Harmony

  I’m in my backyard, staring at the new fence that Cooper built.

  The fact that I’m sitting on the deck he recently sanded and sealed is not lost on me. Neither am I forgetting that he planted those roses over there, and fixed my sagging gutter.

  The man utterly mystifies me.

  The gate to the side yard opens and closes. Summer comes through with a bottle of wine in one hand.

  “I came to see for myself. What the heck, this place looks so different!”

  “And you are?” I ask, joking.

  “Haha.”

  My sister collapses into one of the new patio chairs that Cooper bought me. “This is nice,” she says.

  “You haven’t been home in a while. I’ve been getting accustomed to small changes over a period of weeks.”

  Summer cracks open the screw top on the wine and offers the bottle to me. It’s been about ten years since my sister and I drank together straight from the bottle.

  Ah, what the hell.

  I accept the offered wine and take a drink, swallowing down the cheap rosé.

  “I like the wow factor of seeing it all at once,” Summer says.

  I’ve got too much on my mind to give her a hard time for not being around the house in the last few weeks.

  “How was Little Spoon After Hours?” I ask, using the nickname we’ve adopted for Saturday nights, when, in addition to boozy frozen treats that we do on weeknights, we’ve started offering live music. We’re hoping that the city approves our permit for a street-front patio soon.

  “Interesting,” she says, laughing.

  “Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

  Apparently, Summer watched one couple break up in real time when they disagreed on which was superior, vanilla or chocolate.

  “…and the funny thing was, you could totally tell that the real issue with them was not vanilla or chocolate, it was⁠—”

  “I fucked Cooper!”

  Summer stares at me, wide eyed, mouth agape, for the longest three seconds of my life.

  “It’s about time,” she says, snatching the bottle from me and taking a long swig.

  I wince. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

  “Babe. You’ve been mooning over each other for weeks and weeks. You liked him from jump. What’s the problem?”

  I exhale and accept the bottle when Summer hands it to me. I take a drink, then say, “I do like him. I’ve thought about him a lot. But I just need time to make sure what we have is real.”

  I take another fortifying drink and hand the rosé back to my sister.

  Summer sits back in her chair and hugs the bottle to her chest. “You already have something real. You two are stupid for each other.”

  I can’t argue with that. I am attracted to Cooper. I think about him when he’s not around. I don’t have feelings for anyone else; if I ever did, those feelings don’t come close to how I feel when I’m around Cooper.

  But simple attraction isn’t enough.

  “You know my trust issues.”

  “I do,” says Summer, nodding, then taking a drink. “And Cooper is not your ex. Nor is he the creep at the club who tried to serve you a tainted cocktail.”

  I shiver at the memory. Thank god that one of the other servers where Summer used to work as a bottle girl spotted that man putting something in my gin and tonic. I’d been talking to him for five minutes. I was finally feeling like putting myself out there after being cheated on by my ex-fiancé. That experience at the club made me slam the door shut for good when it comes to men.

  “I know he’s not my ex. And he’s not that creep.”

  Summer is thoughtful for a moment. “And he’s been hanging around at your beck and call for weeks.”

  “And yours,” I remind her.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Because he’s a decent guy. Didn’t he fix the problem with the gutter? I didn’t used to be able to sit here without worrying I would get decapitated by falling debris.”

  My sister’s so dramatic. But she’s correct. “He did.”

  I look around my yard. It looks one hundred percent better than it looked weeks ago. And it’s all because of Cooper. I could characterize him as a good-time guy because he’s hot, outgoing, and confident. I could say he’s unserious because he breezed through college and, according to him and Carter, spent way more time on the disc golf course than he did in class. But the bottom line is, he’s being modest. He works hard. He earned his degree just like his twin did. He also makes time for fun, and what’s wrong with that?

  “But I didn’t ask him for any of this,” I squeak.

  Summer blows out a breath and takes a long drink.

  “I know. You rarely ask for help,” she says.

  “Exactly. I would never ask someone to give me this much of his time and labor. I never even hinted. He just did it. And somehow, it’s exactly what I wanted.”

  Summer shakes her head. “Well, now you have a bigger problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He doesn’t like you.”

  “Excuse me?” Where the heck is she going with this?

  “Cooper loves you.”

  I sit up and stare at her. “That’s crazy talk.”

  Summer is undeterred by my disbelief. “Look at the facts. He respects you when you say you’re not ready. He keeps an eye on you when you’re out and about alone and working alone at Little Spoon. The man built a fence around you with his hands when he could have hired someone to do it. He bought a house across the street from you!”

  “Which is a little psycho,” I mutter, even though I don’t believe it myself.

  “He loves you so much he can’t help himself. If you don’t lock him down, he will drive Carter insane with the lovesick puppy act.”

  I take the bottle and finish the last bit of it.

  “There’s more,” I admit. “Every time I sit down to come up with new recipes for Little Spoon, all I think about is what would Cooper like.”

  Summer arches an eyebrow. “You finished my bottle. Now you owe me. Get over there and tell him the truth.”

  The truth? Facing the truth is a scary proposition.

  But I think about Cooper, and imagine the alternative. Not having him around, looking out for me, keeping me company, and generally being wonderful, is simply unacceptable.

  chapter

  fifteen

  Cooper

  In the middle of watching the game highlights, there’s a knock on the door.

  In the dark, I trip over a box as I go to the door.

  Harmony stands there, holding a bucket of something frozen.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she says, biting her bottom lip.

  “Hi,” I say again, hoping this prompts her to say something else.

  I can do this all night.

  Shyly, she looks past me. “Got any whiskey in any of those moving boxes?”

  I stand aside and gesture for her to come in. “Let’s open one and find out.”

  I stand aside and she comes in, setting the bucket on the countertop.

  “I saw you had food delivered, so I thought I would let you taste test this for dessert,” she says, setting it down on the kitchen island.

  “Ice cream is my favorite thing after 9 p.m.,” I say.

  She rests a hand on her hip. “It’s not ice cream, Cooper. We’ve been over this.”

  I nudge her shoulder with a loving tap and she blushes. To hide this, she turns away and looks for bowls and spoons.

  “Where are your bowls? And why is it so dark in here?”

  I shrug. “Haven’t unpacked them yet. And the last owners took all the lightbulbs out of the fixtures.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were. I didn’t think to pick any up while Carter and I were moving my stuff in, and I guess I didn’t notice until after dark that they were all missing.”

  “How have you unpacked silverware but not plates and bowls?”

  “You see, the restaurant delivers food in little boxes instead of slopping it into a bag. It’s ingenious, really.”

  “Smart-ass,” she says.

  “We can just eat the fro-yo right out of the bucket together, can’t we?” I ask.

  “Like a couple of little piggies?”

  “Sure, why not? We’re friends. Aren’t we?”

  Harmony sighs. “I have an ulterior motive, you see.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did earlier.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. So this is both a peace offering and a taste test.”

  “I’m your bitch, babe. Whatever you need.”

  Harmony snorts at my crassness. “I appreciate that. What I need is your opinion.” She peels off the lid of the restaurant-sized bucket. In the lantern light I see peach, I see swirls, and I see pastry. It smells like heaven.

  “It’s peach with local honey,” she explains. “And I want to try it with the bourbon and see how it tastes before I add the cobbler topping. I want to see if the bourbon and peach together strangles the cobbler.”

  “Cool, let’s eat.”

  I hand her a box knife and we both work on the boxes marked “kitchen.”

  “Sorry for imposing on your night in. You must be tired.”

  “It’s nothing. You’re welcome to come over and strangle the cobbler with me anytime.”

  Harmony clucks her tongue. “How do you manage to make everything sound dirty?”

  “Aunt Gabby used to call me incorrigible.”

  “I think I like this Aunt Gabby. Oh, jackpot! I found the booze!”

  I turn and see Harmony holding out a brand new bottle of whiskey.

  “Good girl. Let’s do this.”

  chapter

  sixteen

  Harmony

  I’m still shivering at the “good girl” comment when Cooper takes the bottle of bourbon from my hands and opens it.

  The slight strain as he unscrews the top makes that one sexy cord pop out at the base of his neck…the one I want to lick.

  I know he meant nothing by the good girl thing, but it makes me feel wet and excited.

  Everything that comes out of Cooper’s mouth arouses me.

  Especially that tongue.

  He sniffs from the bottle while I scoop out the dessert.

  “Huffing Jack now? It’s not a vintage pinot,” I joke, sinking a spoon into the frozen stuff.

  “There’s quality in it just like you find with wine. Smell that?”

  I pause my work and inhale as he waves the bottle under my nose.

  “Toasty. And kind of caramel,” I say.

  “You can taste the love,” he says.

  “Maybe you can help me pick the right one for this recipe,” I say, reaching over to touch his hand that rests on the kitchen island.”

  Heat arcs through me.

  In the dark, I can feel him staring at me.

  “Let’s try this and see how it goes,” he says.

  “How much bourbon?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, let’s just do a little at a time until it tastes right.”

  Even in the dark, I feel Cooper’s heated glance as he drizzles a few ounces over the crystallized, peachy surface, melding with the crumbly bits of cobbler and making a sort of runny caramel.

  “Little by little is perfect for me,” he says.

  My nipples tighten. Oh lord, he’s going to be the end of me.

  Is now a good time to talk about what we did?

  He grabs two spoons, hoists the bucket with the opposite hand, and we move into the living room.

  We’re seated close together on the sofa surrounded by moving boxes with sports highlights muted on the TV. A camping lantern in the corner flickers.

  There’s something strangely romantic about this moment. I’ve never felt at ease being alone with a guy in a romantic setting, not since my jerk fiancé wrecked my life.

  We sit cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other.

  “You first,” I say, patting his knee. “I need an objective opinion before I try it.”

  He gives a raspy laugh that sends a tingle shooting through my core. “I could hardly be unbiased. It’s your recipe and I’m sure it’s great.”

  Cooper MacKenzie really is one of a kind. Apart from my sister, he is my biggest cheerleader.

  “You make a great hype man,” I say, watching him take a spoonful of the stuff we made together.

  I wait for his assessment, but he’s silent for a long moment.

  He takes another spoonful, his brows knit together in the shadowy room, as the light from the TV plays off the planes and ridges of his strong jaw and cheekbones. Truly this man is too good-looking. It’s unfair.

  “Well? How is it?”

  His dark eyes assess me, and he fills the spoon again.

  “Harmony, this is incredible,” he says, swallowing it down.

  I exhale. “It is?”

  He nods. “It’s sweet and salty, the heat from the cinnamon and the bourbon…it’s amazing. It’s your best one yet.”

  “Really?” I’m so pleased, but I have to temper my excitement. “You’re not just saying that?”

  “Sweetheart,” he says. “Try it.”

  The spoon hovers in front of my mouth. I lean in and take it in, letting the frozen peachy goodness slide down my throat. The butter, the cinnamon, the fruity flavor combined with the bourbon was an excellent idea.

  “Oh my gosh. It is good. And I don’t even like whiskey,” I say with my mouth full.

  He laughs and we take more bites, neither of us addressing the fact that we’re sharing the same spoon.

  “How did you come up with this if you don’t like whiskey?” Cooper asks.

  Now it’s time to fess up. “I wanted to come up with something you would like.”

  “Me? Specifically? Why?”

  My entire body hums as if plugged into a socket until I admit the truth. “Because I like you, Cooper. As…more than a friend.”

  He looks at me for a long time.

  Then, he takes the bucket of fro-yo and sets it on the coffee table.

  He turns away, and my heart drops. Then, I see he’s taken the bottle and poured a shot into the shot glass, full to the brim.

  He downs the shot. “That’s better. Now you, and then we’ll talk,” he says, pouring another.

  “Oh, but I don’t like⁠—”

  “So you said. Just try it.”

  I take the shot glass from him and sniff it, then sip it. It burns but not as intense as the last time I tried bourbon. I suppose my recipe has prepared me for the taste and the bite of it.

  I roll it around in my mouth as one does with wine, and I can finally see a small glimmer of what Cooper sees in it.

  “It’s so strong. It’s an acquired taste. I guess I like it mixed with sweet things,” I say.

  “You put filthy thoughts into my head, Harmony.”

  I shiver. “What kind of filthy thoughts?”

  “Like finding out what you taste like,” he says.

  I lean in closer. Now that we’re talking about us, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel brave.

  Cooper reaches forward and cups my neck, holding me there while he presses his lips to mine.

  The kiss is slow and hot, all tongue and masculine energy.

  I reach for the front of his shirt, fisting the material to pull him in closer.

  His tongue slides into my mouth, and I welcome it. The movement of our tongues against each other is thrilling and heady.

  I could get addicted to the way he kisses. Long and deep and thorough. Cooper MacKenzie is not a shy man, not in personality and not in the way he kisses.

  I get so carried away that I moan into his mouth.

  Cooper responds by sliding his fingers up from the back of my neck. Gently, he fists my hair.

  The move shocks me, and I pull away, breaking the kiss.

  “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

  “I’m not used to that…with my hair.”

  Immediately, he lets go. “Better?”

  I nod. “I didn’t dislike it. It’s just new. I didn’t know what to think.”

  Cooper’s thumb traces along the edge of my jaw, slowly. “I won’t do that with your hair until you say it’s okay.”

  The word “until” is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.

  “Does that mean this is a thing that we’re doing now? The two of us together? I’m not too…inexperienced for you?”

  His brow knits together. “What do you mean inexperienced? Weren’t you engaged two years ago?”

  I nod slowly. “My ex wasn’t a passionate man like you, Cooper. We never had sex outside, for starters. He never kissed me like you do.”

  “Like, with tongue?”

  I laugh. “I just mean he wasn’t as exciting as you.”

  His traveling thumb goes to my lip. “A man who doesn’t know how to use his tongue is a sad, sad man.”

  I laugh and cover my mouth.

  “Sorry,” he says. “The whiskey’s gone to my head.”

  “Which head?” I say and immediately cover my mouth again. I can’t believe I said that.

  Cooper throws his head back and laughs out loud, deep and rich, giving me the urge to crawl into his lap.

  “No one ever accused me of whiskey dick, so don’t even go there,” he says.

  “I don’t normally talk like that,” I say.

  “I know that, baby. I know you better than you think I do,” he says.

  “I don’t know what got into me,” I say, still chuckling. “I’m sorry.”

  “What else did he not know how to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If he was a bad kisser, that’s not a good sign for other things.”

  “Oh. You mean oral,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah. That.”

  “He never wanted to try that.”

  “Oddly enough that’s how he got caught cheating. The woman he cheated on me with posted a video—nothing gross—but of the two of them in bed. I was so hurt and so weirded out that I never dated or felt like trusting another guy, not even as a friend. Until I met you.”

  “So you’re telling me no guy has ever gone down on you before.”