***
Surrounded by boxes, standing in my new living room, I blow a piece of hair out of my face and continue to put away my books and knickknacks on the white shelves at either side of the fireplace. The house is coming together quickly thanks to my family. My mom was not kidding when she told me she would get me packed up and moved out of my apartment by the weekend. In fact, she did it all in two days. When I got home from work the day before yesterday, Monday, I found out she, my aunts, my sister, and my cousins had packed up my apartment from top to bottom. They even cleaned out my fridge and freezer, the bathroom, and around the boxes and furniture, so I didn’t have to.
Yesterday, my first day off work, my dad, brothers, and uncles got my stuff put into a moving truck and parked it out front of my new house. Last night, I stayed with my mom and dad in town, and today’s been a whirlwind of family coming over to help empty the truck, set up my furniture, and store stuff away. About two hours ago, my parents left to return the moving truck and to go eat, and everyone else besides, June and July took off not long after, with plans to come back tomorrow to help finish putting together the furniture they had dismantled.
I pick up and unwrap one more of my snow globes out of the box I’m unpacking and shake it before setting it on the shelf, watching the white dust inside settle over the New York City skyline. My dad got me the snow globe when he took me to New York for my eighteenth birthday, and it’s one of many. I didn’t always collect globes. My collecting started when I was fourteen and was supposed to go with my grandparents to the Bahamas. Instead, I had to have my tonsils removed, so my grandma brought the beach home to me in a glass ball filled with sand and seashells. Since that one, I’ve collected dozens from all over the place. Unpacking another, this one a clear ball with a photo of my family inside, I shake it as well before putting it in its place. Then I look toward the front door when I hear the roar of pipes getting closer to the house.
“I think Evan and Wes are back to pick you guys up,” I say loud enough to be heard over the music playing, and July and June, who are both in my kitchen unpacking boxes, look at me then the front door.
“Has it already been three hours?” June questions, and I look at the clock. It’s already after seven in the evening, so it’s been more like four hours since the guys left.
“Seems so.” I cover my stomach with my hand when it gurgles, reminding me all I have put in it today is coffee and donuts.
“I’ll be back when I get off work tomorrow to help you finish up,” July says, putting a stack of plates in one of the cupboards before meeting me halfway across the living room to give me a hug.
“You don’t need to come. I think I can handle the rest of this.”
“I’ll be here when I get off work,” she repeats with a smile as I pick up Dizzy and follow her toward the front door.
“I’ll be here after school,” June tells me, giving me a hug as July steps outside.
“I really can handle the rest. You should be home with your feet up,” I tell her softly, looking down at her stomach and the small little pooch she has there. I couldn’t be happier for her and Evan if I tried.
“Don’t even start. You sound just like Evan.” She rolls her eyes, making me laugh while we both step out onto the porch. “See you tomorrow.” She waves over her shoulder, heading down the steps toward Evan who she greets with a kiss.
Standing on the porch, I wave at Wes and July as they take off on Wes’s bike. Then I watch June get into Evan’s SUV with his help. Lifting my hand, I wave then wait until they are backing out of the drive before I go inside and close the door. Letting out a breath, I look around and sigh. Even though we got a lot done today, there is still a lot to do.
“It’s just you and me,” I tell Dizzy, setting him down, and he takes off without looking at me, probably going to explore his new home like he’s been doing since I released him from his kennel earlier. Hearing my stomach gurgle again, I head for my bedroom and trade my tank top for a T-shirt and my flip-flops for sneakers. Once I’ve retied my hair up into a ponytail, I grab my keys and bag then head out.
On my five-minute drive into town, I try to decide between pizza and Chinese food. The pizza place is closer, so I pull into the parking lot and get out, taking my bag with me. Like it’s been since I was a kid, Marco’s is packed. People are playing pool around the two pool tables in the back of the restaurant. Kids are battling on the video games that line the walls, and families are gathered around each and every table in the place. Going to the counter, I put in my order for a medium Hungry Man’s pizza, which consists of every kind of meat known to man, along with all the toppings you could ever ask for on a pizza. I also order a small dessert pizza that is covered in cinnamon sugar, fresh sliced apples, and caramel cream sauce.
Once I pay, I grab my soda and take my ticket with me over to one of the tables to wait. I pull out my phone and send everyone in my family a quick thank you text then scroll through Facebook out of boredom.
“Harmony.”
Hearing my name rumbled in a familiar deep voice, I jump in my seat and my eyes scan up from a pair of black heavy-looking boots, jeans that have been washed so many times they have started to fray at the seams, and a faded blue shirt that shows off every single muscle of his torso under a black leather vest.
“Babe, you okay?” Harlen questions, and I tip my head farther back and blink up at him, shaking my head.
“Sorry, yes.” I smile awkwardly. “Long day of moving and unpacking along with not eating has put waste to every brain cell I have left,” I tell him. He nods then pulls out the chair next to mine and takes a seat.
“Evan said you got a place in town and that he and Wes were helping with the move today,” he says, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles on the outside of mine, effectively blocking me in.
“They got roped in with everyone else.” I take a sip of my soda, studying him, but trying not to look like I’m studying him. His hair and beard have grown longer since the last time I saw him, and I’m not sure if he looks hotter or scarier. I do know the longer beard makes his lips seem even more inviting.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts about his mouth and what it might feel like to have it on mine.
“Getting pizza then heading back home to eat and unpack some more. I have to get back to work on Saturday, so I’m trying to get as much done as I can before then,” I ramble.
“I’ll help,” he states, and I blink at him.
“Pardon?” I ask, sure that I heard him wrong, because I can’t imagine he has nothing better to do than help me unpack.
Shrugging one big shoulder, he tips his head to the side. “My order’s to-go. I’ll bring it with me to your place, we’ll eat, and then I’ll help you unpack.”
“That’s sweet, but—”
“Payback,” he cuts me off before I can tell him it’s not necessary.
“Payback?” I prompt.
“You helped me out, and this is me returning the favor. I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, you look beat.”
Great. I look beat. Good to know. “Really, you don’t have to help.”
“I know I don’t. Still going to,” he says, and I see the determination in his eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh, realizing I’m not going to be able to refuse, and really not sure if I want to.
“Order seventeen and sixteen are up” is called, and I look at my receipt and see that one of those orders is mine.
“That’s us.” He takes the paper from my hand and unfolds himself from his seat.
“Now what?” I whisper to myself, watching him head toward the counter. With no answer and no other choice, I grab my bag and let out a breath as I stand.
“Ready?” he asks once he’s turned toward me with the three pizza boxes that look minuscule in his large hands.
“Yep,” I lie, and his eyes roam my face.
“Let’s go.” He jerks his chin toward th
e door for me to lead the way and then he follows outside, where I see his bike is parked next to my car.
How he was going to ride his bike carrying a pizza, I have no idea, and I don’t have a chance to ask him before he’s depositing the pizzas in the back seat of my car and opening my door. “I’ll follow you,” he mutters.
“Right.” I slide in behind the wheel before he shuts my door and I start my engine. I wait for him to mount his bike, and then I ignore the funny feeling in my chest when his eyes meet mine and he lifts his chin.
With a shake of my head, I reverse then head out of the parking lot, back toward home, watching Harlen in my rearview mirror following behind. I try to convince myself on the drive to my house that none of this is a big deal, but my stomach is turning with nervous butterflies and my heart has started to thump hard against my rib cage. I don’t remember ever being attracted to anyone the way I’m attracted to him, and it’s making me feel excited and completely freaked out. Pulling into my driveway, I watch him park his Harley next to my car, liking the look of his bike in my drive. I ignore that feeling too, or at least I tell myself to ignore it, as he opens my door before I can, and holds out his hand to help me out.
“Nice place,” he says, looking over the top of my head at my house, and happiness that he likes it engulfs my chest, making it warm.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
His head tips down toward me, and his eyes go soft in a way I wouldn’t think possible coming from him. But I see it, and I want to see it again and again and again. Before I can do anything—probably something stupid, like throw myself at him—he turns and opens the back door, grabbing the pizzas.
“Lead the way.”
Without a word, I turn on my sneaker-covered feet and head up the stairs and right inside, where I stoop to pick up Dizzy before he can escape.
“You need to lock up when you leave,” he rumbles behind me as he follows me inside the house, shutting the door, and I look at him over my shoulder.
“It’s light outside,” I tell him.
His brows draw together, making him look sinister, and I hold Dizzy a little closer to my chest when I feel his scary energy fill the room. “The sun being out isn’t going to stop some sick motherfucker from breaking into your house. Do you know what will?” he questions, not giving me a chance to answer before he does, leaning in close. “A fucking locked door.”
“I’ll lock up,” I whisper, and he nods then leans back.
Yikes.
“So.” I clear my throat. “This is it.” Apparently still angry about the door not being locked, he doesn’t look around. Instead, he heads toward the butcher-block island in the kitchen and drops the pizzas there carelessly. “I have some beer,” I tell him, walking around the island to the fridge and opening it up. “Well, I have apple cider beer.” I bite my lip and turn to look at him, and his eyes drop to my mouth.
“That’ll do,” he says, taking off his vest and dropping it next to the pizzas on the counter. Setting Dizzy down, I grab two bottles from the fridge then turn around to find Harlen in all his giant glory holding my pup gently against his wide chest, petting the top of his furry head. Taking a mental snapshot of him and Dizzy, I twist off the tops from the beers then grab two plates from the cupboard.
I go to the opposite side of the counter from him and set down the plates then hand him a bottle, which he takes with one hand, still keeping hold of Dizzy with the other. Dizzy, who is not okay with the lack of petting, starts trying with all his might to lick the underside of Harlen’s jaw. Ignoring the way my stomach is dancing, I open the boxes of pizza and discover they’re both the same.
“Two or three slices?” I ask him. When he doesn’t answer, I look up and find his eyes on the pizza but a million miles away. I want to ask him what he’s thinking so hard about, but I don’t. Instead, I slide two slices on each plate then scoot one across the island toward him. “We can eat in the living room. I still need to find some chairs for the island,” I mutter, picking up my plate and beer, taking both with me around the island to the couch.
Finding the remote for the TV, I flip it on to fill the silence then settle in against the arm of the couch, watching him take a seat. Dizzy, who he set down, runs in circles in front of us, wanting a reward for just being cute—a reward he knows he’s not going to get. I don’t give him human food, or I don’t anymore, since the last time I took him to see the vet they informed me that he was overweight and, if I wasn’t careful, would get diabetes. I didn’t even know dogs could get diabetes, but apparently they can.
“No pizza, Dizzy. I’ll find your treats after we eat,” I tell him, and he stops spinning and sits on his rump to glare at me.
“Dizzy?”
Looking at Harlen, I bite my lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth before lifting to meet mine. “He spins in circles when he’s excited. He’s done it since he was a tiny puppy. It used to make me dizzy watching him,” I explain, and he looks from me to my dog then back again and grins.
Okay, his soft look was good. His scary look was… well, scary. But his grin makes my insides curl up and something deep inside of me tighten in a really good way.
Needing to do something to get my mind off the way my body is feeling, I ask, “How’s work been?”
Chewing and swallowing a bite of pizza, he rests his plate on the top of his legs before answering. “Been good, busy, which means we are finally making a name for ourselves in town. Hasn’t been easy.”
“It hasn’t?”
He takes a pull from his beer, which I can tell he’s not really enjoying, so I make a mental note to stock normal beer in the fridge. Not that I know if he will be back, but just in case.
“The town’s small. People tend to stick to what they know. It’s taken a while for people to realize we’re not in the business of fucking people over. Unlike some of the more established shops in town.”
“What do you mean?” I question before taking the last bite from my first slice, leaving the crust.
“We don’t fuck around with fixing cars or bikes. If you come to us with an issue, we take care of the issue. We don’t do a half-ass job so you have to come back in a week or a month for something else. We also don’t mark up the prices on work or parts to get more money.”
“That’s nice.”
“No, that’s good business,” he says, and I nod in agreement.
“I’m glad things are picking up for you guys.”
“Me too,” he agrees, and I take a pull from my own beer then turn toward the TV to watch the show that’s on, not really seeing it as I eat. “You want another slice?” he asks, and I turn to look at him, seeing his eyes on my now empty plate.
“Two more,” I reply, and he grins then unfolds himself from the couch, taking my plate from me. Sipping my beer, I watch him go to the kitchen to get us each more pizza, thinking I also liked the feeling of having him in my house and wonder if I can convince him to come back again after tonight. Then I think it’s stupid to wonder that, because he is obviously just here because he is a nice guy. Okay, a scary guy, but still a nice one, who wants to pay me back for looking out for him.
***
“Thank you for helping,” I tell him four hours later, standing in my open front door with Dizzy against my chest, watching Harlen slide on his leather vest. After we ate pizza on my couch, we unpacked, and then we took a break to eat my dessert pizza while standing in my kitchen, before unpacking some more. He didn’t talk much, but I found that he was easy to talk to, easy to be around, and funny. Not in-your-face funny, but still funny in a way that made me laugh and do it often while we worked.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says, moving past me to stand just outside the door, close enough I can smell a hint of something intriguing, but not close enough to be in my space.
“It was. We got almost everything done,” I tell him, looking back into the house. Most of the boxes that were stacked up in the living room and kitchen are gone, emptied and broken down i
n the spare bedroom, ready to take to the dump. And the stuff that’s left has been stacked up to drop off for donation. All I have left to do is put away my clothes and hang some of my photos and art. “I feel like I owe you payback now,” I add truthfully, meeting his gaze once more.
“Tomorrow, come by the compound,” he says, and my head tips to the side.
“The compound?” I prompt. I haven’t been there. My cousins and even my sisters have, but not me. I know it’s a part of the auto shop he works at and that some guys who have recently been discharged from the military live there, but that’s really all I know about it.
“We’ll hang out, play some pool, and drink a couple beers. I’ll call it even.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter, sliding my eyes away, and then his warm fingers wrap around my chin. My body jolts from the touch and my eyes shoot to his.
“Six.”
“I—” Before I can tell him no, his fingers tighten, not painfully but just enough to get me to shut my mouth.
“Six,” he repeats, then his head lowers, and my breath catches as my eyes slide closed. I don’t know if I expect him to kiss me or not, but when his lips brush my hairline at my forehead, disappointment fills my stomach. “Lock up,” he orders, and then both he and his touch are gone.
Opening my eyes, I watch him head down to his bike and get on. Knowing I don’t want to look like a teenager with a crush or a lovesick fool, I close the door, making sure to lock it behind me. Then, without anything else to do and really too tired to do anything more, I go to bed, where I spend the night tossing and turning.
Chapter 2
Harmony
PUTTING ON MY WATCH, I look at the pile of clothes on my bed and the rest of it scattered across my floor, shaking my head. I didn’t do what I should have done today—that being put away my clothes, and unpack my bedroom. Instead, I spent the day overanalyzing every moment from last night, between running errands, picking up beer at the grocery store, and trying to figure out what I would wear to see Harlen.