Sexy.
“It’s called Honeysuckle,” Harper said, thinking of what her grandmother would say. “It’s elegant without being uptight. Sophisticated without being stuffy. I think it will look lovely with your complexion and will help with your inner goddess.”
“Thank you,” Liza said, the words sounding a little rusty from lack of use. “For the advice and . . . well . . .” And there went the fidgeting again. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be going on a date at all.”
“Why is that?”
“His son is in Brooklyn’s art class,” Liza said, and Harper got a really bad feeling in her gut. “I’ve noticed him looking at me for a few weeks now, but he never approached me. Then the other day after class he asked me to dinner, told me about how you encouraged him to get back out there, make some time for himself.” She waggled a brow. “Cute, sweet, and a doctor to boot.”
Harper felt sucker punched in the gut. She would have let loose a grunt from the pain, except her smile was so tightly frozen her lips couldn’t move.
“Are you talking about Clay?”
“If you mean Dr. Walker, then yes.”
“My Dr. Walker?” Harper asked, her voice a little shrill.
“He’s lots of people’s doctor,” Liza said, then seemed to realize that wasn’t what Harper had meant. Her eyes narrowed, taking all the warm fuzzies in the room with her. “We’re meeting at the Cork’d N Dipped at seven for wine and a chocolate tasting.”
Okay, so Clay wasn’t Harper’s anything. But she felt as if he were. Even if she hadn’t felt the tingles.
Harper had noticed him first, before he’d lost the dazed failed-marriage look, the outdated goatee, and twenty extra pounds. She’d been there when he’d needed a friend, talked to him at the same wine bar, babysat his son so he could recapture some much-needed alone time. Well, she’d babysat Tommy because she loved that kid, but also because she wanted to help Clay.
And now Clay was ready to carve out a little time for himself—just like she’d encouraged him to do. Only he wasn’t interested in sharing it with Harper. She was just his fill-in friend.
Adam had gone into the new week with a mission: win friends and influence people. Not with his easygoing smile and charm, but through hard work and exemplary behavior—a real nose-to-the-grindstone mentality that spoke past his fast-and-loose reputation and more toward a respected lieutenant-in-training.
It was only Wednesday, and already it had become clear that there was a conspiracy to screw with his mission.
“A condom vending machine?” Adam slammed the request form on the kitchen table in front of McGuire. “Want to explain how this ended up on Cap’s desk?”
McGuire looked up from his bowl of cereal, his expression one of pure confusion. “You told me to fill out a request form for a new helmet, and when I saw your form floating around I thought I’d do you a favor and submit it for you.”
Adam couldn’t tell if the guy was being serious, or if he was really that narrow sighted. “What was it about the phrases condom vending machine and hose safety that made you say, ‘Yeah, Cap really needs to see this completely legit request’?”
“The Wrap Before You Tap It safety campaign did seem odd,” McGuire admitted. “But I figured that whether it was a joke or a real request, Cap would think it was funny.”
“He did when I showed it to him as an April Fool’s joke. Off duty. But when you submitted it officially, it somehow bypassed Roman’s desk and went straight up the line,” Adam said.
McGuire pushed his cereal bowl back. “Ah shit, man, Lowen saw it?”
“No.” Thank God. That would have been the final nail in Adam’s career. “His secretary saw it, noticed it was dated April first, and sent it back to Cap to deal with as he pleased.”
“How does Cap want to deal with it?”
“He doesn’t.” Not that Adam blamed him. Roman wanted to clean up another one of Adam’s messes about as much as Adam wanted to mess up. Which was why he mentioned that if Adam wanted to be a lieutenant, then he needed to start thinking like one. His first lesson?
Doling out adequate punishment for submitting a dickheaded request.
“He scrapped the form, agreed to let me talk to you about it, and wanted to offer his congrats to the newest member of the Beat the Heat planning committee.”
“That’s my punishment?” McGuire asked, his eyes dark with dread. “To help plan a stupid picnic with the Fucking New Guy?”
It was actually Adam’s punishment. One he gave himself—and one he would feel every second he was stuck with Seth and McGuire. But working with two dickheads seemed a fitting sentence.
Beneath the pain-in-the-ass pranks and bonehead decisions, McGuire was a natural. All the kid needed was some careful handling and solid direction and he would be able to go the distance. Roman had given Adam that direction, helped him transform from an adrenaline-seeking daredevil to a top-notch firefighter.