Chapter 27
Harley
See the Best in People
‘Right kiddo, let’s do this.’ Harley helps Rosie clamber down from the van.
It’s Saturday, and they’re dropping cake donations off at the Happy Café.
Kirsten messaged last night with a plea: Rosie’s badgering me relentlessly to ride in your van again.
Free tomorrow? Smiling, he found himself replying OK.
A moment later, she responded, Thanks. This is what you get for doing the school run! X
The kiss turned his smile onto a full-on beam, before catching himself. Stop it.
‘It’s Princess Rosalie, today, remember?
’ Now, the little girl’s indignant voice scatters his thoughts as she takes his hand.
Her chin lifts to prevent the plastic silver tiara, encrusted with pink jewels, slipping off.
It’s a good match for the white fur-trimmed cloak she’s wearing over a blue chiffon dress with puffy sleeves.
‘Sorry, Your Majesty, how could I forget?’
‘I’m a princess, so it’s Your Highness,’ she corrects. ‘You need to watch Cinderella. Ooh, we can watch it at your flat tonight, and I’ll show you how my cloak lights up in the dark.’ She turns around, face shining with excitement. ‘Mummy, can you make red velvet cake? Pleeeeeaasssseeee?’
Throwing Kirsten a pleading look, he sees her bright blue eyes dancing with mirth. ‘Cinderella?’ he echoes faintly. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘Och, what a lovely little family.’ An elderly woman with lilac-rinsed hair remarks in a Scottish accent as she leaves the Upston House café, beige leather handbag hanging from one arm. ‘Clover and I were just saying so.’
‘Clover, huh?’ Harley remarks. She knows he and Kirsten aren’t a couple, but has let this stranger believe it anyway.
Kirsten’s face flushes, and she turns to open the van doors, probably mortified by the idea of being married to and sharing a child with him.
Rather than drawing it out by explaining Clover’s meddling, and risk embarrassing the nice woman, Harley simply responds, ‘That’s kind of you. Have a good day.’
Wow, progress, his heart donor remarks in his head. Thanks, he responds wryly.
‘And you. Cheerio now.’ The old woman nods with a farewell smile, before wandering off down the driveway.
Glancing at Rosie, he asks, ‘Assume you’re not too high and mighty to carry cakes?’
‘Nooo. Disney princesses are helpful.’ Diving into the van, she emerges with the smallest box and skips off towards the white, elegant building.
‘Sorry,’ Harley tells Kirsten as they follow, laden with cakes, ‘easier to let her believe it, rather than trying to explain Clover’s scheming.’ Or because the idea of them as a family wasn’t so terrible? Huh.
Her eyes flicker away, ‘’S fine. But I was surprised you were okay with it. I mean, if someone overheard, it could be splashed across the papers you’re apparently married again, with a child in tow.’
‘Didn’t think about that.’ A mild panic rises in his stomach, but he pushes it down. ‘She seemed harmless. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ They step aside to let a young couple pass and he lowers his voice. ‘Why do you think Clover did that?’
‘Knowing her, as I’ve got to over past weeks, it’s probably because she wants everyone to be happy. You know her and Albie are an item now?’
‘I thought there was something going on from the way she had us slaving away. Not surprised to hear her plan worked. She’s quite formidable.’
‘Yeah, I envy her, actually.’
‘Why?’
‘She knew what she wanted and went after it. Knows life is too short to kick yourself for the stuff you didn’t do.’ Thoughtfully, she narrows her eyes. For some reason, it makes him nervous. ‘Come on. We’re burning time, and you’ve promised to watch a Disney film tonight.’
‘Hang on…’
As she darts over to the counter where Clover and Rosie are whispering with their heads together, he hears her laughter above the chinks of forks and spoons against ceramic-ware, and people talking. Grinning, a feeling of contentment expands his chest.
Yes! The little voice crows, the joy apparent.
‘I don’t believe this!’ he explodes, shoving the newspaper away.
Kirsten’s head jerks up from uncorking a bottle of red wine. ‘Shhh. Rosie’s next door.’ Her brow creases. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Bloody vultures.’ He swears under his breath. Grabbing some magazines and papers on the way home intending to put them in the library for everyone, he’d idly started reading one. ‘Page 6.’
Moving to his side, she grabs the paper and studies the picture of Harley scowling as he exits a shop. ‘Wow, you don’t look happy.’ Holding it up, she compares it with the thunderous man before her. ‘Hmmm, a matching pair, although you’re less beardy these days, thanks to my daughter.’
‘It’s not funny!’ Though part of him does want to joke about the way Rosie convinced him to trim his beard, short enough to see his chin cleft. She kept touching the dip, fascinated, until Kirsten told her to leave it alone, or he might not watch Cinderella.
‘Sorry,’ Kirsten says. ‘Just trying to lighten the mood.’ She scans the article, ‘Did you read the whole thing before losing your temper? It just says you were seen near Southampton, like the piece in that gossip mag the first time we visited the café…’ Her voice trails off.
Is she thinking about the pulse-pounding kiss they shared that day?
Carrying on, she says, ‘You bought everyone a coffee? The barista’s quoted. “It was a nice gesture and has never happened before. Seemed like he was trying to keep a low profile too.” You know, it’s a positive article, other than ending with a comment about whether a leopard can change its spots.’
‘A good point.’ He rolls his shoulders to release the tension.
‘Lazy writing if you ask me.’ She goes over and shoves the paper into his recycling bin. ‘Why’d you buy them all coffee?’
‘Didn’t want them thinking I was a compete dick, I guess. Got the idea from one of Albie’s advice notes.’
‘A dick?’ She looks intrigued. ‘Because of your reputation?’
He winces, stung. ‘No. A woman recognised me and was asking questions. I panicked, and was sharp with her. But I also felt bad about disturbing everyone. They didn’t need my drama.’
‘In other words, you wanted to make up for hurt or disruption. It was kind. Would pro-player Harley with a swanky apartment by the Thames have done that?’
He laughs, a mixture of bitterness and wry humour. ‘Definitely not. He would’ve sent his PR person to get a healthy beverage without saying thank you.’
‘Glad I didn’t know him.’
‘Me too,’ he says with feeling.
‘Anyway, point proven. You’re a better person now. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’ Shifting closer, she takes a deep breath. ‘If you weren’t a good person, I wouldn’t like you.’
His hearts pick up pace, thudding in his chest and the little voice blurts yes jubilantly, before he inwardly begs her to please go away. Aloud, he denies, ‘You shouldn’t. You’ve been hurt before. Surely you can’t be in a hurry to rely on someone?’
‘A hurry? I’ve been single for years, and am financially independent. My business is doing so well I’ll need to start employing people. I bake until midnight some days.’
‘If you didn’t keep helping people—’
‘It’s part of who I am, don’t tell me to stop.’
‘Know what’s part of who I am?’ he tosses at her.
‘Cheating. I was unfaithful to my wife, and not just once. It’s why she skinned me in the divorce.
That, and because I wasn’t well enough to put up a fight.
Point is, once a cheater, always a cheater.
Right?’ It was what everyone believes, so he might as well say it.
Kirsten folds her arms. ‘Not necessarily. People often cheat because they’re unhappy. Not that it’s an excuse. Would you ever cheat on me?’
‘Course not.’ It’s instinctive, and he feels the truth down to the soles of his feet. It staggers him. He can’t be contemplating a serious relationship with a single mum. The responsibility is unbearable. What if they give him their hearts, and he breaks them?
What if you don’t, and are happy? She counters.
No. He retorts. It’s too much.
‘Anyway, we’ve gone off topic, and should get back to Rosie.’ He shuts Kirsten down, pointing to a cupboard. ‘Wine glasses are in there.’
‘Fine.’ Hurt widening her eyes, she flings open the door. Going up on tiptoes, she complains, ‘I can’t— Oh!’ Her voice hitches as he reaches past her, hard chest pressing against her back.
He can feel every warm curve and hear how her breath quickens. In a weak moment, he buries his face in her brilliant red hair and inhales. Needing to be close to her, feeling bad for his brusqueness.
Twisting around in his arms, she gazes up with heavy lidded eyes. He clinks the wine glasses on the counter, staring back as his large hands settle around her narrow waist and squeeze. She slides her palms up his chest, grasping his collar to pull him close.
‘Are you going to kiss me again?’ she pleads breathily.
Yeah, the voice urges, just kiss her, already.
Rather than encouraging him, the exasperated tone breaks the spell. Easing away, he reluctantly unfurls Kirsten’s grip. ‘I’ve told you, it’s not a good idea.’
‘Why?’ she demands. Her gaze is tempered by another emotion now, not just hurt. Anger? Stubbornness? ‘We’re attracted to each other, and there’s ridiculous chemistry. I mean, you just smelled my hair.’
‘I didn’t.’ His face heats.
‘You did.’ She nodded. ‘We get on well, and you enjoy talking to me. I know you do.’
He blows out a breath. ‘It’s not about that.’
‘What, then?’
Opening his mouth, he hesitates, before snapping it shut. Unable to articulate his doubts and fears.
‘Okay. I’ll go again. Despite the fact you sometimes say inadvisable things around my daughter, she adores you. And there’s no one I’ve ever trusted her with more.’
This shocks him. ‘Really?’
‘Really. She needs a male role model. But don’t worry, she’s not about to start calling you dad or anything.’
What surprises him aren’t her words, but his reaction. He doesn’t mind the idea. Has never wanted to be a father and had far from the best example set by his own, but there’s something about caring for a child that takes you out of your own head. Plus, Rosie is a good kid.
Kirsten steps closer with a gleam in her eye, and he wonders if she’s trying to channel Clover’s single-mindedness. ‘I know it’s not just me who feels this. You like me too.’
‘You’re amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend—’
‘No.’ Rising on tiptoes, she hooks her fingers into his belt to anchor herself, causing his breath to falter. ‘We’re more than that.’ The air between them heats, and he aches for her to crush those wondrous breasts against his chest.
‘So, why can’t we be together?’ she murmurs, lips a centimetre from his.
He’s hot, distracted. Can’t think how to answer. ‘Um. Because it’s not a good idea to date a neighbour, and I’m not looking for a serious relationship.’
‘You could always move somewhere else.’ Her tone’s playful. ‘Besides, maybe I’m just after a fling.’
‘You are?’ He inhales her scent. The floral one that always teases him.
‘Why do we have to define it, before we’ve even started?’ But letting go of his belt, she eases away. ‘Those aren’t the real reasons, Harley.’ Boldly looking him in the eye, she adds, ‘When you’re ready to tell me, let me know.’
His body feels bereft without hers. He’s blind-sided, not sure what to think, feel or say.
Her hand trembles as she pours the wine, affected by their closeness, and there’s an honesty in that which is appealing.
Sighing, she says, ‘We’d better get back in there.’
‘Yeah.’ But he’s not listening, because her impassioned words are echoing through his mind.
We’re more than that. Those aren’t the real reasons.
Yet, she’s giving him space. Even though she could push the physical side, she respects he’s not ready.
He thinks of today’s note from Albie. See the best in people.
Kirsten isn’t playing games like other women he’s known.
I’m here when you’re ready. The question is, will he ever be? And if so, will she still be waiting?
‘By the way,’ Kirsten picks up the wine glasses, ‘did you post the letter to your donor’s family?’
‘Yes. I thought about what you said and sent it to the hospital. Hopefully they’ll pass it on. I want them to know her heart found a safe home.’
She huffs. ‘And you think you’re not a good person? Maybe instead of seeing the worst in yourself, you should try seeing the best.’
The little voice is quieter but nonetheless compelling. I agree.
As he follows Kirsten into the lounge, a photo of him accepting a Wimbledon trophy straightens on the wall from where it’s been hanging crooked and neglected. A whirl of sparkles sweep over it and the glass resumes its former shine.