Chapter 3
Lark
Whether inside the gas station, outside in the sunshine, or now in the flattering filtered light of late afternoon, his shine can’t be dulled. Even the fluorescent lighting of the convenience store couldn’t change my mind.
Shifting the rack to the side, he comes between the door and the metal and around, bringing him face-to-face with me. Smirking, he replies, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, especially not bleeding in my kitchen.”
The slight wave that weaves through his brown hair probably gives him hell on bad hair days, but I doubt someone so blessed in the looks department has much to worry about.
He’s dressed differently, swapping a black button-up for the gray T-shirt he was wearing earlier, and black pants for the jeans.
Hard all over with an athletic build, his shoulders are broad, the shirt draped around his body like it’s a privilege, hugging him in all the right spots—biceps, forearms where the sleeves are rolled up.
The man is gorgeous.
He looks every bit of what makes me weak in the knees in the finely tailored clothes that fit him in all the right places from his arms to his chest and backside.
Dressed in black forewarns of a naughtier side while sincerity outlines the warmth of his eyes.
He’s a sinner and a saint battling it out inside an Adonis body.
God, I can’t wait to see who wins.
Standing so much closer now than before, he towers over me, clocking in at a good six-two, six-three. Harbor’s nothing less than GQ cover material.
I wasn’t dressed up when we met, but being in my uniform isn’t the way I’d choose to dress if I knew I was going to see him again. “Bleeding? Uh . . . oh right.” I touch my chin again and then inspect my fingertips. “I am, and this was definitely not in the plan.”
I step back and turn, searching for a paper towel or the first-aid kit Larry always brings. Neither is found.
He passes me to snatch a napkin from a drawer. Returning to me, he drops his gaze to my chin. He pauses, taking a slow breath and a slower exhale before he says, “We should clean you up.”
We . . .
A thousand reasons exist to steer clear of him. He’s a heartbreaker in human form if I’ve ever seen one. So at the top of the list, I’m just going to assume he goes through women like candy based on his attractiveness.
The thing is, I can’t judge him because I don’t have the best track record either. I may not have dated much, but I’ve made plenty of bad decisions.
With Harbor, no red flag is flying. I’m getting green all the way. I just wished that fate would have helped a girl out. Seeing him at work isn’t ideal and being clumsy is even worse. It’s downright embarrassing.
He dabs the napkin to my chin with the softest of touches as if it’s not the first time he’s taken care of a girl before. I hate that I wonder if he’s always the hero to other damsels in distress. Not appearing satisfied, his expression sours just as he passes me. “Come with me.”
I follow in the scent of his wake—rain mixed with a forest, ocean tides, and moonrise. God, he smells divine.
What am I doing? Why am I following a man I barely know without hesitation.
My dad told me to trust my instincts, but I’m now questioning them.
Not for the reasons I should be, but because I trust Harbor.
Trust isn’t something that’s always come easy for me, so I can’t explain why I feel such ease with him.
I take a deep breath as we cross the large room. “Where are we going?”
Without even a glance back, he says, “To treat the wound.”
“You’ll need more than Neosporin to heal my wounds,” I say with only a hint of sarcasm.
Harbor stops and turns back. His gaze goes from my chin to my eyes.
Another pause keeps me in suspense, my breath fully caught in my throat.
Then he approaches, gently pinching my chin between his fingers while tilting his head down, bringing us that much closer.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this first and then work on the rest.”
My thoughts blur as my heart pounds in my chest. For a moment in time, I’m captivated by the look in his eyes—one that says he could be the one to really heal me, to piece the remnants of my shattered past back together, giving me a chance to be whole again.
I’m not dumb enough to dream he can fix the past, but he makes me want to believe he can.
I look down, needing a reprieve from the intensity of his caring eyes to breathe again. “I think . . .”
“I think we should get that taken care of before the party begins.”
“The party—oh shoot.” I start to turn back, but he takes my hand. Warmth flows through, the feeling of calm settling my racing heart.
“I’ll vouch for your absence if necessary.” He nods toward the stairs. “I have a kit upstairs.”
“Don’t get hurt.” This would be a fantastic time to heed his warning from earlier this afternoon.
Slipping my hand from his, I stay on the bottom step. “I—”
“I’ll be careful with you.”
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me with something more than how most guys ogle me. Or maybe it’s the way he’s dressed as the devil, but his voice is pure heaven when he says, “I promise.”
What the hell do I have to lose? Anyway, I always was a sucker for a bad boy with a good heart. Let’s hope my intuition is right when it comes to Harbor.
I follow him up the stairs. When I see the corridor at the top, disbelief drops my jaw. “This is a really big house.”
He chuckles. “It really is too big.”
Other than his friend’s car and the cashier calling him a rich kid, I wouldn’t have guessed he came from The Pointe Estates. I wouldn’t say he’s a perfect fit into the luxury of these surroundings, but he definitely doesn’t look out of place either.
When we reach the bathroom, he says, “Hop up.”
I lift myself onto the counter, facing him. I’m still not at eye level with him, but I don’t mind the view from here. “Am I going to live, doctor?” I ask, teasing . . . Fine. I’m flirting because he’s not just attractive. He’s charming as well.
Especially when he cocks his eyebrow and his smile spreads slowly across his face. “I can’t have you dying on my watch.” And he might just be what my dad warned me about.
If we keep running into each other like this, I might not live to tell the tale. “Only time will tell.”
“You don’t sound very optimistic. Should I be concerned?” His touch is kind, but his skin feels like fire against mine when he taps my chin just shy of where it’s pulsing.
Attempting to clear my mind of Harbor and get solid footing back in the land of reality, I shake my head, but that makes things worse, and I get dizzy. “I feel faint, but it has nothing to do with my chin.”
Concern riddles his brow. “Do you need to lie down?”
“If you want me in your bedroom, all you have to do is ask.” I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, cringing inside. What the heck is wrong with me?
“I didn’t mean . . .” I didn’t know it was possible for him to be even more handsome, but he proves me wrong when he grins with pride.
“Please ignore whatever comes out of my mouth.”
“It’s hard to ignore your mouth.”
I practically collapse right here on what looks like an expensive countertop of cold stone. “I seriously can’t be responsible for my words or actions—”
“I need to keep an eye on your actions as well as your mouth?” He glances at my chin again before his gaze slides to my eyes. “This is going to be fun.”
I want to die inside. Did I list my dad or Amanda as my emergency contact?
I know I listed them both, but I hope Amanda is under the “In case a cute guy makes you swoon” emergency button on my phone.
If she saw Harbor, she’d understand. I’m about to jump off this counter and make a run for it, probably head down that long driveway and right back to Beacon because nothing is going to save me now.
There’s only one problem. “I should probably get back to work.”
“Let’s get you fixed up first. I’m pretty sure you bleeding isn’t a part of the entertainment tonight.”
“I think that’s a solid assumption.” Treating me like a patient, he’s careful as he cleans and then bandages my cut. “You’re all good.”
I touch the bandage and then twist to look in the mirror.
If I were to go off how well he treated me, and by how long it took, I would have thought a hospital visit was in my future.
But I have the smallest little skin-toned bandage on my chin.
It makes me laugh. As soon as I turn back, I can still feel the heat of embarrassment from what I said, so I face it head-on.
“Can we just blame the injury for my behavior?”
“Sounds reasonable.”
Enjoying this little reprieve in my shift, I don’t regret the wound one bit after he takes care of me. “You have amazing bedside manners. Have you considered becoming a doctor?”
Bending forward, he grins, small dimples forming on each cheek. “A time or two.” Standing up, he rubs his hands together. “You’re good to go, but—”
“But?”
“Are you going to finally tell me your name?”
“Oh right. That.” This time, I’m the one grinning. “Ow. Smiling hurts.” My fingers are quick to cover the bandage. The pain is bearable, but I sure do like his attention.
I hate to even admit it, but he makes me feel special.
“It’s going to take a few days to heal,” he says, covering my fingers with his, the gesture so caring that it causes my heart to beat faster. “Do you want to take off your shirt?”
“What?” My back hits the mirror from the fast lurch of my body.
“Blood,” he says, panic reaching his eyes as he takes two steps back with his hands raised in surrender. “You have blood on your shirt.”
Whipping around, I see the red spotting my white shirt. “Dammit.”
“I can leave, and you can try to scrub it to see if it will come out.”
My eyes find his in the mirror's reflection just before I hop off the counter. Facing him, I feel panic rise like bile, making me feel sick. “I can’t work around food with blood on my shirt. Larry’s going to kill me or, worse, fire me.”
"Can you go home and change?” He checks his watch. “The party doesn’t start for thirty minutes.”
“I didn’t drive here, and there’s no way I’d make it back in time.
Larry would never let me leave either because we’re short-staffed.
” Catching my mistake too late, I cover my mouth and stare wide-eyed at him.
“I shouldn’t have told you that. Please don’t tell anyone.
” If we were found here together, in a bathroom upstairs alone, I’d be fired.
Larry just got work back in the estates.
I can’t be the one to ruin it for him. I add, “I shouldn’t be here.
I need this job, Harbor.” Swinging the door open, I rush down the hall toward the stairs.
“Wait. I’m sure my sister has a white shirt you can borrow.”
I stop, my hand catching hold of the railing, and look back. His sister? Then it dawns on me. “Marina?”
“She’s my sister.”
“That would save my job.” I start back but stop in the middle of the corridor. “I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned.”
“That’s not necessary. She probably won’t even notice it’s missing.” He crosses the hall and goes down two doors. “Wait here. I’ll grab it for you.”
This could be another huge mistake, but I have no choice.
Walking back, I look around. You’d almost expect stodgy old paintings worth a fortune hanging on the fabric-coated walls.
Instead, there are black and white photos that capture the family in moments of time—a cannonball into a lake, their mom standing in a canoe just as it’s tipping over, a little boy with a cape soaring through a field, and a little girl holding a basket of strawberries.
It’s eternally summer from years back in this hallway. And so beautiful.
A glimpse into this family’s history makes my heart ache for what I’ve missed.
“Will this work?” Harbor asks, holding a shirt in front of him.
“Perfect. Thank you.” I take the shirt and duck back into the bathroom.
As I pull the pique fabric over my head, I realize this might be the most expensive item of clothing I’ve ever worn, making me nervous.
I’d hate to ruin it because replacing it would eat a hefty chunk out of my paycheck. But do I have a choice?
No.
I walk out, determined to find an apron to wear as soon as I return downstairs, which hopefully will protect it.
“How do I look?” I spin for him. “Trick question. It’s a boring uniform—white shirt, black skirt, shoes a granny would be mortified to wear, and the latest in fashion bandages.
” This is quite the predicament I’ve gotten myself into.
Covering my forehead, I decide it’s okay to laugh at myself. “Ignore me.”
“I tried at the gas station.” His words draw my eyes back to his. “It didn’t work then, and it’s not working now.”
I turn my eyes to the floor when swallowing becomes difficult. Twisting on one of my ankles, I whisper, “Thank you for everything.” Harbor’s been so nice to me when he could have just been another jerk rich kid.
Packing away a bout of shame for not telling him sooner, I summon the courage to face him and finally confess, “Hi.” My cheeks heat under his considerate gaze. “My name is Lark.”