Harley was the master of the situationship. Random, shallow, situation-based dating that never allowed real feelings to solidify. If the situation began to smell like a budding relationship, Harley ran screaming for the nearest exit.
Even from the start, things with Bryan had felt different. Around him, she was different. Calmer, peaceful—happy. He inspired things inside her that she’d never felt. Scary things. Which was why she’d waited until he’d left for work before fleeing Los Angeles under the cover of night.
Subconsciously, she’d headed north, surprised when she pulled into Nonna’s driveway. Maybe the universe was telling her she needed a safe place to work through her emotions. And Nonna’s house had always been her safe place.
She’d found the spare key in the hidey-hole—another affirmation that she was making a sound and mature decision. Which was why, not wanting Bryan to think she’d been murdered or kidnapped, she called him . . . when she knew it would go to voice mail.
“Hi, Babe,”she’d begun.“Sorry I won’t be here when you get home. My nonna, she’s . . . uh. Well, she . . . passed on so I need to go home. To, uh, help my sister. Help her look after the house. Not sure how long I’ll be gone.”She’d almost hung up, then decided to add, “Don’t wait for me. Okay, gotta go.”
She should have made it into theGuinness World Recordsfor telling a lie without actually lying. Her nonna had passed a year ago, and while Harley was looking after the house, especially the kitchen portion, the house didn’t need looking after. Pacific Cove was the kind of place people left their doors unlocked and their car keys under the driver’s seat. As for handling the service, because her sister was a control freak with borderline OCD, Teagan had handled everything—so efficiently she’d handled Harley right out of any meaningful contribution. Lastly, Harley knew exactly when she would be back.
She’d return to LA the moment after Bryan realized there were other, more emotionally experienced fish in the sea and he was better off without her. Or when Harley got her hormones under control and banished the ridiculous notion that she, a four-time romance flunky, could go the distance. Until then, Pacific Cove was her place of peace and harmony.
She considered, for a split second, answering but sent him to voice mail instead. She let out a long breath and dipped the scooper into the carton.
“You’re one mean mother clucker, Harley Ashford,” she said around a spoonful of melting ice cream.
She was reaching for the dish towel to wipe her mouth when she heard a rustling. No, more like a rattling followed by a series of thumps, loud and determined thumps, which were startling in the empty house. And they were coming from the front door.
She went still and,shit,someone was fiddling with the door lock. Unsettling because no one knew she was there. No one! Not even her boss.
Grabbing “The Slugger,” a 1965 Louisville Slugger, which Nonna kept in the umbrella stand, Harley tiptoed toward the door. Growing up with a roadie for a father, Harley knew how to handle herself. She might be afraid of commitments, but an amateur intruder didn’t rank on her list of things to run screaming from.
Choking up on the bat, she waited until the door opened and leapt out of the shadows.
“Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!”
“What the hell?” the intruder screamed as an elephant-sized attack dog raced into the house barking and growling. “Take whatever you want. Just leave.”
“She said a bad word,” Pocket-Person One said, while another pocket-person jumped between the adults. “And so did you, Mommy.”
One hand out like a crossing guard, the other on her hip, her cape flapping in the wind, Pocket-Person Two shook her head—just once, but Harley immediately lowered the bat.
“Lily says to get back or else,” Pocket-Person One informed her and that’s when a sinking feeling churned in her stomach. Those two pocket-people were her nieces. And standing behind them was the one person in Pacific Cove Harley had gone to great lengths to avoid.
Her sister.
“Jesus, Harley. Why are you attacking me and my kids?”
Yup.It was Teagan, her—same parents, different last name—older sister who thought she ruled the world.
“Why are you sneaking up on me?” She rested the bat against the wall.
“Hard to sneak when it’s my house. Wait.” Teagan paused. “Why areyouhere?”
“Um, because Nonna said I was always welcome.” And she was hiding out.
“Nonna Rose is in heaven,” Pocket-Person One, aka Poppy, informed her.
“Well, an invite now requires some advanced notice or a courtesy call.” Teagan entered, and the girls shot into the house, running in circles around the adults, who were also circling.
Harley pulled her phone from the robe’s pocket, dialed her sister, and Teagan’s phone rang.
“Cute.” Teagan sent her to voice mail. “Why are you here, Har?”
Part of Harley, the part who missed her big sister, ached at her childhood nickname. The other part of her went into combat mode. Teagan might technically own the house, but it was Harley’s home too. Or at least it used to be for a month every summer and rotating Christmas breaks. Harley had a lot of memories of growing up, but her favorite ones were made right here in this house, with Nonna and her mom—and yes, Teagan too.
“Why areyouhere?” she countered. “You don’t come until July and—” Harley glanced at her nieces. “Why are your kids naked?”
