wanted to apologize to himself for thinking of Harper like that.
His self didn’t feel forgiving.
Locking his jaw, he strode across the street and threw open the door to Harry’s. The bell jangled, the customers glanced over. Then they looked to Harper, who stood at the register, chatting with the brunette barista.
The other customers looked back at him.
Yeah, since she returned, this town had grown oh so smaller.
Harper seemed to notice the attention, because she stiffened, then took a slow look over her shoulder.
A bare shoulder. He’d been so focused on his sorry, that he hadn’t taken in her outfit right away. A dress. His Harper was wearing a strappy, flirty, flippy-skirted sundress. Sure, her long legs were covered by clingy leggings, but the garment revealed her shoulders and her collarbone and—now that she was turning to face him—some half-naked cleavage.
Goodbye, breath. Goodbye, brain power. Hello, horny Mad.
He allowed himself a moment of ogle, then forced his feet to move again. She watched him approach, her to-go cup clutched in both hands.
“Feel free to throw that if second-degree burns would make you feel better,” he joked.
She didn’t crack a smile.
Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he drew closer and lowered his voice. “Hey, Harp.” One hand reached out, but he let it drop. “I…”
Shit.
He looked down, back up again. “I was intending to say I’m sorry I kissed you, but God, Harp, I can’t ever be sorry I kissed you.”
One of her eyebrows lifted. “You said it was a mistake.”
And that word had been the hot coals in his bed last night. “Because it was going to set the tongues of Sawyer Beach to wagging.” Lie. Or half lie, which was why it went over halfway decently.
She took a sidelong look first one way, then the other. “I see that. Not fun.”
“Don’t worry. It will die a swift death as soon as we stop meeting like this.” He glanced down at the canvas tote slung over her shoulder and nodded at her huge cup of coffee. “We’re going to stop meeting like this, right? It looks like you’re taking off tonight?”
“Well…” She grimaced.
He did too, but on the inside, because until she left him again he had a big problem.
Left him again.
Yeah. He had a big problem.
Rubbing a hand over his hair, he tried to think his way out of this.
“I might need some help,” Harper whispered.
His gaze swerved to hers. “What?” She’d never needed him for anything—she’d proved that by walking away six years ago.
“Did you ever have a bad feeling about something?” she asked.
“What’s going on, Harp?”
“Harp. Harp and Mad. Remember when we were Harp and Mad?”
“I—”
“No one has ever called me Harp since leaving here, you know?” She stared down at her coffee. “Harper’s not a name that’s easily shortened. Or maybe it’s because a ‘harp’ is an actual thing. But of course, mad is an actual emotion, and lots of people call you Mad, right? The poker guys call you Mad. Your sister. Your mom, I remember. But nobody calls me Harp but you.”
If she had tap shoes on, they’d be clicking and clacking on Harry’s floor.
“Quit dancing around the subject, sweetheart.”
Her head jerked up, her eyes met his. Had no one called her ‘sweetheart’ since leaving town either? His hand reached for her again.
She sidestepped it, and gestured toward the tables. “Do you have a minute to sit?”
With a nod, he followed her to the corner of the room. He held out a chair for her and she folded onto it without looking at him.
He took his own seat. “I’m listening.”
Her tongue stole out to moisten her bottom lip. “Mad, can we keep this between us?”
“You have to share the ‘this’ first.”
She nodded. “Okay. You’re a cop. What do you know about crime in and around Sawyer Beach?”
He sat back in his chair. “It’s the usual stuff. Since you’ve been gone, we’ve gotten bigger, so some bigger crimes. But generally things are fairly quiet.”
“But you still have detecting to do, right?”
“At the moment, I’m on a two-week vacation because I just wrapped up a big case. A guy tried to hire an assassin to kill his wife.”
Her eyes rounded. “My God!”
“He was pretty stupid about it. The person he tried soliciting to make the hit was a cop.”
Harper let that sink in for a moment, then she reached out to grab his arm. “You played the hit man?”
“All wired up, with audio and visual.”
Her fingers squeezed. “That was dangerous for you.”
“Not so much.” He put his