders for various private parties. Karl had a knack for knowing what others couldn’t see or do themselves. I loved that about him.” Harper’s voice got choked.

“He sounds like a good man,” Bernie said softly.

“He was. He was a lot like Tomas—a nurturer, although they like to act tough and like they don’t care. They do care, deeply.”

“Tomas likes to boss people around,” Bernie grumbled.

“Karl did too. But it was his way of showing he cared. Drove me nuts.” Harper laughed. He stopped, startled, and then said softly, “That’s the first time I’ve actually laughed since he’s been gone.”

Bernie gripped the hand he held. Music started to play. Harper frowned, then withdrew his hand. He pulled out a cell and glanced at the screen.

“
Ramirez
,” he groaned.

“Aren’t you all good friends?” Bernie asked.

“We are, but he’s become overprotective. I’ve become an obligation—one who can’t be left alone,” Harper said in the same bitter tone as earlier.

Bernie nodded, understanding about the feeling of being an obligation.

“Was he the one on the phone earlier?”

“Yeah. To check on me and tell me when he was getting me to take me home.”

“If you don’t want him to take you home, then tell him to buzz off,” Bernie suggested.

Harper laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“You can.”

Harper looked speculative, and then he smirked. Pressing a button on his phone, he spoke. “Yes, Ramirez.” He listened, then said, “I don’t need you to come get me. I’ll find my own way home. F—” He pulled the phone away from his ear.

Bernie could hear someone yelling, but not what they were saying. Harper frowned, then put the phone back to his ear.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going home on my own. Deal with it. If I see you anywhere near my store or my house tonight, you’re going to regret it.” Harper’s tone was steely.

The sound of an angry voice came across the line. Harper hung up. He grinned at Bernie. Bernie laughed. He glanced at his watch.

“I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tea and pastry,” he said.

“You didn’t get to drink it. Let me at least wrap the pastry for you.” Harper stood, put everything on the tray, and hurried away.

Bernie stood and followed after him. Harper went behind the counter, boxed up his pastry, and put in a few more.

“I don’t need all those,” Bernie protested.

“Should I be offended you don’t like my pastries?” a familiar voice asked.

Bernie glanced at the man who spoke. His eyes widened. Without being told, he knew he was looking at Karl’s brother, Kenton Provenza. Kenton sounded and looked a lot like his brother. He had the same craggy features, blue-gray eyes, and black hair. Kenton’s frame was more brawny and stockier than Karl’s, and his hair longer and more unruly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So what do you mean, Bernie?” Kenton’s eyes twinkled with a devilish spark, just as his brother’s always had.

Bernie smiled and pointed. “I want some of those… and those.”

“You got it.” Kenton smirked.

Bernie gawked as Kenton efficiently boxed up the parties he’d pointed to. Kenton slid the box to him. Bernie chuckled as he took out his card.

“Now, you’re not going to insult me with money, are you, Berns?” Kenton crossed his muscular arms over his barrel chest.

“I don’t need charity,” Bernie snapped.

“You’re as prickly as Tomas said, and cuter than your picture. And this ain’t charity,” Kenton said.

“You know Tomas? And you’ve seen a picture of me?”

“Yep. I grew up with and am best buds with the old pain in the ass. Used to work for him too. Robin was in here a while back, showing us pictures of his and Miguel’s barbecue.” Kenton put his hands on the counter.

“It was a blast.”

“If you ever get that formula to paralyze Tomas’s big mouth, let me know. Would love to see that. Gotta go. Have some customers to serve. Come back again, Bernie. I’ll show you some of Tomas’s favorite pastries. The man has a sweet tooth.” Kenton walked away.

“I will!” Bernie called.

“Here you go.” Harper put the pasty box with the store logo into a bag, which also had the logo.

“I really can’t take that.”

“Don’t piss off Kenton. He gets growly, and that’s something I don’t need to deal with.” Harper came out through the swinging gate and handed him the bag.

Bernie took it. Harper walked with him to the door.

Bernie paused, then said, “Come have movie night.”

Harper looked startled. “Simon mentioned you all have that. But I don’t want to intrude.”

“Please. It’s just us hanging out, watching movies. So come on. Don’t want me to get growly. It’s not a pretty sight,” Bernie said playfully.

Harper chuckled. “Wouldn’t want that. Let me check the front and get my bag.”

Harper walked away. Bernie leaned against a wall close to the door and out of the way. Harper was back in no time. They left the store and headed for Bernie’s condo.

“So, what are the books you think I should add?” Harper asked.

Bernie told him, and they talked as they went. Before Bernie knew it, they were at his house, and he led Harper to the living room then left him and went to get them drinks. Settling on the couch next to Harper, Bernie handed him a drink, and then turned on the TV.

“So when are you and Tomas going to do the deed?”

Bernie choked on his drink at Harper’s question. Harper patted him on the back. After his coughing was under control, Bernie glanced at him.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please. After that show last night, everyone is expecting you all will be doing it soon. At least, that’s the bet going on.”

“You heard about our dance?” Bernie flushed.

“My phone was ringing off the hook when you all got on the floor. And Mackenzie gave me blow-by-blow details of you all getting wicked.”

Bernie scowled. The Mackenzie, Harper was referring to had to be the owner of Bacchus Sloan. He knew Mackenzie not only from the eatery, but socially. Bernie had met him on the rare times Mackenzie made it to poker, or a few times hanging out with Tomas and his family. You would think the man would have a business to run instead of watching him and Tomas. Bernie sat up as the rest of what Harper had said registered.

“There’s a bet on us?”

“Oh, yeah. Down to how long it will be and who will make the first move.” Harper laughed.

“What’re the stakes?” Bernie pursed his lips.

“One hundred dollars,” Harper said.

Bernie leaned back and put his hand in his pocket. Pulling out his wallet, he counted out some money. He put his wallet back and sat up. “Who do I need to give it to?”