Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Harper followed Ross into the kitchen, feeling wooden and shell shocked. Some sort of truce had happened between them. Unspoken, but it was there all the same. And thank God because she wasn't sure she could handle any more emotional chaos.
Her lips still tingled from his kisses, sweet kisses packed with so much punch—history, desire, regret...
Best not to think about it. He'd done it out of guilt anyway.
Ross retrieved a couple beers from the refrigerator, handed her one, and then took a seat across from her.
For a moment they sat there in silence. His shoulders were tense.
He scrubbed a hand down his jaw and let out a heavy breath.
Yeah, she knew those feelings well. Maybe he wasn't as immune as she'd led herself to believe.
After taking a drink, she fiddled with the label on the bottle. "Sorry about my attempted break in," she said with a sigh.
He stared at her for a long moment from beneath those thick black lashes, and she wanted to slide out of her chair and hide under the table. Why did he have to look so freaking hot all the time? Couldn't twelve years at least have given him a pot belly or a wart on the nose or something?
"I'm sorry about your father."
His words were said with sincerity, it made her heart ache. "Thanks. Sorry about your mom."
Ross nodded. "Maybe they're up there somewhere..."
"Yeah. Looking down on us wondering why the hell we're acting like idiots."
A half smile curved his lips. "Aye. Probably."
Harper drew in a deep breath, placed both elbows on the table. "So, why are we? I mean, logically, in the end, what's the point? It solves nothing."
"When it comes to you and me, Harper, logic never factored into it very much."
She couldn't argue with that. With them, it had always been heat and emotion, recklessness and insanity.
"We were just kids back then. We can be adults about it." She paused, not believing she was about to say this. "You know, leave the past in the past." Ross' dubious look, made her add, "Okay, well, we can at least agree not to go there."
"Probably wise," he agreed softly.
"So," she searched for something to fill the silence, "What is it you do anyway?"
He nodded toward the label she was picking at with her fingernail. "I design those."
Surprised, Harper stopped picking, held up the bottle and took a good look at the label. It was nice. Eye catching. "Really?"
"Really."
"How did you get into that? I had no idea you were into art."
Ross leaned back in the chair, his shoulders relaxing a little.
"Started as a hobby when I was little. Mum would bring me and Liam to her office at the distillery while she worked, would give us some paper and markers.
.. And that's what I'd do, pretend I was creating labels and ads for the business.
She'd pin them on the wall and say one day she'd use one.
When I came back here from the States, had to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, so I studied design.
I do a lot of work for independent breweries. " He shrugged. "Pays the bills."
All the time she'd known him—granted it had only been a short time in the scheme of things—he'd never mentioned his 'hobby'. "I supposed there are a lot of things we don't know about each other."
"Aye. What about you? I'm going to guess accounting."
Harper rolled her eyes. "I did mention that when we were..." Oops. Not going there. "Chief financial officer of Dean's if you must know."
"Impressive. And what else? Married, kids, divorced? What's Harper been doing for the last twelve years?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why he cared, but then she was pretty sure he didn't care. He was just making conversation. "No kids. No marriage. You?"
"Aye."
The answer hit Harper like a sledge hammer. Her gut twisted and a sour knot formed. He was married?
"Met her at university. Married second year. She left me by the fourth."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. My fault."
She wanted to start digging, and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from questioning him.
Ross smiled. "Kills you, doesn't it?"
"What?"
He leaned forward. "Come on, Harper. You never could keep a straight face about anything. My marriage failed because my heart wasn't in it, even though I told myself it was and wanted it to be. End of story."
"I was engaged once," she admitted. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that her engagement failed because her heart, too, hadn't been in it.
But then that took her to places she'd rather not go.
Not with him. And not right now. No, it was better to stay on task.
"So, what's it gonna be, Ross? Will you help me find the notebook? "
A deep sigh fell from his lips and he sat back in his seat once more, dwarfing the chair. "Aye. But Harper... How deeply is Dean's in trouble?"
"I know what you're thinking. By the time I have product ready to go, Dean's will be lost. And you'd be right.
" Harper drew in a deep breath and gave voice to the truth.
"Dean's is already lost. No," she said before Ross could say anything encouraging.
"It is. It's too late. Couldn't tell my father that now could it?
Not while he was sick..." She tried to smile but it came out as a grimace.
"I'm sure you know what it's like to lose the family business. "
"I do. But I was much younger. Mum tried to revive the business when we got back from Kentucky. But I was mostly away at university, away from the distillery and of little help to her when I was home. At least you were there, Harper. You gave him hope."
She shrugged at that.
"So why are you really here then, if not to save Dean's?"
"Because I promised. You weren't there. With him. He was so adamant. I couldn't say no. Part of me wonders... I mean, he had to know the time needed, the logistics, that it'd be too late. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly," she said softly.
"Or maybe he was trying to give you something to start over with. An option."
Harper let out a small laugh and took a drink of her beer. "A brewer I am not. I'd have to hire someone, find a small place to brew... Lost cause."
"And still you're here."
"Because I wanted him to rest easy. And because whatever is in that notebook is part of my dad. I want everything there is to have of him. Even if it is just a copy. Like I said, I don't want to take anything from you or Liam. I just want..."
What the hell did she want?
She hadn't quite been honest with Ross. Part of her had the same hope as her father had. That somehow, by coming here and getting the notes, she could save Dean's. But when said out loud it seemed impossible.
"I haven't gone through my mother's things since she died," Ross admitted, fiddling with his bottle. He cleared his throat and looked at her, a hard veneer sliding over his features, hiding his loss. "Guess now is as good a time as any."
"I hadn't thought of that." Frustration blew from her lips. She hadn't thought of a lot of things.
"Don't worry about it." He drained his beer, getting up and tossing it in the trash. "There aren't a lot of boxes to go through." He walked to the doorway, paused and turned back at her. "You coming?"
Harper stood, wondering why he doing this? Probably to get it over with. Probably wanted his life to go back to normal asap, back to a Harper-free existence.
As Ross led Harper to the attic, he wondered why the hell he was doing this.
Only forty minutes earlier, he'd stood at the bottom of the attic stairs and vowed Harper Dean would never make him do something he wasn't ready to do.
And yet here he was, climbing those same stairs.
As soon as he found the notebook and made Harper a copy, she'd be gone.
Out of his life. Things could go back to normal.
Though, he had to admit his life had become a quiet one.
A lonely one. A dull one, in many ways. Boring, as Liam would say.
Harper's appearance had certainly given it more spark than it had in years. Not that that was a good thing.
He opened the attic door, turned on the light, allowing her to pass him and enter first. As she brushed by, he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore.
Subtle and sweet—the very opposite of Harper.
But still it scrambled his senses. He never should have kissed the wench.
A groan rumbled in his throat as he rolled his eyes.
Harper turned in question. "What?"
"Nothing. The boxes are over there against the wall."
Trying to keep his distance, he stayed back a few feet. Not that it worked. His gaze kept going to her bum as she headed to the wall. Harper in hip-hugging jeans...
She stopped at the pile of boxes, neatly stack along the wall. The dim light made her hair into a halo. She looked innocent, an angel with a potty mouth and a bad attitude. "Maybe you should..." she said, obviously uncomfortable with digging into his mother's things.
Ross drew in a deep breath and moved to the boxes, opening the first and gazing into memories he'd long forgotten.
What he thought would be a gut-wrenching task turned out to be a trip through memory lane.
Time had dulled the sharper hurts, though the grief was still there.
Like flipping through a forgotten photo album, remembering happy times, remembering things he'd long forgotten.
And somewhere along the journey of going through box after box, he'd began telling his tale, sharing pictures that made up his mother's life, telling the stories associated with them.
"That's the last one," he said, closing the box and returning it to the pile as Harper lifted her hands over her head and stretched, cracking her spine. He couldn't help but stare, his gaze traveling over her curves.
Her hands fell and she smiled at him. An airy sensation blew through his stomach and he just stood there like a bloody, lust-crazed fool.