It Started with a Dog, page 9
“Ouch,” she said. She tried to right herself. “I think my vest is caught.”
Jonah reached around her—her vest was caught on a small protuberance in the bark of the live oak. They were on rocky ground, and it was difficult to access. He had to press against her to reach it, was acutely aware of the feel of breast against his chest. Maybe she was, too, if the red splotches on her neck said anything.
He freed the vest, but when she stepped away, he noticed the material had been damaged. “It’s snagged. I’m so sorry, Harper. I’m the worst dog trainer ever.”
“It’s okay! It was my fault, really. It’s not like I don’t know what dogs do after they swim—I should have been more alert.”
What stars had aligned for him to find this woman? But he was going to pay for that vest. He reached up and used his thumb to wipe water from beneath her eye.
“I must look a mess.” She smiled.
“Not even close.” He wiped another spot of water from her cheek. And then one from her top lip.
Harper’s gaze fell to his mouth, and even though it was getting late, he never wanted this date to end, and Truck had obviously wandered up to someone he didn’t know because he heard a woman say, “Oh my God, he’s wet.”
“I know a place where they smother everything in cheese and let dogs hang out on the patio.”
Harper’s brows rose. “Where is this magical place?”
“The Cedar Door.”
“Of course. An Austin institution.”
“You know the place?”
“Can you call yourself an Austinite if you don’t know the place?” She poked him in the belly. “I would do anything for cheese. I would run forty yards in four seconds for cheese.”
“Wanna go?”
“Wanna go.”
* * *
Jonah’s ridiculous dog was exhausted, so it took some work to get him into the truck. Harper was already on the Cedar Door patio by the time Jonah arrived. Truck crawled under the table, moving it about a foot without even realizing it in his quest to settle in. Harper reached down and rubbed his head, and Jonah noticed that her long-sleeved shirt was splattered with muddy lake water. Christ, what a great date he was.
They agreed on beer and tacos and chatted over the plates of food beneath a portable heater that the server had switched on.
Harper asked if he had siblings.
“Not now. I had a sister,” he said. “Jolie was her name. Not that I really remember her, to be honest. She died of leukemia when I was four.”
Harper looked up from her taco, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, Jonah. I’m so sorry. How awful for your family.”
“Thanks. It was tough for all. But I really don’t remember much from that time, other than mostly my parents were sad, and that Jolie wasn’t there anymore.” He didn’t like thinking about it still. “What about you?”
“Only child. There’s nothing much to say about my family. I was a surprise, I know that much. My parents are older.” She told him they were readers and patrons of the arts. And that they’d named her Harper Atticus Thompson. “Harper for Harper Lee, who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird, and Atticus for one of the main characters in the novel.”
“For real?” Jonah asked, grinning.
“For real.” She told him they were currently on a Mediterranean cruise. “They travel a lot,” she said, looking at her plate. “Like, all the time.”
“Do you travel with them?”
“No.” She smiled a little. “Three’s a crowd.”
Jonah snorted. “Parents don’t think three is a crowd.”
“Mine do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they have a life like they do. They love each other’s company and have the means to do what they like. It’s just that sometimes, with them gone as much as they are, the family scene feels a little lonely.” She smiled and shrugged. “Hey, I’ve been dying to ask—what’s your job like? I mean, do you look at calculations all day long?”
“Something like that. A lot of physics and math involved.” He thought about his conversation with his boss, Edgar, just before the holidays. “Actually, I have an offer on the table to lead a big deep space satellite project.”
“Well, that sounds awesome and exciting and important! What do you mean offer? Are you in competition for it?” She selected a taco.
“Not really. It’s mine if I want it. I’m seriously thinking about it. I really want to do it, but I’ve taken a leave of absence to help my parents out.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine.” He smiled reassuringly. He didn’t really want to get into the nitty-gritty of the Star, so he said merely, “My dad is recovering from cancer treatment. They have a mom-and-pop shop that needed attention while he was laid up, and so I took a leave of absence to help them out. And then this really great opportunity comes along. The problem is, they need a start date before the end of my sabbatical. I’m thinking about what I should do. I might not have another chance like this come around again for a very long time.”
Harper looked wide-eyed. “Wow . . . that’s a tough one. How long do you have to make a decision?”
Edgar hadn’t given him a definitive date, but it was imminent. “A couple of weeks or so.”
She stared thoughtfully into the distance a moment, absently scratching Truck’s head. “It’s funny—I have a great opportunity on the horizon, too. All I have to do is knock one project out of the park, and if I do, I’ll be moving up the corporate ladder.”
“Oh yeah?” Jonah took a bite of his taco. “What’s the project?”
Harper winced. “I can’t actually talk about it yet. My boss wants to keep it super secret.”
“Are you a spy?”
She laughed. “Just an ambitious lackey. Remember I told you that my boss was insane? He’s also really superstitious. I promised I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone until he’s ready, but in a couple of weeks, everyone will know, and I can—”
A blur of white startled Jonah. Harper cried out as Truck snatched the taco she’d been holding in her hand and inhaled it in one bite. The dog looked at her, tail wagging, as if he expected to be rewarded with another taco.
Jonah and Harper stared at Truck. “Did that just happen?” Harper asked, looking at her empty hand.
“It did, and I’m going to kill him now,” Jonah vowed.
“Wow. The fun with Truck just keeps piling up.” She laughed, her eyes shining with delight. “That was amazing. I can’t wait to tell my best friend about this dog.”
Just how amazing could one woman be? Did anything ruffle her? “I cannot apologize enough for how terribly behaved my dog is. Or how terrible I am at teaching him. I know I’ve been saying that all night, but he just looks at me with those eyes and I give in. I’m a putz.”
“You are not a putz, and Truck is awesome. I didn’t need that taco anyway. I ate so much over the holidays.” She patted what looked to him like a pretty trim stomach.
“Nevertheless, this evening has been such a disaster and unfair representation of my dating game that you have to give me another chance. Let me take you to dinner sometime soon. And without him,” he added, pointing at Truck. Truck seemed to sense it was all his fault; he put his head on Jonah’s leg and looked up at him with puppy eyes. A master manipulator.
“Awww. He loves you. And I still really like him, in spite of everything that happened today. And I really like you, too, Jonah. In spite of everything that happened today.” She grinned.
Her words sparked a bit of a tingle in his belly. He really wanted her to like him, in spite of everything. He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I really like you, too, Harper Atticus Thompson. What are you doing Saturday?”
“Saturday? Saturday is the day I pay a visit to my old friend Bob. He’s got a very short temper, and he doesn’t like most people or animals, but he will tolerate some. He’s gone deaf, so you have to shout at him. But I wouldn’t miss an afternoon with Bob for anything.”
“Is he a relative?”
“He’s a bulldog. I walk rescue dogs on Saturday afternoons at the Austin Canine Coalition. They are good dogs, and they don’t chase dicks or ducks.”
“Thanks for bringing that up again.”
“Would you like to join me in walking grumpy old Bob? Are your feelings hurt easily?”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I can handle grumpy Bob. But only if you’ll let me take you to dinner afterward.”
“That sounds like the best Saturday ever.”
Jonah paid the bill and they walked out, holding hands. Jonah put his dumb Truck into the actual truck, then turned to Harper. “I have really enjoyed this time with you.”
“Me too.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I was afraid you’d run circles around me or complain about the pace.”
“Same.” He tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear. She was so pretty.
Harper tilted her head up. Her eyes had gone soft and shimmery, and he would swim in them if that was possible, but since it wasn’t, he decided the next best thing would be to kiss her. And he thought maybe she wanted to be kissed, too, because she didn’t move, and there was a pert little smile on her face, and she shifted a little closer. Or maybe he did. Whatever—Jonah lowered his head and kissed her.
Her lips were the perfect amount of soft and plump. She tasted like the chocolate mint she’d popped into her mouth as they left, and her body felt perfect against his, and there was a tide of heat rushing through him and a physical sensation of being swept to sea.
When he lifted his head, Harper’s eyes were blazing. She touched the corner of her mouth with her fingertip. “I’ll see you Saturday?”
“You will definitely see me Saturday.”
She gave him a little salute goodbye and walked to her car.
Jonah got in his truck. The tidal wave was still rolling through him. He watched her car turn onto the street and move away.
This was perfect. She was perfect. How much more perfect could it be? It was like Santa had dropped a big gift from the sky on the eve of Christmas Eve, just for him. Was it possible that she was the one? “What?” he whispered to himself, shocked he would think it. Obviously, there were miles to go before he knew that . . . but what if?
What if. The thought, surprisingly, put a smile on his face.
In that moment, he could not have imagined how fickle the finger of fate would prove to be.
Eight
That kiss was awesome. One might even say inspiring.
The run, however, was not.
Harper could hardly move—her legs felt like two limp strips of rubber. Jonah had almost killed her with his pace, but her competitive nature wouldn’t allow her to ask him to slow down. When she thought her lungs would explode, she’d immediately turned into the Gloria Steinem of the running world—if he could do it, then so could she. Except that she couldn’t, and now, every time she took a step, her quadriceps reminded her that she had never run that fast for that long in her life.
She was still limping when Soren and Kendal met her at the Deja Brew on Congress, and Soren frowned with displeasure. “What is the matter with you?”
“I went for a long run yesterday, and I’m a little stiff.”
“Ah.” Soren nodded. “Exercise is to ratiocination what sleeping is to resuscitation.”
Usually, Harper could sort of follow along with Soren, but today, her butt hurt so bad, she was in no mood. “Sorry, but I don’t know what that means.”
“It means good job,” Kendal offered.
Soren laughed. “It would appear that Kendal shares my understanding of the nuance of expression.”
Excuse me? Harper was incensed. No one spoke Soren better than she did. But Soren had already turned away, his gaze moving over the interior of the store.
The three of them were watching two workmen hang one of the last few egg basket seats. The iron and wood mirrors had been hung in the bathrooms, the toilets had been installed, and the refrigeration unit for the kitchen had arrived. They were less than two weeks from opening.
Soren bored of the basket installation and walked to the area of the store where they’d installed a false floor that flashed different colors of light with one’s footfall. It was something he’d seen in London and had to have. Privately, Harper guessed the upkeep on something like that would outweigh the cool factor, but when Soren made up his mind, there was no talking to him.
He made Kendal walk across the lighted floor, which Kendal did, striding to the end, then turning back and striding to Soren’s side once more.
“Good.” Soren put his hands together at his heart center. “I approve. One can create a harmonious symphony of pleasure here.”
“Absolutely,” Harper agreed.
“Tell me again the plans for the grand opening,” he said, and perched one hip on top of a puzzle table. It had a ridge around the perimeter so no pieces could fall, and the table itself had been bolted to the floor. Soren seemed to think there was nothing worse than working a jigsaw puzzle and watching it tumble over. “All that work,” he’d said wistfully when they’d discussed options.
“We have three local artists who will showcase their work and provide some sort of art experience.” Actually, Harper hadn’t worked it out yet, but she was thinking of something people could make and take with them.
“State fair caricatures?” Kendal asked.
“I was thinking something more zen than that.” The word zen meant nothing in this context, but she knew her boss, and Soren did indeed perk up.
“Caricatures, yes. Everyone appreciates the artist’s eye trained on their person. An excellent suggestion, Kendal.”
Harper stared at him. Then at Kendal. “I was thinking of something immersive. Something people could make themselves and take home. What if we gave away small succulents and have an artist paint a pot for them to plant it in? We could have it set up in the courtyard.”
“I like caricatures,” Soren said breezily. “What else?”
Harper could feel her face burning with something that felt a little rage-y and embarrassed. She looked at her clipboard. “Our baked goods suppliers, three in all, and all vegan, of course, will be on hand with samples of their food. We have the baristas from our other locations who are transferring in to work here, and they will be making craft coffee drinks. We will have the games set up in the garden. There are still a few things on the punch list left, including stringing the lights in the garden and installing those above the coffee bar.” What she did not say was that the lights she’d ordered for the bar—round globes that looked to be spinning on an iron axis—had been delayed. She didn’t know if she could get them in time for the grand opening—she hadn’t received a reply to her urgent e-mail about them, and none of her calls had been returned.
“About that,” Soren said.
She looked up from her clipboard.
“Kendal discovered that the lights have been delayed. He suggested a solution and I agreed.”
Harper’s heart began to beat like it was marching around in her chest, preparing to launch itself at Kendal’s throat. “Oh. Funny . . . I didn’t tell him there was a problem with the light shipment.” She looked directly at Kendal.
“No,” he agreed cheerfully. “But in my review of purchases, I noticed it and followed up. Just trying to help out.”
“Kendal got us lights. But not the fixtures you selected. When he brought the requisition to me to sign, I thought the selection was a bit . . . industrial. A symbol of laissez-faire economics that does not enhance my gratification.”
She didn’t see how bar lights could possibly figure into his gratification one way or the other. “I wish you would have mentioned your lack of gratification when we had the meeting about fixtures.”
“If wishes were fishes.” Soren chuckled.
Okay, she wasn’t going to guess what she was supposed to do with that. So she forced a smile and asked, “What did you get?” and turned her blazing attention to Kendal.
“Lights that look like bursts of dandelions. Soren found them gratifying.”
Soren laughed roundly. “Indeed I did!”
“Bursts of dandelions,” Harper repeated. That was possibly the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “And when are these bursts supposed to arrive?”
“Next week. A full month earlier than the manufacturer said he could get your lights to us.”
A month? She was going to kill that rep.
“Kendal saved the day for us on this one.” Soren stood up, bored with the discussion of light fixtures. “I’ll have a look at the garden.” He started in that direction.
Kendal moved as if he meant to go along, but Harper stepped in front of his path. “What are you doing?” she whispered hotly.
“What do you mean?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the lights? This is my project, Kendal.”
He blinked. “I was trying to help you out. Sorry.” He stepped around her and followed Soren.
A gear inside Harper kicked on, turbocharging her. She had worked so hard for this opportunity. She had worked so hard for years for Soren. And then Kendal Malone shows up and suddenly he is the golden child around here? Game on, Kendal.
She stalked after the two men and into the back garden. Go ahead and find something to critique here, Soren. She’d outdone herself in the garden.
On one side of the space was a giant outdoor checkerboard with chips as big as steering wheels. On the other side of the space, a traditional pit for the game of tossing washers. Because, Soren had said, Deja Brew was for everyone. Harper didn’t know what inclusivity had to do with checkers or washers, but she’d had both games installed.
