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“Like-minded people should always stick together.” Tre patted Harmony’s headrest.
Harmony wasn’t sure how long two divas could share the same space, but for now all seemed good.
“Where are we headed?” Lyric glanced in the rearview mirror before she backed out.
“Neiman’s of course. It’s my mecca.” He checked his watch. “We have just enough time to make it there for lunch. Their café has the best club sandwich in the world.”
Harmony wasn’t sure whether Tre was going to make things better or worse, but at least he was interesting. And anyway, she was out of ideas.
* * *
Chapter 17
* * *
Dalton had never had a longer day in his life. Minutes lasted for hours, and hours took days to pass. As he sat at his desk doodling on the ink blotter, he glanced at the clock on his computer monitor for the billionth time. It was only two seventeen. Was he in some sort of time loop like Groundhog Day?
He doodled some curly cues and a couple of music notes. He glanced at the clock. It was still only two seventeen. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a million things to do, but well, he missed Five-Alarm Harm. She was something special. He not only understood, but actually enjoyed, her brand of crazy.
And that was when it hit him—so hard that he dropped his Mont Blanc and sat up.
He was falling in love with Harmony.
Holy shit.
He was falling in love with Five-Alarm Harm.
He didn’t know whether he should be terrified or elated. Probably both, now that he thought about it. Because one thing was for sure, if he could get her to love him back, his hopes for a sane, peaceful life would go right out the window.
As he sat here counting down the minutes until he could see her again, that didn’t seem to matter. Just like it didn’t matter that she wasn’t wife material. All that mattered was that he was crazy about her, and he wanted her to be crazy about him too.
Which he thought she might be. How else could he have lived through handcuffing her in his office? But just because she cared about him too didn’t mean that she was interested in trying this out for the long haul.
But he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not even close. He just wished he knew how exactly this was going to play out.
Should he tell her tonight that he was falling in love with her? Or would that just scare her off? The last thing he wanted to do was put Five-Alarm Harm on the offensive … or to make her run in the other direction.
Nerves played Pac-Man with his insides. This was a nightmare. He wanted happily ever after just like the next guy, only Harmony wasn’t a happily-ever-after kinda girl.
How stupid could he be?
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, told himself he could do this.
He ran the reigning Super Bowl champion football team and negotiated multimillion-dollar deals for breakfast. He could handle one adrenaline-junkie baker with a short fuse, no matter what she decided to throw at him. It wasn’t like he didn’t deal with spoiled athletes every day of his life.
He’d just have to accept the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to control her. She was too unpredictable. Of course, that was one of the things he loved most about her.
Life with her, he smiled to himself, would never be dull.
Three hours later, he was home and wishing for a little dull. He poured himself a tequila shot and chased it with a lime. Not that he was a big drinker, but right now he needed a shot. Or several shots.
All six burners of his stove had pots full of cooking food. He sniffed the air. Something was burning. He juggled pot lids trying to figure out what was wrong, but everything looked fine-ish. Why the hell had he volunteered to cook for Harm? He didn’t cook. Well, besides microwave popcorn and the occasional egg. This morning it had seemed manly to prepare food for his woman, especially if he was going to ease around to a define-the-relationship discussion, but now he realized it was one of the worst ideas he’d ever had.
One more shot to steady his nerves—hell, he wasn’t driving. Maybe he’d take two.
He was just reaching for the bottle when the smoke detector started screeching. The kitchen filled with smoke. And that was when it hit him. The oven. Crap, the turkey.
Goddammit. This was the worst idea he’d ever had.
