Page 9 of Take the Blame (Seaside Mergers #3)

I, of course, didn’t. But Harper didn’t seem all that shy about the information, anyway.

“We’ve been working on this major piece.

It’s a cemetery of broken dreams. The dreams are all like zombies coming out of the ground and shit.

It’s really cool, but it’s sort of difficult because it spans the whole length of her side. So we have to work on it in pieces.”

“Huh,” I said, unsure of why my chest got tight. I was used to this feeling when he made me mad. When he cut me with his lackadaisical attitude or grating laughter, but right now he was being nice. I had no idea what I had to be annoyed over. “What part did you work on today?”

“Hip and thigh,” he said. “Wanna see?”

“What does one wear to get their hip and thigh tattooed?” I asked.

He appeared next to me with a roguish smile. “Not much.”

I wrinkled my nose, the irritation in my chest burning even worse. “No thanks, but I will take you up on something warm to drink. My fingers are freezing.”

“C’mon, Princess,” he smirked, leading the way into the break room. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

Following him I said, “Could you not call me princess, please?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it,” I said. “It’s insulting.”

He scoffed, pushing a black door into a room I’d never seen before. It was small, only large enough to house a card table, a counter with a one tub sink, and one little black microwave, and finally a stainless steel fridge tucked into the corner.

“Most people take that as a compliment,” he said. Moving over to the counter he reached above the cabinets to grab the coffee and a small one cup coffee maker.

“Being told you’re too fragile to dirty your hands with work is not my definition of a compliment,” I countered.

He snapped the coffee cup into the coffee machine, then turned to look at me, leaning against the counter as he did. “I never once said you don’t get your hands dirty. Or that you were fragile.”

“But you did say I didn’t belong here,” I said under my breath. I wasn’t even sure if it was loud enough for him to hear. More like a memory spoken out loud.

Suddenly, I was transported back to that day.

Walking into the shop and seeing something in his gaze as he took me in for the first time.

For a split second, it was like he approved of me somehow.

Like I was everything he needed coming through that door at the exact right time he needed it.

But reality set in quickly, that first illusion crumbling with his first words.

You lost or something ? The question still boiled my blood to this day.

He regarded me in silence now, his jaw held tight as he surveyed me.

Turning abruptly, he grabbed the mug from under the machine. “Noted, I won’t say it again.”

I mumbled a short thanks and twisted my fingers together as I waited for him to bring me my coffee. When he did, I was surprised to see that he’d brought it black. Taking it, I took an immediate sip then blinked up at him. “How’d you know?”

“Know?” He raised an eyebrow.

“How I take my coffee?” I said, ducking behind the cup. “Most people assume I like it sweet.”

“Ah,” he nodded. His gaze did that trickling thing again, looking at me unashamedly for a long second. He smiled, and I was embarrassed to admit that the pull of his lips made me burn. “I was under the impression that nothing between us was sweet, Boss.”

Coffee sputtered up my nose and I choked on it messily. Grinning, he grabbed a piece of paper towel and brought it over. As he leaned over to set it on the table, he admitted, “We have the same coffee order. I noticed when you brought us Delia’s once.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat, quickly wiping my face. “Makes sense.”

“Are you finally going to tell me what’s got you so angry?”

I dropped my eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t been so professional lately. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

He shrugged, but his gaze stayed zeroed in on me. “Does it have something to do with the plants again? Cause the HOA agreed to that grass shit you pitched last time, I’m sure they would?—”

I smiled, a laugh escaping my throat as I relaxed into the chair. I was grateful that, at the very least, Harper wasn’t holding a grudge over my crazy actions. I bet anyone else would be appalled at my behavior, but I could admit that it was different with him.

He didn’t expect me to be Nice Alta . Sure, he knew that’s how I usually was, but he also didn’t startle when I slipped into something different.

Even though it was annoying that he tended to joke around when I wanted to be serious, there was at least that much camaraderie between us.

I actually found that I depended on that.

“Now that’s a new one,” he said softly, watching me with an unnerving level of intent.

“What?” I asked.

“You smiling at me,” he said.

I frowned. “That is so not true… Is it?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, instead just straightening up and saying, “You good then?”

My back straightened in surprise. “You’re leaving? ”

“Is there a reason I should stay?” he asked. “You ready to talk or something?”

I shook my head, letting my eyes drop. “Uh, no reason, just curious.”

He hummed, sounding like he didn’t believe me even as he said, “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m out front if you need me.”

“Okay—Hey, Harper?” I said, testing his name again. Pausing, he slipped a look over his shoulder. I gave him a small smile. A real, if not weak one. “Thank you.”

He gave me a real smile in return. Not one of his infuriating teasing ones either. But a soft one. One that felt intimate in a way, just before he turned and started out the door.

“Anytime, Alta.”

An hour later—warmer and in a much better headspace—we were all out front like usual. I’d slinked out of the back room minutes before the rest of the shop got in for their day, keeping my head down to avoid Harper’s gaze.

The scene with him earlier had been embarrassing. That’s the only plausible explanation why my heart was pounding faster now when I looked at him.

Still, I kept a good distance from him for the rest of my hour. And doing so, I actually completed the work I planned for Ink and Mar this week in that time span. I was almost ready to pack up and leave, but as I stared at the board in front of me, something was off.

“Harper?”

“Tattooing, Boss,” his deep voice called from the back of the shop.

I frowned. Since when? Didn’t he usually have this hour free? I frowned even deeper. Had he started booking our hour now, even though we decided on this time every week to dedicate toward these appointments?

Was he starting to overlook me just like everyone else?

Pushing hair away from my face I continued examining the board for the second time this week. I knew I noticed something wrong with it last time, but I’d been so mad—blinded by my terrible day, that I couldn’t quite pin down the difference.

Now with fresh but no less irritated eyes, the error was glaring. I looked at my watch. I had to get to my next appointment soon. It was a new potential client and contrary to what everyone thought of me; I prided myself on being a professional. I didn’t want to be late.

“Harp, I have to get going soon,” I said, my voice annoyingly not authoritative. Dang it. This was just like the Melissa thing earlier. Why could I not just be mad and show it? “I only need a minute.”

The snap of latex is the only response I got.

I refused to look over my shoulder to see if he was coming or not.

I didn’t want to beg him. I hated that I always had to ask people twice for things.

Sometimes three times or even more depending on the person.

That’s probably why my next words grinded out of me, each syllable enunciated as I tried hard to keep my calm. “ Harper .”

Warm breath tickled my ear making me jump as someone appeared behind me. “Right here, Boss.”

I let my sigh filter through my nose as I turned, taking a step back from him since he didn’t seem to know what appropriate personal space looked like— and since he smelled good again today .

Ignoring the dizzying feeling his nearness sometimes gave me, I got straight to it, motioning to the Feed Board beside me. “You changed my board.”

“Thought it was our board,” he said. Carefully, he crossed his arms over his chest, his black tattoos turning to give me a slightly newer view .

“Yes, of course it’s yours too. It’s your shop,” I started diplomatically, even though nine times out of ten he’d expressed that he couldn’t give two shits about what I decided to post on social media—his words not mine.

Professional, Alta, be professional, I reminded myself.

“But I arrange them a certain way for a reason. The colors all have a meaning. If you’re going to change something I’d like to know. ”

“You said we could rearrange the feed however we liked as long as we give you a week's notice,” he said, annoyingly, pointing to the board for an example. “The only thing that’s changed is from here down. That’s two weeks’ notice from what I can tell.”

My temple thrummed with irritation. He was mocking me or testing me. Either way, his know-it-all tone and satisfied smirk was setting me off once again.

“That’s correct,” I said, breathing out as I tried to keep my professional composure, though it was proving harder by the second. “But the red squares are off limits, remember? What happened to my red square?”

“You’re going to have to remind me what that was,” he said, yawning .

My jaw ached from holding it so tight. “The block party. The one happening on Halloween. I need to announce it at least two weeks in advance or else you won’t gain traction. But it’s gone.”

“Oh,” he said, shrugging. “That’s because we’re not doing that.”

“What?” My eyes snapped up to his, my eyebrows tucking in so tight I could almost feel them touching. “What are you talking about?”