“Two more,” I reply, and he grins then unfolds himself from the couch, taking my plate from me. Sipping my beer, I watch him go to the kitchen to get us each more pizza, thinking I also liked the feeling of having him in my house and wonder if I can convince him to come back again after tonight. Then I think it’s stupid to wonder that, because he is obviously just here because he is a nice guy. Okay, a scary guy, but still a nice one, who wants to pay me back for looking out for him.

***

“Thank you for helping,” I tell him four hours later, standing in my open front door with Dizzy against my chest, watching Harlen slide on his leather vest. After we ate pizza on my couch, we unpacked, and then we took a break to eat my dessert pizza while standing in my kitchen, before unpacking some more. He didn’t talk much, but I found that he was easy to talk to, easy to be around, and funny. Not in-your-face funny, but still funny in a way that made me laugh and do it often while we worked.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says, moving past me to stand just outside the door, close enough I can smell a hint of something intriguing, but not close enough to be in my space.

“It was. We got almost everything done,” I tell him, looking back into the house. Most of the boxes that were stacked up in the living room and kitchen are gone, emptied and broken down in the spare bedroom, ready to take to the dump. And the stuff that’s left has been stacked up to drop off for donation. All I have left to do is put away my clothes and hang some of my photos and art. “I feel like I owe you payback now,” I add truthfully, meeting his gaze once more.

“Tomorrow, come by the compound,” he says, and my head tips to the side.

“The compound?” I prompt. I haven’t been there. My cousins and even my sisters have, but not me. I know it’s a part of the auto shop he works at and that some guys who have recently been discharged from the military live there, but that’s really all I know about it.

“We’ll hang out, play some pool, and drink a couple beers. I’ll call it even.”

“I don’t know,” I mutter, sliding my eyes away, and then his warm fingers wrap around my chin. My body jolts from the touch and my eyes shoot to his.

“Six.”

“I—” Before I can tell him no, his fingers tighten, not painfully but just enough to get me to shut my mouth.

“Six,” he repeats, then his head lowers, and my breath catches as my eyes slide closed. I don’t know if I expect him to kiss me or not, but when his lips brush my hairline at my forehead, disappointment fills my stomach. “Lock up,” he orders, and then both he and his touch are gone.

Opening my eyes, I watch him head down to his bike and get on. Knowing I don’t want to look like a teenager with a crush or a lovesick fool, I close the door, making sure to lock it behind me. Then, without anything else to do and really too tired to do anything more, I go to bed, where I spend the night tossing and turning.

Chapter 2

Harmony

PUTTING ON MY WATCH, I look at the pile of clothes on my bed and the rest of it scattered across my floor, shaking my head. I didn’t do what I should have done today—that being put away my clothes, and unpack my bedroom. Instead, I spent the day overanalyzing every moment from last night, between running errands, picking up beer at the grocery store, and trying to figure out what I would wear to see Harlen.

As promised, my family came over a little after four to help me finish up what I needed to get done, and since there wasn’t much left besides my bedroom, they ended up helping me hang pictures and take boxes to be recycled and some stuff to Goodwill.

When my mom asked how I got so much done, I told her that Harlen had come over to help me after running into him at Marco’s. My mom, who knows Harlen, got a funny look on her face at the mention of his name, but she didn’t say anything besides “That was nice of him.” July and June, who overheard me telling Mom about Harlen, shared a look I didn’t understand. Thankfully, the rest of my family (the guys) weren’t around for that part, so I didn’t have to deal with them going all overprotective.

Shaking away those thoughts, I go to the bathroom and shut the door to see the mirror behind it. I rest my hands on my hips and study my black tank top, jeans with holes in the knees, and my four-inch black wedge booties with a peep toe. After thinking about what to wear all day, this is what I came up with—something casual but still cute. Looking at my watch again, my stomach starts to dance. The compound is about twenty minutes away, on the other side of town, so if I’m going to get there on time, I need to feed Dizzy then head out.

Going to the kitchen, I dump a can of wet food in his bowl and give him a pet before grabbing a case of beer from the fridge, my keys, and my bag from the counter.

Parking out front of the auto shop a little over twenty minutes later, I take a few deep breaths and open my door. Before I even have one foot on the ground, I see Harlen step out of one of the open bays, wiping his grease-covered hands on a red towel. Taking him in I notice that he’s wearing a pair of navy blue coveralls with the arms of the top down and tied around his waist and his torso covered in a black tee that’s been washed so many times it’s faded to an almost gray color.

“Hey.” I smile then bend back into my car, reaching across the seat to grab the beer I brought with me.

“You’re early,” he says, and I feel my stomach drop as I turn to face him. Lifting my wrist, I look at my watch and see that it’s six. Actually, it’s two minutes after six. I’m not early, technically I’m late.

“You said six.” I hold up my watch toward him. “That’s now,” I say, and his head tips to the side.

“Most women show up at least thirty minutes later than the time you give them,” he tells me, and my brows draw together tightly.

“So you told me six thinking I’d be here at six thirty?” I ask, and his lips twitch.

“Just figured if I told you six you’d be on time.” He comes toward me, taking the beer out of my hand.

“I’m always on time,” I inform him, and his lips tip up into a small smile.

“I see that now,” he replies, and my eyes turn squinty as I rest my hands on my hips.

“Do you want me to get in my car and drive around for half an hour?”

“Nah, since you’re here, you can come help me,” he says, turning back toward the shop taking the beer with him.

“Help you?” I ask his back, and he looks at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, you can hand me tools while I finish up on the car I’m workin’ on.”

“Great.” I shake my head then follow behind him, thinking this isn’t starting how I thought it would.

After we head through the open bay door he came out of earlier, I watch him drop the beer to the top of a tall black toolbox then go to a white Toyota that has seen better days—those days being a century ago—and lean into the open hood. Not sure what to do with myself, I cross my arms over my chest and watch him work, his arms flexing and his jaw twitching in concentration.

“Hand me the wrench,” he says, and I look from him to the toolbox. Finding what he’s asking for in the mess of tools, I pick it up and hand it over.

“What?” I ask when he looks at me strangely, closing his large hand around the wrench.

“Nothing.” He goes back to work, and I go back to watching him. “Did you finish unpacking?” he asks, looking up at me, and a piece of his dark hair falls forward across his brow, making my fingers twitch to move it aside.

“Mostly.”

“You want me to help you some more tonight?”

Him… in my bedroom? Yeah, I don’t think that would be smart.

“No, I got it covered, but if you feel up to the task of going with me barstool shopping on my next day off, I won’t turn you down,” I say without thinking.

“I can do that.” He says looking up at me.

His easy answer catches me off guard. All the men I know would rather shoot themselves in the foot than go shopping for anything besides groceries, and even that’s a stretch.

“Cool,” I agree, and then take the wrench from him when he holds it out to me.