CHAPTER 19
Harper
“Bye, Aid, have a great day!” Steven calls at Aiden’s back as he leaves my store with coffee and cake donuts. The second Aiden’s car door—actually Steven’s truck door—closes, my old friend pounces on me like a cat. “Admit it! He has a crush on you!”
“He does not!” I whisper back at Steven, who is not whispering, even though he should. Not that it would matter.
Shelly chimes in, “Honey, no one is waiting until one in the morning to drive a girl home just to be nice.”
“So, he has a crush on her. Dat’s his problem,” Tyrone says. I point at him in silent agreement.
“Harper, be so for real right now. He’s rich, handsome, and totally into you. You’re not interested? Like at all?”
“No!”
“BS!” Maxine cries, “I see how your face turns purple when he comes in. We’re all watching it happen, shippin’ you two.”
“Shipping?” Tyrone asks.
Steven rolls his eyes, “Max, don’t do that with the slang, you’re as bad as Gary.” He looks at Tyrone, “It means rooting for them to be in a relationSHIP.”
“No,” Tyrone says, simply. I point at him again.
“C’mon you’re really still—”
I hold up a hand, “Really. Drop it.”
“Who’s going to tell him to drop it.”
I sigh, “There’s nothing to drop. So he has a crush on a local, so what?” I wipe an already-clean section of counter, “I’m sure it happens a lot when he does these take overs, which, hello, we need to focus on not being taken over! By concrete! Let’s get back to the Memorial Day Derby.”
Everyone reluctantly agrees.
But as we make our plans, the thought nags at me…why is Aiden still driving Steven’s truck?
_____
I knew it. I knew it.
“No,” I try.
“Yes,” Aiden says, parked behind the bakery with my bike already loaded into the bed. “It’s unbearably hot and humid. You don’t want to ride your bike home any more than I want to drink Althea’s coffee. Let’s go.”
It is bizarrely hot for the time of year. Record-breaking, we’ve been told. I just hope that will bode well for our Memorial Day plans in a couple weeks. I look at Steven’s truck which is new, comfortable and air-conditioned, and I cave.
Aiden smirks.
“What is it with you and the coffee?” I ask when we’ve both climbed in.
He shrugs, “It’s phenomenal. You know that.”
I narrow one eye, “Eh, that’s not it. It’s the secret ingredient thing.”
“Of course it is,” he snaps, half smiling.
“Man, first the karaoke night, the secret ingredient, the derby. I know so many things you don’t know.”
“Derby?”
I watch the town go by slowly and say, “Mhmm.”
“Tell me,” he commands.
I laugh, “Unfortunately, I am not Stuart.”
At that, he smiles. Huge, wide, rare and downright beautiful. Again, my face must react because Aiden quickly schools his features.
“Come on, I’ll help you strategize.”
I shake my head at him, “Again, why would you help the enemy?”
He dips his chin to level with me, “Harper, we both know I’m going to win.” He looks away to turn on his blinker and make a left off of Main Street. “You all haven’t a tiny prayer. But if I can help you end closer to the black and less in the red, why not?”
My mouth falls open.
He looks over and frowns, “What?”
“You’re…you’re really going to tear down half the street?”
His brow furrows even more, “Of course. There’s no other place to put the lot for—”
“Stop the truck!” I say, angrier than I’ve been in a long time.
“Harper,” he tries.
“STOP THE TRUCK!”
“NO!”
I glare over at him, “If you think I will not open this door and fling myself out of a moving car you don’t know who you’re dealing with!”
He floors it, “Neither do you!”
“Aiden! Slow down!”
He doesn’t. In just a few seconds we’re in my driveway.
“Bye!” I say before I get out.
He rushes out after me, but I beat him to the tailgate.
“Let me he—”
“Help?” I screech, “Help! You’ve been lying to all of us this whole time.”
He jerks backward like I’ve slapped him, “I have not.”
“Acting like we actually had a shot to save our shops!”
He reaches for my bike and lifts it out of the truck like it weighs nothing. “I am maintaining my side of the arrangement. Giving you until July before demolition. I didn’t agree to anything more than that.”
“But…but…” I don’t have anything to say. He’s right. He’s doing exactly what he said. And he’s even helping us anyway, knowing it’s basically for nothing. Knowing we’ll all hate him in just a couple months.
“What if we do it?” I ask, my voice shaky. He inhales deeply and sighs. “What if we actually turn a profit before then?”
“You won’t,” he says softly.
My eyes sting, “You don’t know that.”
“Harper, this is what I do. It’s not just your books, it’s everyone’s, Shelly’s pharmacy, Let it Spin. They are all so far gone…”
“You’re just cruel,” I mumble, unwilling to accept what he’s saying. He could just change his mind!
“I’m not. This is business,” he spits back, getting angry too. “I’m sorry if that upsets you, if it crushes your little dream to open a bakery but it’s not working. It’s not going to work. We both know it.”
“My dream,” I say quietly. “You don’t know anything, clearly. And you should leave, you staying here just gives everyone false hope.”
“I meant what I said, I can help before it’s over, I can—”
“Just leave!” I shout at him. “Just leave me alone!”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. He makes sure I have a handle on the bike before he lets go. I don’t know why I’m surprised as he gets in the truck, and leaves. Like I asked. My eyes burn as I watch him drive down the street.
Which is unacceptable! I cannot secretly, deep down, want him to stay. Want him to fight. Want him to be all Aiden about it and tell me “No,” like I’m the freaking dog. The dog who is whining miserably in the garage because he heard Aiden’s voice.
“He’s gone, Stuart,” I say. It’s not the first time I’ve told the poor dog those three words. But it will be the last.
_____
“Thanks, hon,” Dad says hours later.
“I didn’t make it,” I say. He bobs his head in a way that says he’s still grateful that I plated it for him.
I should be grateful for the food.
Actually, I am. The food was delicious.
It’s the benefactor I have beef with.
Ha! Beef like the steak flown in from New York, along with salads, sandwiches, and a whole host of already-prepared, ready-to-reheat meals from restaurants that probably have a Michelin star.
I’ll eat the food. I’m not an idiot. He wants to spend his billions on food for me and dad? I’m going to eat it.
I enjoy cooking, but not like I love baking. But most nights I’m just too tired to find any joy in it. It was amazing to get home, emotional and exhausted, and not have to come up with dinner. Even if I still have to plate it, heat it, cut it and help Dad eat it, and clean it all up afterward.
Adulthood really blows sometimes.
At least Dad had a great day today! Positive thoughts!
It is helpful, I didn’t have to plan groceries, organize the meal and then cook it myself. But the helper behind it all…what am I going to do about him? I should text him my thanks, but I also want to text him that he can shove his money where the sun don’t show. But…also…he bought me food?!
I shuffle through my emotions and my nightly routine, exhausted from staying on my feet at Nog’s last night. And from riding my bike so much. I make a mental note to call Carl about dad’s car again.
I help settle Dad in his room. I take Stu for a quick walk down the street—in the opposite direction of the dark lord—and get him locked up in the garage.
I can’t believe Aiden is still going to tear down Dad’s shop. And Tyrone’s. After he’s been here. He knows us, even loves the product. I should tell him that. He’ll never get to have his favorite coffee again if he bulldozes the coffee shop!
Not that I plan on talking to him ever again, sweet food gesture or not. “Sorry if that crushes your little dream.” Not sweet! He’s a jerk!
Finally, after my night creams are applied, teeth are brushed, pjs are on, I crawl into my happy place. I smile at the tiny little palm trees on the sheets. I hum one of my favorite songs to myself and let my mind wander to sandy beaches and bright sunshine, until I fall asleep.
CRASH!
What! I sit up. Was that real or a dream? I hear the dog whining, so he’s up too. Did he knock something over? No. I hear it.
Dad.
I rush downstairs and to his room, not in his bed.
“Dad?” My heart starts to race. “Dad!”
He’s in his bathroom. On the floor. Covered in blood.
I scream.
“Harper,” he murmurs. “Shhhh,” he croaks. “J-j-just my hand.”
“What?” I am searching the scene, trying to figure out what he doesn’t have the energy to say.
Glass. He gashed his hand on a glass. It fell, I guess he fell.
“Harper? Harper!”
“Aiden?”
There he is, in my dad’s bathroom doorway. In pajama pants and no shirt. I…why does he look like that?…how many hours does it take to get pecs so defined? And that V thing going into his sweats…I blink, trying to sort my one million thoughts.
He’s panting when he asks loudly, like he can see I need help focusing, “Harper, what happened?”
“Who…” Dad tries.
“Dad, this is our neighbor, Aiden,” I explain, “He heard me scream, I guess?”
Aiden nods and scans me from head to toe, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I just, there’s a lot of blood,” I say, my voice wobbly.
Aiden stands a bit taller, taking in the scene. “Right, let me get him up so we can see where he’s bleeding.”
“Okay let’s—”
“Harper!” Aiden stops me. “There’s glass everywhere, go get some shoes on. I can get him up. One thing at a time. First, I’ll get him out of the glass.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding frantically.
I run to the living room where I left my converse and slip them on over my bare feet as quickly as possible. Then I rush back to find Dad on the edge of the bed. His hand is wrapped in a towel, as well as one foot.