“Because we’re friends,” Harper said. “Just because it didn’t work out how I dreamed doesn’t mean I don’t want them in my life.”
“You’re right. If you keep picking men who are looking for a bestie or a beard, then you won’t ever really lose them. It also means you never really had them,” Emerson said, and Harper felt her heart thump at the statement. “If you never open yourself up to more than friendship, then you’ll never have someone who is completely yours.”
Harper wanted to argue the point, because Emerson was making it sound like she did it on purpose. That she invested her heart into relationships she knew had no real potential of going anywhere, which wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
Because there was nothing more that Harper wanted than to have a family of her own. A husband and kids and that safe haven that she saw others find so easily.
But facts were facts and if what Emerson was saying was false, then how did Harper manage to get over Clay, the guy she’d invested nearly a year of her life in, in a matter of days?
A question she didn’t want to ponder sober, much less after a few glasses of wine. Because the answer might break her heart. “Yes, Adam charmed me—he is sweet and fun and makes me feel sexy. But just because I don’t want him as my ex yet doesn’t mean I want to make him mine either.”
Shay placed a hand on Harper’s knee. “What if you did?”
“You guys are the ones who told he wasn’t looking to be collected.”
“That was before he invited you to dinner. At the station,” Emerson said. “Then brought you dessert.”
Harper closed her eyes on a sigh, partly thinking about that dessert, but mostly thinking about how they had three days left in their deal. “He only invited me because I cornered him into being my boyfriend. He had to make it look real,” she admitted, feeling ridiculous and terrified about the whole situation. Ridiculous that she had to corner a guy into agreeing to be her boyfriend, and terrified that she wanted it to be true.
Shay laughed. “I may not have lived here my whole life, but in the two years I’ve been around I’ve learned a lot about those Baudouin men. First, no one can corner them, unless they are looking to be caught.”
Another fact, but her lie had also put Adam in a professional corner. One that might have cost him the promotion. Harper knew he cared about her, the same way he cared about everyone in his life. His brothers, his crew, the town. Adam had a big heart, and he was offering her a small piece. But the whole thing?
“We’re just having fun while it lasts,” Harper said, closing up the lids on the paint jars.
“And what if it lasts longer?” Shay asked.
A scenario Harper was too scared to even hope for. Outside of her friends, no one in her life had ever lasted. Not her dad or her mom or her family on the sets. Clovis was the only real family member who had stood the test of time.
Then there were her friends. Always there, always loyal, always happy to fill up that place in her heart when she became lonely. Oh, Harper knew the secret to making friendships that lasted forever.
This thing with Adam, she feared, had already gone past friendship. Past being charmed, past a simple crush, and into something much deeper. She’d seen it happen to her friends, more times than she could count, seen the moment when they fell in love, and, even better, had that love reciprocated. But it had never happened to her.
She knew she was capable of great love, she just wasn’t sure the reciprocated part would ever happen.
“I don’t think he’s looking past next week.”
“Have you asked him?”
A knock sounded at the door, and Harper plastered a smile on her face. “Mark Antony’s here to get his queen.”
“I can tell him to come back,” Shay said. “Emerson’s right—this is girls’ night.”
“And this is romantic.” Harper pointed to the door. “He rushed to come and get his woman, and you want to let him doubt that your urgency equals his?” Harper shook her head, then stood to walk to the door. The spring in her step was much lighter than her heart.
Harper looked through the peephole and—sweet holy mother—her entire body sprang to life at the sight of the best backside in wine country.
“Is it Mark Antony?”
“Right gladiator body,” Harper said. “Wrong hero.”
Because facing her apartment door, leaning a shoulder against the wall, was everyone’s favorite firefighter—who was supposed to be on duty. But he wasn’t wearing the standard-issue SHFD uniform. Nope, he wore a fitted gray T-shirt that clung to his body, proving that the back would be as impressive as his front, and a pair of battered jeans that hung way too low on his hips to be decent. But it was what he held in his hand that had her heart pounding.
She looked over her shoulder at Shay and whispered, “What’s the other thing about Baudouin men? That says they want to be caught?”
Shay smiled, big and knowing. “That when there’s dessert involved, they’ve started casting their bait.”
Harper swallowed at the implications, her heart picking up at the possibility.