That was another thing about Soren that fascinated Harper—he really enjoyed throwing words together that made no sense to anyone but him. She didn’t know if it was intentional, a speech tic, or if he truly thought he was saying something profound. “Not today,” she said, and gestured at her skirt. “Can we maybe turn the lights on?”

  He gave her a look of disapproval. “Harsh fluorescent light will interrupt the flow of your chi.”

  “Yes . . . but it also makes it a lot easier to see.”

  Soren snorted. He got up off his cushion. “Fine.” He stalked to his desk as if she’d insulted him and flipped on the overhead lights. Harper took it upon herself to open the heavy drapes and let in the weak winter sunlight.

  “There we are, much better. How was your holiday, Soren? Make any New Year’s resolutions?” That was a trick question because she knew he hadn’t. Soren thought every day deserved a resolution, not just once a year. But even knowing his Very Strong Views on resolutions didn’t mean she would resist the opportunity to nettle him when she could. And true to form, he sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and stared at her. “Holidays are a capitalist creation born of abusive economic constructs.”

  “Well, of course,” she said. “But it’s also family time. I thought you went to see your mom.”

  “I did.”

  “And? Did she have a tree? Hot cocoa?”

  “No, she did not have a pagan tree.” He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk. “She had a menorah, thank you.”

  “Ah. Happy Hanukkah.”

  “I am not Jewish, but I will pass your felicitously solicitous greeting along to my mother.”

  He’d stumped her, as he often did. “You’re not Jewish?”

  “I align with Buddhists. Mostly, I spent the week meditating.”

  “That sounds like a blast.”

  Soren smiled a little. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but maybe you should give it a go.”

  “Too busy.”

  “Mmm. About that.”

  “About what?”

  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of two orange plastic chairs at his desk. He’d once told her he liked them because they were uncomfortable and people tended to say what they wanted and get out. He was right—with their scooped-out, unyielding seats, they were so extraordinarily uncomfortable, she had to wonder why they even existed. But she sat—she’d learned how to arrange herself on one hip. She had about ten minutes before some part of her began to go numb.

  Soren took off his poncho and laid it carefully on one end of his desk. He was wearing a black John Lennon T-shirt underneath it. He dragged his fingers through his shaggy, dishwater blond hair, then put his elbows against the desk and leaned forward, peering intently at her.

  “Yes?”

  “While I was meditating—the multitudinous benefits of which you will hopefully discover—I felt as if you were sending me a message.”

  “You did?” Hate to burst your bubble there, cowboy, but I was specifically not sending you messages. I made a concerted effort not to think about you at all.

  “The message I received said that you are ready for the next phase of our journey.” One of his dark brows rose high above the other.

  “Whose journey?” she asked, not understanding.

  “Yours and mine.”

  “We’re on a journey?” She debated telling him that she was not on a journey with him. That this was a job.

  “Let me expand on the postulating postulation. You are aware that I like to hire people who are capable of doing many things. Look at Kendal—he is my administrative director and my accountant.”

  Harper inadvertently choked on what was going to be either a laugh or cry of alarm. “Kendal is your accountant?”

  “My personal watchdog. My raison d’ job. My point, madame,” he said, accented as if he were actually speaking French, “is that Kendal is a man of many talents. And you are a woman of many talents. From many talents comes the potential for change and growth. I have built a company unsurpassed in its extaordinariandom and many talents. I started with a single food truck selling funnel cakes at the state fair, and look at what I’ve become,” he said, casting his arms wide. “I’ve taken the rambunctious challenges and made myself a global being.”

  A global being? They hadn’t made it out of Texas yet. “Mmm . . . sort of?” she said, with a ticktock of her head. “Maybe a regional being.”

  He suddenly leaned forward, his hand in a fist. “But an important regionality,” he said. “First it was food trucks. Then it was coffeehouses. Next it will be restaurants. Do you see?”

  She did not see. This was the first she was hearing this. “Obviously, I knew about the food trucks and coffeehouses. But the restaurants are new.”

  “New is only as good as the moment, Harper.”

  “Umm . . .”

  “You are an important part of this entity. You’ve been working diligently on the South Congress Avenue store.”

  “Yes, I have.” She had been working harder than she thought he even understood, and if she did say so herself, the new flagship looked really good. A couple of weeks ago, she’d gone down to check it out with Veronica Sousa, who was responsible for building the physical assets for the company. “It looks great,” Veronica had said with much enthusiasm. It was a two-story coffeehouse, with a coffee bar and stage on both levels. It was all chrome and mahogany and fancy coffee machines, egg basket seating, library, and a quiet room. Austinites were going to flock there.

  “We must make a splash, Harper,” Soren said, drawing her back to the present. “That store must be the featured contralto of the opera.”

  Meaning, in Soren-speak, that it really needed to stand out.

  “I want you to take the helm of the grand opening. Finish what you started with implementing the design. I want you to make that coffeehouse the best coffeehouse in Austin. I want the grand opening to be the sort of performance that puts the indescribable arousal for conversance at an all-time high.”

  There was no translation for that. “Got it.”

  Soren pinned her with an intent look. “The sky is the limit for you, my friend. If this goes well, we’ll be launching in other cities that have the in toto mindset of harmony. On a grander scale, of course.”

  “What?” A grander scale than . . . the store? Austin?

  “And you could be entirely responsible for that expansion.”

  “What cities?” she asked, trying to catch up. Her breathing had quickened, like she was gearing up for a run. “How many cities? And what exactly are we doing in these cities?”

  “All to be determined with alacrity,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “Upscale coffee bistros.”

  “More than one city?” She should be focused on the grand opening instead of this new expansion, but she would really like to understand the stakes here.

  “Definitely more than one.”

  “Here’s a question—does it mean more money for me?”

  Soren tilted his head to one side. “The evidence of your pleonexia notwithstanding, yes. Significantly more. Thirty thousand more.”

  Harper was so shocked, she couldn’t draw a breath. She stared at him, tried to read something in his unreadable brown eyes. What was going on here? “Are you kidding?”

  He clucked his tongue. “The lucky winner will receive a raise of thirty thousand per annum.”

  Wait just a minute. “The lucky winner,” she repeated slowly. “Which implies more than one candidate.”

  “Well,” Soren said with a careless shrug. “I have two talented prodigies. One, or both, or some emerging amalgamation will be named the lucky winner.”

  He’d only mentioned one other “talented prodigy,” and it wasn’t Veronica. “Are you saying that Kendal and I are going for the same job?”

  “You will both be demonstrating your adroit capabilities, yes.”

  Oh no. No, no, no. She knew there was some competitive undercurrent between her and Kendal. She’d worked too hard for this, and Kendal had shown up two months ago and taken a seat at the receptionist’s desk! This infuriated her. She had just set up the new store and completed interviews for staff hires all on her own. She had worked her butt off for Soren. What had Kendal done?

  She needed to get out of here. She needed to think. “What is the budget for the grand opening?” she asked, the slight shake in her voice betraying her fury. “And how long do I have to plan it?”

  “Unlimited budget. And three weeks.”

  “Three weeks? That’s it?”

  Soren picked up a bell from his desktop and rang it several times. Moments later, Kendal popped in. “You rang?”

  “I was just explaining to Miss Thompson here that we have an unlimited budget for the opening of the South Congress store and a subsequent three months of operation.”

  Kendal looked at Harper. “Well . . . it’s not unlimited.”

  Was he really Soren’s accountant? Since when? “Soren said unlimited.” She shrugged in a too-bad, so-sad manner.

  “I defer to Kendal.”

  Soren smiled at Kendal in a way that shot a shiver down Harper’s spine. Like Kendal was his son. Her fury ratcheted. “How much?”

  “We’ll make available what you need,” Soren said.

  “Within reason,” Kendal amended. “If you can give me your final budget, I’ll see if we have any wiggle room. I feel certain we can accommodate what you want to do. Within reason.”

  There were those words again.

  Soren had come out of his chair and had wandered over to the window to stare out at the sea of glass and metal buildings that populated the Domain.

  “I’ll give you some ballparks on your way out,” Kendal said.

  “I just bet you will,” Harper muttered.

  Kendal pretended he hadn’t heard her.

  Harper turned back to Soren. “May I go now?” she asked. “I apparently have a lot to do.”

  Soren turned from the window and gave her a rare smile. “You’re very good at your job, Harper. I hope to see you soar to heights you’ve not even imagined.”

  Oh, but she’d imagined her heights.

  “One more thing—I don’t want anyone getting wind of our plans. The grand opening should be a plethora of exhilaration and unbridled covet. Do you understand?”

  “In other words, he wants to make a big splash,” Kendal translated.

  Like she needed anyone to translate Soren to her. “Yeah, I got it,” Harper said with a withering look for her competition.

  “Now, I should like to see your progress,” Soren said, and walked back to the desk and picked up his poncho. “We’ll come have a look at the facility tomorrow. Kendal, summon a transport from the intransient pool of ride shares for the occasion.”

  Yes! Bring them a transport from the intransient pool! Harper was going to make this the mother of all grand openings, and Kendal had better stay out of her lane.

  Seven

  Jonah and Truck were the first to arrive at the trailhead where he’d arranged to meet Harper. Truck was full of Big Dopey Dog Energy, excited about the number of people and dogs around him. They couldn’t have picked a better day—the sky was a pale winter blue, the air dry and cool.

  He didn’t see Harper until she was upon them. She’d tucked her long copper brown hair under a knit cap. She was wearing running tights that fit so well that for a moment Jonah couldn’t remember his name. She had a thin waterproof vest over a long-sleeved shirt, and her running shoes were neon green.

  Jonah lifted his hand in greeting, but Harper wasn’t looking at him—she was looking at his dog, her sunny smile for that lunkhead. “Look at you, Truck!” she exclaimed.

  That was a mistake. In a feat that belied both his size and physics in general, Truck took a flying leap in the air for Harper so fast that Jonah wasn’t able to grab the leash tightly enough—it came right off his wrist. Harper was obviously not expecting such a greeting, and down she and the dog went, one of them landing with an oof, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t Truck. A collective Oh! went up from the people who’d seen it. Several people stopped.

  “Oh my gosh, are you all right?” one woman asked as Harper fought off Truck’s tongue on her face.

  “I’m fine!” Harper said, but she sort of shouted it, which made Jonah think maybe she wasn’t fine.

  “Truck!” He most definitely shouted and grabbed Truck by the collar and hauled him off Harper. “Oh my God, Harper . . . I am so sorry.”

  Thank God, she was laughing. She sat up, her legs straight in front of her. “I have never in my life been greeted with such gusto. But you failed to mention your dog is actually a Shetland pony.”

  “An untrainable Shetland pony,” Jonah said. Truck was demonstrating just how true this was by still trying to greet Harper with enthusiasm, leaping at her with that goofy look on his face, seemingly unaware that Jonah was holding him back.

  Two guys jogging by asked Harper if she needed help. “We’ve got it,” Jonah said. It would be even worse if he didn’t help her up. He held out his free hand to her.

  “Thanks.” She gripped it with some strength. He gave a firm tug, and Harper came up with too much force—she bounced a step and landed very close to him.

  They stood like that for a moment.

  He thought he could hear her heart beating. She was a little breathless, and her eyes were shining with excitement. And he thought . . . he thought her lips looked plump and perfect and completely kissable and he realized he was staring at them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you that my dog is an idiot and a beast. He never does that . . . but it’s not exactly surprising.”

  “He’s perfect.” She put her hand on Truck’s head and stroked his snout. “But how do you run with him? One good yank and you’re a sled.”

  “Accurate,” he said with a grin. He brushed a bit of the trail’s crushed granite from her sleeve. “It’s not easy, as you will discover soon enough.”

  She brushed more of the granite dust from her tights. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Truck had lost interest in Harper and had pointed himself in the direction everyone else was going, straining the leash, wanting to join the runners and walkers and other dogs. “Tell me if we’re too fast?” Jonah asked.

  “Sure,” she said, and punched her watch to mark the miles.

  They started slowly, fitting into the flow of the many other walkers and runners who had come out at the end of a workday. Their pace was leisurely, and they chatted as they jogged along. Harper said she hadn’t always been a runner. “But then I gained a little weight a few years ago, and I tried a couple of things . . . but lying about your weight doesn’t actually take the weight off. So I decided to run.”

  He laughed and told her he’d run track and cross-country in high school and had kept up with it all these years. They talked about a football player who had recently run forty yards in just four seconds and agreed that they could not be enticed to run that fast unless there was a pot of gold or, at the very least, something decadent on the other end of the dash.

  “How decadent?” Jonah asked. “Does ice cream count?”

  “Ice cream!” Harper said between gasps for breath. “I wouldn’t run that fast for ice cream. I’m talking something really decadent, like free and unlimited spa treatments.”

  Jonah discovered that she was a fan of the University of Texas Longhorns football team, like he was, and they playfully argued about which young freshman quarterback should lead the team next season.

  As they reached the Ann Richards Congress Avenue Bridge, the sky was starting to turn the dusty shades of sunset—pink and orange and blue. They paused along with hundreds of tourists to watch a famed colony of more than a million bats emerge from beneath the bridge. Truck stuck his head through the rail slats, his tail wagging, his attention rapt on the boaters below, completely clueless about the bats flying out. People were crowding the bridge, trying to see, so Jonah put his arm around Harper’s shoulders and pulled her a little closer, squeezing Truck between them. She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  It felt good. It felt like they’d been doing this for a while now, instead of having just met.

  With the bats still streaming out in a dark ribbon into the dusk, Harper, Jonah, and Truck continued on the path, turning west at the end of the bridge, running along Auditorium Shores and to the Stevie Ray Vaughan memorial on the banks of Lady Bird Lake. They paused there because Harper said she wanted to pay homage, but then she put her hands on her knees and gasped for breath and didn’t look at the statute at all.

  “Maybe we should take the pace down a little?” Jonah suggested. He leaned down to look her in the eye. “I thought you were going to tell me if the pace was too fast.”

  “Not too fast,” she gasped. She straightened. “Okay. Maybe a smidge.”

  When she was ready to go again, they ran at a slower pace to a low point on the trail where dogs could access the river and swim. They sat together on a rock and watched Truck try and play with other dogs. He was so big and clumsy that every time he put a paw on the other dogs, he almost sank them. “It’s like taking care of Baby Huey,” Jonah said with a sigh. “I better get him out.” He called Truck, who came, which was a slight miracle and a huge relief to Jonah—he didn’t want to have to go in after him—but when Truck came out of the water, he rushed past Jonah and a few feet up the path to where Harper was still sitting on the rock. This was the place Truck chose to violently shake off his coat.

  “Jesus, Truck!” Jonah shouted as the dog sprayed dirty lake water all over Harper. She squealed and hopped up, and when she did, she misstepped on the uneven ground and stumbled backward into the trunk of a tree.