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Forget it. Don’t engage. You’ll only make it worse. I bite my lips together.
Harbor places her hand on my forearm. “I’ll help you get the kids to the car so you can get home.”
“Thank you. But you don’t have to.” My heart thunders in my chest. Touching her was one thing, but having her hand on my skin has my hair standing on edge.
She glances from under her lashes. “It’s not a problem. I want to.”
God, she’s gorgeous. I ache to pull her into my arms and kiss her pouting lips until they open and let me explore. Blood rushes to my ears until I’m lightheaded.
Ask her out. Do it. Ask her out. Convince her to fall in love with you and live happily ever after.
She loves it here. It’s impossible for her to deny this isn’t where she belongs. All day today and last night at the game, she chatted non-stop with our friends and neighbors. San Francisco is nothing like this. This is home. I’m home.
“Besides.” She shrugs. “Connor would be ticked if I didn’t help his best friend out. And I don’t want any crap from him. Plus, I’m on my way back to San Francisco for a party, so I might as well get a head start.”
“Right.” I swallow over the lump in my throat and block out the foolish nonsense that has been rattling around my brain.
Chapter Eleven
Harbor
I descend the stairs in front of my high-rise apartment building and smile at my boss’s driver. “Hey, Speed Racer.”
Langley is a nice guy in his forties with a wife and two middle school-aged boys. Over the last couple of months, we’ve talked a lot on our way to different events. He’s worked with Henry for ten years and knows every road in town, including a good deal about the different players in town.
Specifically, he knows who’s cheap and who isn’t. That information is beneficial in the big money game. And he’s a breath of fresh air in the ‘see and be seen’ landscape of Southern California. We might be nearly 400 miles from Hollywood, but all of Southern California is focused on the rich and famous.
“Hey, Gofer.” He tips his black hat. Langley believes in living up to the full reputation of an upscale limo driver. “Mr. Burke asked me to get the door for you. He’s on a call.”
“Thanks.” I breeze past him and wrinkle my nose. The traffic is bumper-to-bumper, and there’s no limo in sight. I frown. “Where did you park?”
“Two blocks down.” He chuckles and strolls toward the parking garages.
Ugh. Why did I pick downtown to live? It smells like exhaust fumes, there’s nowhere to park, and it takes an hour to get anywhere. Okay, I didn’t pick downtown to live. My boss paid for my lease and chose the location because it’s within walking distance of his headquarters. I shouldn’t complain. It’s free and has an amazing view.
However, the downside is that I must walk two blocks in stiletto heels to the parking garage just to get into the limo. Peachy. For a split second, I wish I still had on the sneakers I wore at the festival, but that wouldn’t do for a meet and greet celebrating my boss.
“How was the visit home?” Langley is impeccably dressed in a white button-down shirt, black suit, and wingtip shoes.
“It was good.” I shrug and block out the pain shooting through the center of my foot. And this dress…. Blah. It’s too fucking tight after eating cookies with Cole’s niece and nephew. But they wouldn’t hear of us leaving without indulging in our own delicious treats. “It was homecoming weekend.”
“Really?” He presses his lips together. “I’ve heard of those quaint small-town homecoming weekends. Do they really have parades, bounce houses, and face painting? We never had anything like that in our school. There were too many students and way too many busy streets.”
A Jeep passes by with the horn blaring while riding the back bumper of a four-door sedan. Seconds later, the driver whips around the car, barely missing clipping the fender.
“I forgot they don’t do that everywhere.” We approach Mr. Burke’s limo. “It’s fun. I can’t imagine not growing up with those types of small-town activities as a kid.”
“It sounds like you miss it.”
“I do.” Shit. The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. It’s not a lie. I loved growing up in Meadow Bay and expected to get married and raise three kids in a town where they could play in the front yard and safely run out into the street to retrieve a wayward basketball. Three kids–not five. My parents were crazy to have five kids.
Mr. Burke rolls down the dark-tinted window and frowns. “Hurry up. You know it’s going to take forever to get across town.”
“Yes, Sir.” Langley brushes past me, jogs around the car, and opens my door. “Here you go, Ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I block back the pain of speedwalking and quickly slide into my seat. The scent of leather and $1,000 cologne fills the space as I settle into the cushions.
“Harbor.” He nods and taps his index finger on a tablet screen. The device is state-of-the-art and holds every detail of the man’s packed itinerary. “I’ve added another event for two weeks from now.” He tips his head to the matching one that is synchronized with his device. “I need you to make all the arrangements for a trip to Vegas. You know the drill–clothes, amenities, lodging, and travel arrangements.”
