SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,27
him.”
“He never asked me.”
The four words sent a jolt through Harper. She put a hand to the nearest table to steady herself, uncertain why she felt so shaken. Before she had time to analyze it, a blonde sprite appeared beneath their tent.
“Sophie!” she said, as her old friend moved in for a hug.
“I just can’t get used to turning a corner and finding you.” The other woman’s smile beamed sunshine.
“What are you doing here?” Harper asked, as her mom moved away to help another cluster of customers. “We do the Sawyer Beach market on Sunday afternoons. You couldn’t wait?”
Sophie scanned the produce on the tables. “Everything looks wonderful, for sure. But I visit several markets when I can. I told you I have that catering business on the side, right?”
“Right. I heard that.” Harper spread out her hands. “What are you looking for?”
“Well…” Sophie seemed to consider then she gave another smile, this one infinitely impish. “The truth is, I came for the cheese from Tony and already bought it.” She held up a string bag, with squares wrapped in paper inside. “What I need from you is the dish.”
“What dish?” Harper asked, hoping for innocence but having an idea of where this might be leading.
“I work at Harry’s,” the blonde said. “You don’t think I wouldn’t hear about you and Big Bad Mad leaving together last night?”
“The rumor mill,” Harper said, grimacing. “It was nothing. We started off, uh, chatting, and then…”
“And then?”
Harper narrowed her eyes. “You are way too interested in me and Mad.”
“Give a woman a break. If I can’t have romance, at least I want to hear about it.”
That’s right. Sophie had admitted to those unrequited feelings for Hart. What could Harper do but spill a little?
“We were not being romantic,” she said firmly. Their time together had been nostalgic. And a little dangerous. Because Big Bad Mad had been so big and so kissable and it had been a long time since her blood had run so warm.
Hot.
So hot she’d been off her game enough to make a stop at their old make-out spot.
“Harper?”
Yeah, she couldn’t reveal that to Sophie. Or the fact she’d considered kissing him again and letting nostalgia—or whatever else you wanted to call it—take away her common sense and inhibitions and take her down to that wide bench seat with Mad’s delicious weight on top of her. With a hand, she fanned her burning face. “Um…”
A pair of people wandered into the tent. Harper glanced at them. Reprieve! “I should go.”
“Okay.” Sophie grabbed her hand. “We’re having a beach party tomorrow night. Lots of people you know. Please come.”
“Oh…” Would Mad attend, bringing memories of the past and temptations of the present? Regret for not sliding down on that wide bench seat and pulling Mad on top of her rushed through her. Bad Harper.
“And Hart will be there,” Sophie said. “So I could use the distraction. Please come.”
Once again her friend made it impossible to refuse. “All right. Sure.”
“And if you want to dance with the flames of an old fire…” Sophie winked and was gone.
With a chagrined shake of her head, Harper turned toward the newcomers, strolled closer. “Can I help you?”
Two teenage girls smiled, wearing cut-off jean shorts and T-shirts that grazed their belly buttons. One gripped the handle of a red wagon, the bed holding a healthy pile of tomatoes in various hues. Harper gave them a cursory look. “We have some zucchini on special today. You could make a ratatouille like my grandmother or we put them in tomato sauce—”
“Oh, we don’t want to buy. We’re looking to get some money for these.” One girl tilted her head with its shiny, flat-ironed hair toward the wagon.
“You have to arrange beforehand with the organizers of the market to sell,” Harper said. “I can point them out and they can tell you the procedure—”
“It’s just the one time, see?” Cut-offs #1 glanced at her friend. “We have some extra that came from my, uh, grandmother’s garden.”
“Hello.” Harper’s mom walked up, her attention on the produce. “What are those beauties? Do I spy a Brandywine and some Black Krim?”
“Do you want to sell these from your booth?” the second girl asked the older woman, hands clasping under her perky teenage breasts. “We’ll give you a good deal.”
“Our grandmother could use the extra cash,” Cut-offs #1 added.
Rebecca raised her eyebrows.
“I started to explain you need a certified producer certificate to be a vendor here,” Harper said. “And that we can’t offer