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“Me?” I ask, stabbing my finger into my chest. “You’re the one who doesn’t live anywhere near here.”
“Only a stalker would know where I live.” Raising an eyebrow in challenge, he nods as if he’s won.
“Or someone who just worked at your house last night.” Maybe he is winning . . . winning me over. The more time I spend with Harbor, the more time I want to spend with him. I don’t always trust guys when we first meet, but there’s something about Harbor that makes me believe he’s being genuine with me.
Chuckling again, he rests his arms on the roof and says, “Touché.” His shoulders drop as he eases against the car. “But it is really dark out. I’m happy to give you a lift if you’d like a ride home.”
His argument holds water. It’s just a friend helping a friend. And maybe it’s a little, or a lot, of me wanting to ride inside something so luxurious. I may never get this chance again. “I’ve almost been hit a few times riding at night, so I guess it would be safer if I ride with you, but how will we fit my bike? There’s no room for it.”
He’s grinning, nothing less than gorgeously, as if it were even possible for him to sport anything less. His gaze runs the length of the car and then lands back on me. Waggling his eyebrows, he replies, “Don’t worry, we’ll make it work.”
6
Lark
I’m notsure how everything Harbor says feels like it has layers of other meanings built in, but he did make it work.
Kneeling on the sidewalk that leads to the door, he puts the last bolt back in place and then spins the wheel. “Good as new.”
“Thanks.” I spin the tire, not because I don’t believe him, but I’m not sure what to do and need the time to decide. Should I invite him in, take the free ride in the fancy car and then make a break for it inside, or hang out here in the dark with him a little longer? One and three are tempting, but my sensible side says two should win out. “Would you like to come in?” And there goes all reasoning . . .
“Sure.” He rights the bike.
“Let me put this up.” I take it by the handles and start for the side of the house where I store it behind the bushes.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he follows me through the grass. As I hide it from sight behind the shrubbery, he looks down the street and then back at me. “Should you lock it up?”
“I don’t have anywhere to lock it, and my neighbors inside the house complained when I used to keep it in the entryway.” I walk back around the house to the sidewalk. Harbor keeps up, his strides double mine. “They had a point since it’s a small entry, but now I take my chances.” I’m about to take the coffee from him when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. “Oh no, my dad.”
Panic widens his eyes as Harbor looks around. I would laugh, but my dad is actually here in his truck, parked at the curb with the passenger side window rolled down. “You didn’t text me back,” he says, but his eyes are glued to the guy beside me.
With the phone in my hand, I see the three missed texts and one call that went to voicemail.Yikes.“Hey, Dad,” I say, sounding as chipper as I can despite being not only busted with a man he doesn’t know but said man also making me forget to text my dad. I move to the truck quickly before he gets out and this becomes a whole thing that it’s not. “I’m sorry. I stopped at TJ’s to grab coffee and ran into a friend.”
My dad glares over my shoulder, and mumbles, “A friend, huh?”
“Hello, Mr. . . .” Harbor goes quiet after approaching.
Under my breath, I whisper, “Summerlin.”
“Mr. Summerlin. It’s nice to meet you.”
My dad was never a cop, but he gives off the vibes when he wants to intimidate. Resting his arms on the thin steering wheel, he eyes Harbor. “And you are?”
Harbor moves to my side and holds out his hand. My dad doesn’t bother, standing his ground. The left side of his face pinches as he looks him over, and from experience, that’s never a good thing.
Lowering his hand, Harbor replies, “Harbor Westcott, sir.”
“Let me guess,” my dad starts and then leans back. “From Beacon Pointe?” His tone isn’t rude, but he calls things how he sees them.
“Yes, sir.” Harbor’s tone stays as solid as his demeanor, which I think matches his character. My dad will appreciate that. “How did you know?”
“The car might have been a giveaway.”
“Right. Well, speaking of cars, I should probably go.”
Jumping into the exchange, I say, “Harbor gave me a ride home since it was dark.”
My dad looks into the rearview mirror and then back at us again. “How’d you fit her bike in a Ghibli Modena?”
