Chapter 6
Lark
I’m not sure how everything Harbor says feels like it has layers of other meanings built in, but he did make it work.
Kneeling on the sidewalk that leads to the door, he puts the last bolt back in place and then spins the wheel. “Good as new.”
“Thanks.” I spin the tire, not because I don’t believe him, but I’m not sure what to do and need the time to decide.
Should I invite him in, take the free ride in the fancy car and then make a break for it inside, or hang out here in the dark with him a little longer?
One and three are tempting, but my sensible side says two should win out.
“Would you like to come in?” And there goes all reasoning . . .
“Sure.” He rights the bike.
“Let me put this up.” I take it by the handles and start for the side of the house where I store it behind the bushes.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he follows me through the grass. As I hide it from sight behind the shrubbery, he looks down the street and then back at me. “Should you lock it up?”
“I don’t have anywhere to lock it, and my neighbors inside the house complained when I used to keep it in the entryway.
” I walk back around the house to the sidewalk.
Harbor keeps up, his strides double mine.
“They had a point since it’s a small entry, but now I take my chances.
” I’m about to take the coffee from him when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. “Oh no, my dad.”
Panic widens his eyes as Harbor looks around. I would laugh, but my dad is actually here in his truck, parked at the curb with the passenger side window rolled down. “You didn’t text me back,” he says, but his eyes are glued to the guy beside me.
With the phone in my hand, I see the three missed texts and one call that went to voicemail.
Yikes. “Hey, Dad,” I say, sounding as chipper as I can despite being not only busted with a man he doesn’t know but said man also making me forget to text my dad.
I move to the truck quickly before he gets out and this becomes a whole thing that it’s not.
“I’m sorry. I stopped at TJ’s to grab coffee and ran into a friend. ”
My dad glares over my shoulder, and mumbles, “A friend, huh?”
“Hello, Mr. . . .” Harbor goes quiet after approaching.
Under my breath, I whisper, “Summerlin.”
“Mr. Summerlin. It’s nice to meet you.”
My dad was never a cop, but he gives off the vibes when he wants to intimidate. Resting his arms on the thin steering wheel, he eyes Harbor. “And you are?”
Harbor moves to my side and holds out his hand. My dad doesn’t bother, standing his ground. The left side of his face pinches as he looks him over, and from experience, that’s never a good thing.
Lowering his hand, Harbor replies, “Harbor Westcott, sir.”
“Let me guess,” my dad starts and then leans back. “From Beacon Pointe?” His tone isn’t rude, but he calls things how he sees them.
“Yes, sir.” Harbor’s tone stays as solid as his demeanor, which I think matches his character. My dad will appreciate that. “How did you know?”
“The car might have been a giveaway.”
“Right. Well, speaking of cars, I should probably go.”
Jumping into the exchange, I say, “Harbor gave me a ride home since it was dark.”
My dad looks into the rearview mirror and then back at us again. “How’d you fit her bike in a Ghibli Modena?”
Harbor’s surprise matches mine. He asks, “You know cars?”
I start to laugh when my dad shakes his head. “Yeah, I know cars.” He finally directs his gaze on me. Since the engine is rumbling, he shifts the old Ford truck into gear. “Next time, text me, Pip. I’ll come get you.”
“I will. Sorry for worrying you.”
My dad looks at Harbor one more time. “Thanks for making sure she got home safely.”
“My pleasure.” He receives a glare for that. Harbor is quick to add, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Summerlin.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Pushing the gas, he pulls away from the curb, leaving the two of us alone again and standing in awkward silence.
When the taillights disappear down the street, Harbor turns to me, and says, “That was fun.”
I burst out laughing, but I feel my cheeks heat. “That was mortifying.”
Gently knocking his elbow into me, he grins. “Nothing to be mortified about. You met my mom. Now I’ve met your dad. All seems right to me.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I quirk an eyebrow at him this time. “How’d you land on that?”
“I’m just saying that things are happening. Maybe faster than usual, but I don’t think you can deny destiny or the chemistry.”
Now both eyebrows shoot straight up to the sky. “Chemistry?”
Leaning closer, he whispers, “Don’t you feel it?”
I definitely feel it.
“I’m . . .” It’s not just my cheeks heating anymore.
His words warm my chest like a hug. A little flustered, I take a step back in a bad attempt to clear the thoughts that have me wondering what it would be like to kiss him that are presently running rampant.
When he pushes the strands of hair that had fallen in my eyes away from my face, a shiver runs up my spine. “I’m cold and should probably go in.”
I start walking up the sidewalk but stop and turn back when I realize he’s not next to me. “Hey, Westcott?”
“What’s up, Summerlin?”
“You coming?” I smile with a nod toward the house and then head for the door.
I hear the hurried steps behind me. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Using the house key, I unlock the main door and then have him follow me to the door leading to Amanda’s and my apartment. “We’re over here.”
Leaning against the wall while I unlock our door, he asks, “We?”
“My roommate and I live here. My best friend, Amanda.”
“Ah.” I unlock the door and open it wide, silently inviting him in. “It’s nice in here. Which apartment is yours?”
“Over here. This apartment was a good find, affordable and close enough to campus.” I laugh to myself about the surprise visit from my dad. “It’s also only about five blocks from my dad.”
Harbor walks in and stops in the living room. “Nice guy.”
I shut the door and lean against it. “Tell me the truth.”
He chuckles. “I’m not easily intimidated.” Rubbing over a shadow of scruff on his jaw, he adds, “But he does a good job.”
Pushing off the wood door, I take the coffee from him and then drop my keys in the bowl on the small kitchen bar. “He tries.”
“Does he come by often?” Harbor’s presence fills the space. This place would be too small to ever adequately house a guy of his stature, his shoulders that appear broader in this small apartment, and standing at a height that has him caged in by the ceiling.
“Not that often.” Moving around into the kitchen, I set the small bag of coffee and the box of pumpkin spice next to the coffee maker on the counter. “Thank you again for the coffee. You really didn’t have to do that.”
“Coffee is the nectar of the gods. I have an addiction, so I can appreciate the need to be prepared when you wake up.”
Opening the cabinet, I reach for two mugs. None are matching, which never bothered me until Harbor Westcott was standing in my apartment. His house is so beautiful that I’m sure their dishes match. They probably have formal sets for special occasions and daily plates for everyday use as well.
I grab my favorite ones since that’s all I have to fall back on. “I’ll actually be up studying tonight, so I needed caffeine. Would you like a cup?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Staring at the options, I splurge and go for the good stuff—pumpkin spice—and hold the box up. “Are you good with this?”
“I’ve never had it, so it will be a first.”
I put the beans in the grinder and then into the machine. “I don’t have the fancy syrups or anything, but I do have sugar and creamer.”
“I’ll take mine however you take yours.”
“Are you always so agreeable?”
He chuckles. “Guess it depends on who you ask.”
While the coffee percolates, I lean against the counter facing him. “Name a person who would disagree with my assertion.”
“Bailey Bensimone.” Not one hesitation. No waffling about who to choose. Not even shy about throwing a name out there. He just did it when most wouldn’t.
The thing is, I’ve heard of her. I suddenly feel uneasy. “She goes to the university.”
His eyes latch onto mine. “Do you know her?”
“No. Just her name.”
“I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You were just being honest.” I come closer, standing with only a sink and a small bar between us. “But you have me curious. Why would Bailey Bensimone call you disagreeable?”
I hate that he clams up, but he does, turning his back to me and walking to look out the front window. “It’s a nice street. Quiet.” When he turns back, he asks, “Where’s your roommate?”
“Working. She’s a server and closes on Sundays.”
The water stops filling the full coffee pot, drawing my attention to it. Pouring powdered creamer and a dash of sugar into each mug, I stir, and then present the blue mug to him. He takes one look and smiles. “You’re a Yankees fan?”
“It’s my dad’s favorite team, so I grew up watching the games with him. I asked for tickets for my fourteenth birthday.” I sip, letting the warm liquid meld with the good memories. “My dad said I could pick out anything I wanted from the gift store.”
Both his hands wrap around the mug like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held on to. “You chose this mug?”
“I remember flipping over price tags on the jerseys and T-shirts. They cost way too much. I couldn’t let my dad spend that. He’d worked late for months to pay for the game tickets and the night at the motel. I really didn’t want a pennant or a foam finger, so I chose the mug.”
“If you could have had anything without worries over money, what would you have picked?”
“A jersey.” Approval reflects in his eyes. I add, “But I love that mug.”
He takes a sip of coffee, staring at the mug even once lowered. “Not sure I can agree on the team, but it’s a good mug. A New York classic.”
I move into the living room and set my mug down, one I got when my dad forgot it. He got it from Dell’s Creamery when Dell was trying to butter my dad up to cut the bill for fixing his delivery truck.
“So,” I say, sitting on the couch. “Did you just happen to go to the gas station tonight or—?”
“Or did I show up hoping to see you?” He comes to sit next to me. Setting his mug on the table next to mine, Harbor then rests back and spreads his arms wide across the back of the couch. He looks me in the eyes and replies, “The truth?”
“Always.”
“I went there hoping to see you, but when I didn’t, I grabbed a bottle of water since I was there.”
“You really didn’t know I was there?” I laugh, remembering how I was bent down on the food aisle. Did destiny play a hand in our meeting?
“Not until I saw you at the register.” Not a lie is detected in his eyes. That leads me to believe that maybe it was meant to be.
Just like in the movies.