SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,59
after someone who was found naked fifty miles from home? And with walnuts?”
“I named you for her before she began losing her mind.”
Harper frowned. “I don’t remember ever hearing about this.”
“No?” Rebecca pushed her hair behind her ears. “I thought I told you. See? That proves I started forgetting years ago.”
“Mom, you’re just fine. You mislaid some herbs, that’s all. We’ll find them.”
“Unless they were stolen,” Rebecca replied, biting her bottom lip. “A box of Loretta’s homemade soap came up missing yesterday too. She said they either turned suicidal on Highway 1 and tossed themselves out of the bed of her truck or they were taken by someone when she was going about her end-of-market chores.”
“Oh.” Harper crossed to pour herself a cup of coffee. “I hate to suggest this again…but should we report the loss?”
“Well, we’re not out a lot of money, but I suppose if you wanted to mention this to Mad…” Her gaze sharpened on her daughter. “Wait, what’s this you were telling me about you and him?”
Harper glanced away. “He’s picking me up in less than an hour. We’re going to that new market up the coast you mentioned. I’ll check it out and see if I think the farm should apply for a booth.”
“You told me you spent the night with him.”
“Well…yeah.” When her mother didn’t have a follow-up, Harper smiled a little. “Thanks for not asking me if that’s a wise idea.”
Rebecca shrugged. “You’re a grown woman.”
“Right.” Harper nodded. “But have I made a big mistake? Am I making another by continuing to see him?”
“Do you like being in his company?” Rebecca asked, moving closer.
“I…yes. Yes, of course.”
“Then enjoy yourself,” her mom said with a little nod. “We don’t know how much time we have on earth or with each other, after all.”
Harper smiled a little. “Or how long we have to remember our time on earth.”
Her mom laughed, and brushed Harper’s hair off her shoulder. “Right. So take the moment, baby girl. Make it worth recollecting in your golden years.”
Thinking of ways she’d enjoyed herself the night before preoccupied Harper while she dressed for the day. But later, as she was sitting beside Mad in his SUV, she applied herself to making more memories. She shifted on the seat to get a better look at him. Dark-washed jeans, boots that looked comfortable but not too worn, a short-sleeved shirt, not a T-shirt, but one with a collar that looked suspiciously new, or at least…
“Is it true you iron your pillowcases and your boxers?”
He shot her a look. “Who told you that?”
“Your mother.”
“You may never talk with her again.”
Harper felt a pang when she thought that very well might be the case. Then she shook off the discomfort and pointed to the upcoming exit. “Take that one. It’s early enough that we’ll have time for me to treat you to lunch first.”
“I’m buying lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, now pointing to a free parking space. “I invited you. Look, there’s a cute café right near the beach.”
She hopped from his vehicle and noted his gaze trained on her legs as he climbed out as well. She’d worn a short black denim skirt that always garnered the best tips, along with chunky-heeled sandals with an ankle strap. Her pale green top clung to her ribs and showed a hint of cleavage. Maybe more than a hint, she decided, as she tracked his gaze moving upward.
Then he grinned at her. “When a woman looks like you look, sweetheart, a man must insist on paying.”
She smiled back, a rush of warm happiness washing through her. Throwing away any final concerns, she tucked her hand in his elbow. “I’ve forgotten how charming you can be.”
They got an outside table right away. The weather cooperated with a warm sun but a light and cool ocean breeze. When they were halfway through their lunch—burger for him, chicken Caesar salad for her—“most predictable menu choices ever” he’d said, and they’d both laughed—she put her elbow on the table.
“You know,” she said, “you never answered the question about the ironing of pillowcases and underwear.”
His gaze on her, he took a big bite of burger and chewed slowly.
“You’re right,” she said, waving it off. “What a silly question. What real man would even own an iron?”
“Hey—”
She snorted with laughter, hand over her mouth to hold it back. “I knew it!”
“Brat,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Do I need to prove to you I’m a real man—again? I was planning on