It Started with a Dog, page 18
“I can believe it.” He yawned.
She figured he had the same sort of day ahead of him. Deliveries, invoices, personnel. But she didn’t say it out loud because she believed they had tacitly agreed not to talk about their jobs. Or their business rivalry. And how that rivalry might impact their situation. They’d left it blissfully untouched, a living breathing thing in the background, next to Truck. They had not mentioned it once the entire weekend.
Was it the right thing to do? Were they being smart and letting their relationship flourish . . . or were they hiding from it?
She didn’t have time to figure it out that week—she had too much to do.
Because they both had busy weeks, and she was at the company offices more than she was at Deja Brew, they texted for the next couple of days to keep in touch.
From her: Newsflash—no matter the size of the bowl you choose to make your salad, it will be too small, guaranteed.
From him: Late start this morning. Spent a little longer staring at the wall and pondering the meaning of life than I normally do.
From her: I HAVE to start eating healthier. But in the meantime, here is a picture of the cake I’m about to destroy.
From him: Behold the “extremely durable” dog toy, made for the “extreme chewer.” He sent a picture of the carnage Truck had heaped on a toy. It was a pig.
Your dog is so cool.
It was funny, Harper mused, how quickly someone could slip into the fabric of your life and weave themselves in. Just like that, he was a thread, a seam, and without him, she feared things could unravel. Maybe she was romanticizing it, which was very unlike her, but she felt like Jonah was supposed to be there, that he was the thread that was sewing up her loose ends.
Of course, that was easy to think while Deja Brew still wasn’t open and therefore, the conflict between them only theoretical.
Seventeen
Harper was at Deja Brew meeting with Carly Kennedy, the publicist she’d hired to help with the grand opening, when she got the text from Soren. She was to be at the Domain by three.
“What? There’s no way,” she said aloud.
Carly looked up from her notes.
“Shit,” Harper said, looking at her phone. “It’s Soren. The architect he said would be in Austin in a few weeks is here, today, and obviously he doesn’t care what is on my agenda, because I am suddenly expected for a meeting at the Domain.”
“But we still have so much to discuss,” Carly said, gesturing to the clipboard holding her to-do list.
“I know, I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” Harper said with a sigh. This could not have happened at a worse time. She was also expecting the bar lights to arrive this afternoon.
“Maybe we can circle back.” Carly glanced at her watch.
Carly was friendly, she was funny, and she loved what she did. Who could resist that? But the thing Harper liked best about her was that she was driven. It felt almost as if Carly had a job promotion that hinged on the success of Deja Brew’s opening, too. “Honestly, if I didn’t think my job was riding on it, I’d tell Soren I can’t make it. But I don’t think I can risk missing it.”
“What?” Carly laughed, as if she thought Harper was joking.
“Remember Kendal?”
“The admin guy? Good-looking? Sort of a clothes horse?”
“Bingo,” Harper confirmed. “Turns out, he’s in the running for my big promotion.”
Carly leaned forward in her egg basket and put her hand on Harper’s knee. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh, believe me, I wish I was kidding.”
“But how? You’re a vice president! You’re in development and he’s in administration.”
“That’s Soren for you.” Harper felt a swell of resentment. “He takes a liking to someone, and regardless of their qualifications, he’ll bring them into the inner circle. He said his job was not to lead but to encourage creativity.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s all in my head. But I keep looking for reasons that Kendal is suddenly the man for the job.”
“You can’t let that noise distract you. On the other hand, a woman’s instinct is rarely wrong,” Carly opined. “Unless you’re me, of course, and you think that you are totally getting that publicity gig for the Pecan Street Festival, and then find out another publicity firm got the job when you receive a promotional e-mail about the festival designed by that publicity firm. That’s bad gut instinct. But generally speaking, I trust my gut and you should trust yours. My gut says you should sign up for the King Mutt competition. No one can resist a puppy in the window, you know.”
Harper smiled. “I’ve seriously thought about it. But you have to foster the dog you sponsor.”
“What’s wrong with that? Dogs are great.”
“I work long hours and I have a small apartment. No yard.”
“Then don’t foster a Great Dane. And the dog is going to be here, bringing in the bucks, baby.”
Harper thought about Bob. She doubted he had the type of personality to get many votes, but she wouldn’t mind having him around. “Maybe?” she said tentatively.
“Maybe is good enough for now. I can work with maybe,” Carly assured her. “Just one thing, though—if you really want to do this, I need to know ASAP. I have connections at the ACC and can get them to fast-track you. They could maybe even be here at the grand opening. But I’ll need to know today.”
“Jesus, Carly. No pressure.” Harper laughed.
“Just saying,” Carly said. “It would be awesome and you’d be raising money for a worthy cause. How can you even hesitate?”
Harper tried to picture Bob stomping around here with his leg at that odd angle and growling at everyone. It made her want to laugh, but she wondered if most people would think Bob was mean and wouldn’t vote for him. Harper totally got Bob because they were so alike. Just like Bob the Bulldog, she was a unit unto herself in this world. She didn’t growl, but like him, she didn’t need anyone. Still, maybe sponsoring him would give him the shot he needed for finding a forever family.
Wait. What the hell was she thinking?
“Think about it,” Carly said, and stood up, gathering her things. “Text me later and let me know, will you?”
Harper said she would and saw Carly out. She glanced at her watch. That damn bar light delivery. What was she going to do about that? Harper looked up, her gaze landing on the Lucky Star.
* * *
Jonah was in the storeroom doing a coffee inventory when he heard Harper’s voice. She was asking what coffee drinks they served. He was surprised she was here—they’d both complained about how much work they had this week.
“Listed right here,” he heard Amy say, and imagined her pointing to the chalkboard. “Coffee, café au lait, and Mexican coffee. Choose your poison.”
Jonah stepped out of the storeroom. “Hey!”
“Hey!” Harper smiled at him, and Jonah instantly felt like he was riding a sunbeam. He also felt conspicuous because Amy was staring at him, clearly wanting to know who Harper was.
“I’m thinking of ordering a Mexican coffee,” Harper said to him. “Do you like them? What is a Mexican coffee anyway?”
She was speaking as if they all knew one another, like they’d all come together for a coffee.
“What’s a Mexican coffee?” Amy repeated the question as if she was stunned that someone could possibly not know. “You know . . . Mexican roast, milk, chocolate, and cinnamon?”
Harper’s eyes lit with delight. “That sounds delicious. I’ll take one, please.” She shifted her gaze to Jonah. He was still standing in the door of the storeroom. “Care to join me? My treat.”
“No thanks. I’m coffee’d out. How about we make it our treat?”
“Who is ‘we’ ?” Amy asked sharply, giving him a look.
He returned her look with one of his own. Amy frowned, which was even more noticeable when one was wearing purple frames with sunflowers in the corners. But she turned to the coffee machine. With her back to Harper, Amy glanced at Jonah and mouthed the words Care to join me?
Jonah ignored her and walked out from behind the counter to where Harper was standing. “What brings you in today?”
“Not much,” Harper said. She was looking at the pie display case.
“You two know each other, huh?” Amy asked over her shoulder, clearly unable to let any facet of Jonah’s life go unexamined.
“We sure do,” Harper confirmed.
“Is that coffee almost ready?” Jonah asked.
Amy muttered something under her breath.
“These pies look delicious,” Harper said. “Who makes them?”
“My mom. So are you taking a break? I thought you were at the Domain mostly this week.”
“Me? No. I’m just checking out the competition.” Harper laughed at her joke.
Jonah gave her a small smirk.
“Not funny?” She picked up a laminated menu. “Ooh, cobb salad. I love cobb salad.”
“Do you want one?” Amy asked.
“No thanks. I’m watching my waistline.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Because we are giving away a slice of pie every day this week.”
“Every day?” Jonah asked, not having heard this news.
“You are?” Harper echoed.
“Want a piece of pie?” Amy asked.
“Are you kidding? They don’t call it a piehole for nothing. Forget watching my waistline. Is that blackberry? I love blackberry pie.”
“I will take that as a firm yes,” Amy said. She turned back to the counter with the Mexican coffee. “So how do you two know each other? And is anyone going to introduce me?” She slid the door of the pie case open.
“I’m sorry. I’m Harper Thompson.” Harper reached her hand over the counter.
“Amy Mercer,” Amy said, taking her hand. “How do you know Jonah?”
“Funny story—”
“Harper is opening Deja Brew across the street,” Jonah said, cutting Harper off before Amy began to grill her.
The news clearly caught Amy off guard. She looked at Harper. “Oh.”
Harper gave a self-conscious little laugh. “That’s me!”
“Amy, you don’t mind warming up that pie, do you?” Jonah asked.
“Of course not.”
Amy’s voice was dripping with . . . ire? Fury? Jonah wasn’t sure what. But he knew how Amy could get when she had something stuck in her craw. “Come, have a seat,” he suggested to Harper, and steered Harper and her coffee to the booth in the window—the only booth with an unobstructed view of Deja Brew. It was better than having her sit at a wobbly table and on a rickety chair.
“Hi, Jonah!” A woman with an empty stroller went by the booth on her way to join the other moms for their weekly Mother’s Day Out. “Please tell your mom how good the chess pie was.”
“I will,” he said, and lifted a hand to the other women in the back.
Harper glanced at the group of women. “Regulars?”
“Yep.”
She sipped her coffee. “So good. Who is the artist?” she asked, pointing to a speaker where music was drifting out.
“Patty Griffin.”
“Oh,” Harper said. “I love her.” She put the cup down and smiled at him. “I really like this place, Jonah. It’s cozy.” She was looking around at the dated fixtures. The cheap pictures of Texas bluebonnets on one wall. The autographed Roy Rogers and Dale Evans head shots on another. “And eclectic. I ask you, where in all of Austin can you find a cutout of Roy Rogers?”
He smiled. “No place but the Lucky Star.” He didn’t need her to try and make the place sound cool somehow. It was the nineteen sixties in here. “What are you up to? What brings you in?”
“Well, for one thing, I miss you.”
“An excellent reason to drop by.”
“And two . . . because I sort of need a favor.” She winced, as if the favor might be distasteful.
“What do you need?”
Amy appeared with the pie and placed it before Harper. She also had a can of whipped cream. “Want some?” she asked, pointing at her pie.
“Yes, please!” Harper watched as Amy delivered a tower of whipped cream to her blackberry pie. She laid down a set of utensils wrapped in a paper napkin. “Thank you.”
“Mmm.” Amy walked away.
“What’s the favor?” Jonah asked as Harper forked a big bite of pie and stuffed it into her mouth.
Her eyes closed. “My God, this is wonderful.” She opened her eyes. “Who is making these again?”
“My mom. The favor?”
“Mmm.” She washed down the bit of pie with her coffee. “I have to run back to the office for an important meeting. Like, I’m afraid to miss it. Because if I miss it, I might get maneuvered right out of the promotion I want.”
“What?”
“But,” she said with an airy wave of her hand, “that is neither here nor there. The thing is, I’m stuck, and I am expecting the special bar lights we ordered.” She paused to look up from her pie. “They are supposed to look like starbursts. Or dandelions—I don’t remember what Kendal said now, to be honest. Anyway, they are supposed to be very cool, and those lights are the last thing we need to install before our grand opening this weekend. So I can’t really reschedule the delivery and I can’t miss the meeting.”
“Okay.”
She looked at him with her green eyes. “Could you please accept the delivery for me?”
“What? Harper, I—”
“I know, you’re working, and it’s a huge imposition, but I’m really in a bind.”
He was working, but he was sure she’d noticed there was no one in the shop this afternoon except the mom group. And it was really hard to look in her lovely eyes and say no.
“It would be super easy. Just let them drop it and sign for it, and voilà, my problem is solved.”
Jonah was always willing to help—ask anyone who needed help moving. Ask Burt. Ask his family. So why was he hesitating now with the person he was developing such intense feelings for? Was it the competition? He stared over her head at the empty crossword puzzle on the wall. He was being ridiculous.
The little bell attached to the door behind him announced the arrival of a customer. A barista from the Starbucks down the block entered the store. Jonah had seen her a couple of times before, had noticed the ubiquitous green apron slung over her arm. Amy, with all the aplomb of a bank robber, said, “What are you doing here?”
“You mean because I came from Starbucks? Or because you’re closed?”
“We’re not closed,” Amy said, sounding offended. “It’s just slow. There’s an entire group of women sitting right there.”
That entire group of women—three of them—were getting up to go.
“I’m here because I would like a real sweet tea. You know, the kind that rots your teeth.”
“You’re in luck, because that’s the only kind we serve. None of that syrup crap they put in the drinks at Starbucks.”
Jonah’s dad, having heard the siren call of sweet tea—he had a terrible sweet tooth—wandered in from the little private dining room they had for that very rare, really nonexistent special event reservation, and where his parents and aunt and uncle set up camp every day. His dad stood with his hands on his bony hips.
Amy was pouring the tea into a to-go cup. “Starbucks, man. Gotta say, I never liked the coffee. Too strong.”
“I don’t like it, either,” the barista said. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Amy laughed.
Jonah’s dad glanced over and spotted him.
“What do you guys think about that?” Amy asked. “The Deja Brew monstrosity?”
“Oh boy,” Jonah muttered.
“Wait. What?” Harper looked up from her pie.
The barista turned to look out the window, and so did Jonah’s dad. “I know the general manager is pretty pissed about it,” she said, and turned back to the counter to accept her tea.
“They’ve got no business being on this end of Congress,” Jonah’s dad said gruffly. “That’s not the kind of clientele we have around here.”
Harper blinked. She leaned forward, squinting a little. “Is that your dad?” she whispered.
Jonah nodded. “How’d you know?”
“Because you look just like him.”
“Well, I don’t think anyone around here is going to pay that much for a cup of coffee, that’s for sure,” the barista said. “We get complaints all the time, you know. Four bucks for a cup of coffee?” She spoke in a way that Jonah assumed was meant to mimic an uppity customer.
“It’s two dollars here,” Amy said. “ ’Cause not everyone needs a handcrafted cup of coffee.” She smiled sheepishly at the barista. “No offense.”
“None taken. I just work there.” The barista picked up her tea and put down her money. “Y’all have a great day.” She went out.
Jonah’s dad walked to where Jonah and Harper were sitting.
“Dad, this is Harper Thompson. Harper, this is my dad, Roy Rogers.”
“Roy Rogers!” Harper grinned. “Suddenly, this place makes sense. My grandpa loved Roy Rogers.”
“I’m named for him,” Jonah’s dad said. “So was the Lucky Star.”
Harper gestured to her plate. “I’d shake your hand, sir, but my fingers are sticky with excellent pie.”
“We make a good pie. We aren’t fancy like that outfit going up across the street, but you won’t find a better pie in town.” His dad hooked his thumbs into his belt loops like an old cowboy bragging about a bull ride.
