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He shouldn’t care. Whatever made his job easy.
Even the back of the house was beautiful. The lawn was well maintained even in winter. The patio area was partially covered and some of the furniture was wrapped up to protect it from the weather.
It must be a riot of color and flowers in the spring.
He got out of his car and ambled toward the patio.
The French doors opened and Robin stepped out. She waved at him while holding a mug in her other hand. She wore relaxed clothing, leggings, a loose shirt and a knit cardigan that fell to her thighs. Her hair was up and she smiled at him.
That smile filled him with eagerness only for the weight of his guilt to slam into him.
He grit his teeth and promised himself this was the last time he’d entertain the guilt. This job was necessary.
It would have been easier if she were the socialite Samuel had painted her out to be. It was infinitely more difficult to willingly deceive her like this.
“Hey,” she called out.
He stepped up onto the patio. “Hey yourself.”
She leaned against the other door. “Have you had lunch yet?”
He stopped short of walking into her. Yeah, he was a bastard.
Harper looked down into her eyes, marveling at the lighter shades of brown and gold melding together. He lifted a hand and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I had a little something.”
Her hint of a smile widened, and she turned from him. Hiding?
“Well, come inside,” she said over her shoulder.
He stepped in, immediately giving the place a visual once over. The French doors let into a more comfortable sitting room. There was no TV, but the furniture here was used often. It wasn’t a showroom. He could easily imagine Robin curling up here with a book or her phone.
Robin’s nose scrunched up, and she squinted at him. “This might be an odd ask, but would mind taking your shoes off?”
“Not a problem.”
“I’m sorry. Normally Dad doesn’t care, but whenever my uncle is here, he changes the rules on all of us.”
Harper winked at her. “Your house, your rules.”
“Thanks, I’m really sorry.”
“Hey.” He reached out and grabbed her free hand. “No apologies, okay? I wound up serving as a translator half the time I was in the SEALs. I get it. I’m used to it.”
“Are you allowed to talk about that?” she asked.
He toed off one shoe then the other. “What? My time in the SEALs? Sure.”
“Did you learn Arabic as part of your training?”
“Oh, no. My parents immigrated and wound up living close to China Town in Chicago. All of their neighbors spoke Mandarin, so they learned enough to get by. Mom wound up getting a job at an auto shop working the front desk. She figured out real quick being able to speak Mandarin, Spanish and English made her valuable. So when they had me, Mom decided the best thing she could do was teach me all the languages possible.”
“How did you go from Mandarin, Spanish and English to Arabic?”
“September eleventh. I was in eighth grade. There was a mosque not far from where we lived. Dad actually pointed out that it was a moment the whole world was pivoting on. I guess I got wrapped up in it, too.”
“So you went to the mosque for classes or something?”
“Community college. The imam’s son was a professor. So I took those classes during the summer in high school. Hated it at the time, but I’m grateful.”
