Chapter Five
“Hey, Harper,” Joanie said, as she and Harper were cleaning down the coffee machine, “could I talk to you about something?” The café was closing up, and besides Drea, who was in the office counting the cash, they were the only ones left.
“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Joanie had worked there longer than Harper, though she’d only just turned twenty.
“Well, you always seem so smart and organized. I wondered if you could help me with something.”
Joanie pulled some crumpled sheets of paper from the front of her apron and smoothed them out on the surface of the counter, using her palm to press them flat. It was an essay with a large D- in the top corner.
“I don’t really want everyone to know, but I never graduated high school. Long story. I decided to try community college to see if I could make up the classes, but … it’s really hard for me.”
Harper took a deep breath and reached across the counter, taking the paper so she could read the teacher’s comments. “Going back to school is the most awesome thing you can do. What do you need help on?”
“All of it, really. I can’t seem to get organized, I keep missing deadlines, and I’m getting shitty grades. I thought it might be easier now I’m a little older. But … no.”
Her heart pounded like it was about to beat right out of her chest. Harper stared down at the essay in her hand.
It was such an innocent thing. Some lines on paper, but to her it was a crossroad.
She could either take a step forward, reclaim a small part of who she was, or turn away.
“Well, for sure, I can help with managing your time, especially on assignments. And we can take each piece of homework as it comes, see what we can do.”
Tears filled Joanie’s eyes. “You’d really do that? Can we talk more at the pool hall tonight?”
Harper sighed. She always avoided social gatherings, anything that put her in the path of too many people in an unknown environment.
Until now, she’d declined José’s standing invitation to hang out with her coworkers, and had stood firm in the face of Drea’s constant persuasion.
But the look of hope on Joanie’s face made it hard to say no.
“Of course. Bring a notebook and a list of your current assignments, and we’ll find somewhere quiet to sit and figure it out.”
Being somewhere so public was her worst nightmare. It was too hard to avoid contact with so many people milling around. She watched Joanie dart through the swinging doors into the back, and hoped she could find the courage to keep her promise.
* * *
Trent lay back on the sofa in his office, rubbed his hands over his face, and closed his eyes. If he’d known that Eric would flake on opening this morning, he’d never have gone out drinking with Cujo last night.
A knock on the door made him groan. Pixie walked in. “Good news. Your last appointment just canceled, forfeited his deposit and everything.”
Hallelujah!
“Cujo, Lia, and me were thinking of heading out to the Long Cue if you’re interested. Lia’s almost done and Cujo just needs another half hour.”
Crap. What he really wanted to do was go home to bed, but he found himself agreeing.
“Sure. I’ll be there. Maybe just a quick beer,” he said.
“Lightweight.” Pixie smirked at him. Easy for her to say. A decade stood between them.
“Now hit the light and leave me alone until it’s time to go.” Throwing his arm over his eyes, Trent tried to get back to his sleep.
The power nap was over in the blink of an eye, and after an uncomfortable drive, his body squashed into Pixie’s matchbox of a car, they arrived at the Long Cue.
“I reserved us a table in my name,” Pixie said, ducking under Trent’s arm as he held the heavy, red door open for them all. “I’ll set up a tab and we can split it later. Pitcher?”
The pool hall was a long, narrow dive of a place that was never going to end up in a tourist guidebook. A bar ran along one side and six pool tables ran perpendicular to it down the other. The walls were a yellowish white, a testament to the smoking era and a derelict landlord.
Behind each table was a chalkboard, a couple of the boards with the word “Reserved” written on them, and a rack of pool cues.
The vintage Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner was playing “Bad Moon Rising,” classic Creedence Clearwater Revival. Someone had painstakingly polished the chrome and glass until it shone. The black vinyl records were visible at the top. It was the only thing in the place that had seen any recent TLC.
Trent took a look around the room and did a double take as he saw Harper leaning over a pool table, failing to hit her intended ball and sinking the white. He laughed as she pretended to hit her head repeatedly on the green of the table.
A Natalie Portman look-alike bent her head next to Harper’s, saying something that made Harper stand up again and laugh. Wow. She looked so carefree when she smiled.
Harper hit her friend on the shoulder but flinched as a girl wearing stilettos and trying to balance three beers accidentally brushed against Harper on the way back to her table. Fear flickered in her eyes as her shoulders pulled up tight, her body tense.
Interesting. Her friend pulled her closer, putting Harper between her and the table. It happened smoothly, quickly, as if they’d done it before.
He thought about the texts they’d sent each other this week, his phone becoming a permanent appendage so he wouldn’t miss one.
Cujo had thrown a couple of girls at him over the weekend, but Trent’s heart hadn’t been in it.
Sure he’d flirted a little—the girls were cute and funny, so why not?
But when it came time to take it a step further, he’d walked away, much to Cujo’s disgust. Seeing Harper now, he knew why.
He wondered for a moment what she’d been doing in the couple of days since he last saw her, what she liked to do when she wasn’t pulling shifts at the café.
He walked toward her, wondered how she would react to seeing him. Would that delightful flush fill her cheeks? He moved as stealthily as a guy with his build could, wanting to get there before she had a chance to panic.
“Hey, Harper,” he said as reached their table.
“Trent,” she said, startled, her hand coming up to her chest. “Oh my goodness. Did you just see what I did?”
Yep, there was the cute, embarrassed flush, and damn if it didn’t send blood flooding somewhere it shouldn’t.
“If you’re talking about that crazy sink of the white ball, then no, I didn’t see it,” he said, laughing. She hit him on the shoulder.
“You’re an ass!” she said as he grabbed at his arm in mock hurt.
“That’s a matter of opinion. I need you to stay still, Harper, because I’m about to put my hands on your shoulders and kiss your cheek, okay?”
Her fingers flared briefly, but she stopped them as quickly as they’d started.
Looking up at him, she smiled. “Okay.”
Trent steadied himself, moving toward her slowly, not wanting to freak her out.
Pushing her hair back over both shoulders so his hands could rest on her blouse, he leaned forward.
Her skin was still pink and soft. He breathed deeply.
She smelled like vanilla, sweet enough to remind him of dessert.
He touched his lips to her cheek for a fraction of a moment longer than he should and resisted the urge to groan as he felt her face lean toward his.
* * *
The tenderness in his kiss stopped her completely, the pool hall fading away until every particle of her focused on that one point of connection. One of his hands moved up her shoulder to the back of her neck, his thumb slowly brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear.
A shiver worked its way down her spine, standing every hair on end, bringing every nerve in her body to life.
Harper leaned a fraction of a degree toward his lips and closed her eyes, enjoying for the briefest moment a sensuous connection to another human being.
Trent lifted his head away from hers, but his hand continued to rub her neck gently.
She opened her eyes, struggling to bring Trent back into focus.
“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he said gently, smiling.
Lost for words, Harper just shook her head. She felt the absence of his hands immediately as he put them into his pockets.
“My friends are playing on the table a couple down. You already know Cujo and Pix. Come hang out with us for a bit when you’re done with your game.”
She found herself unable to answer. What the heck was it about him that had her acting like a speechless fool?
She watched him walk—no, walk definitely didn’t do it justice—swagger over to his table, and saw Cujo pour him a beer from the pitcher.
“What. The hell. Was that? Oh my God. I need fanning down!” Drea giggled.
It could only have lasted five seconds maximum, but her cheek was still enflamed where his lips had touched her, her body burning up.
“That boy has a thing for you, girl.” Drea was prone to exaggeration.
“It was just a hello kiss, D. Don’t blow it out of proportion. I don’t think I’m his type.”
“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing. You looked exactly like his type. What did he say?”
“He said hello and asked me to come say hi when I’m done playing.”
“So go now. I love you, but you suck at this and you’re making me lose. I’ll wrap this up.”
“No. Absolutely not. I’m gonna finish. Then I’ll go. He probably just wants to introduce me to one of the other tattoo artists.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s just what it is,” Drea muttered.
The game ended exactly one turn later when, despite her all-out focus on the green ball, Harper pocketed the black one instead.
Trying to evade Drea’s mock fury, she picked up her drink, took a gulp of it, and walked over to Trent’s table. Pixie was precariously balancing on one leg, trying to reach halfway down the green, her tiny frame struggling to make such a big reach.