Keeping Her Close. Carol Ross
this odd reply. She wondered if he’d been reading up on dating etiquette. Poor guy. She could hardly hold it against him if he’d been seeking out some tips. Undoubtedly, she could use a few of those herself. A superpower would be better though, and, as long as she was wishing, she’d like the kind that allowed her to see right into the heart of a person. Yep, super judgment, that’s what she needed.
“Sounds like a good policy,” she said, wishing he’d relax. “I hope you don’t think this is totally outrageous, but I was thinking we’d go zip-lining and bungee jumping.”
“Bungee jumping,” he repeated flatly.
“Yeah, like a modern-day, adrenaline-charged parlor game. Nothing like mutually shared abject terror to break the ice, right?” she joked.
Blank stare.
Harper went on, “I know a guy who has a place where we can do both. I took some photos for him a while back, and he was so happy that he offered me a bunch of services for free. Isn’t that cool? Then, I thought we could head into Astoria. Have dinner, stroll around the Spring Fling Festival. Have you heard of it?”
“No, I have not.” He appeared confused now and sounded almost surly.
Harper swallowed, nervousness was rapidly overtaking her enthusiasm. Possibly, these epic date aspirations were overkill. She didn’t want them to be, though, and she found herself rushing to sell it. “It’s an art and seafood festival. It kicks off tonight with ships that cruise by on the Columbia River, all decorated with lights, like a boat parade. Vendors set up along the waterfront selling food, crafts, antiques…” Recalling his profession, she added, “Oh, and a band!”
This only seemed to puzzle him further, kicking her anxiety up another notch. “Maybe you could get up there with them and sing a song or two.” Reaching out, she gave his forearm a quick little squeeze. “Ha-ha, just kidding.”
Harper wanted to melt into the wall at this point because his eyes followed the path of her hand and he flinched at her touch. It was slight, but still, she noticed, and it was definitely a flinch. She could feel her cheeks heating with color. He’s been here two minutes, and he’s already trying to get away from me. Maybe if I tell him my dad is a billionaire, he’ll come around. That seems to impress the men I date, or maybe that’s what attracts them in the first place. Chicken, egg, Harper, heartbreak. No matter the order. Same outcome.
Desperation had her blurting, “Oh, and there’s a beer garden featuring microbrews from all around Oregon. You’ll love that, right? I can drive, so you can sample all you want. Maybe that’ll get you up on stage. Ha-ha!”
Okay. He was glowering now, and Harper wondered if maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe his problem was social awkwardness? Was it a language barrier? Mikhail sounded like it could be Russian or Eastern European? Although, she hadn’t noticed an accent.
Raising her voice in that clumsy way a person does when faced with incomprehension, she enunciated slowly, “Does any of that sound fun? Or maybe you had something else in mind?” She hoped he wasn’t one of those guys who had to be the one to plan every detail. Control freaks were not in her wheelhouse.
Finally, he shifted on his feet, gave his head a little shake and answered, “No, honestly, none of that sounds like fun tonight. Under the circumstances, this entire plan of yours sounds like a complete and total nightmare.”
KYLE’S FIRST THOUGHT upon meeting Harper Jansen was that she didn’t recognize him. Maybe not too surprising as they’d never met face-to-face. Although, he’d seen photos of her and figured she’d seen at least a few of him. He would have recognized her. The second thought, however involuntary and unwelcome, was that she was every bit as beautiful and alluring as Owen had claimed. But then she’d started this disjointed rambling that left him equal parts confused and concerned. No wonder Dr. Bellaire wanted him to start as soon as possible. The woman needed protection from herself.
Owen had waxed on about Harper’s virtues: smart, beautiful, talented, fun-loving—these were just a few of the many, many adjectives he’d used to describe the woman he’d met, fallen in love with and proposed to in a matter of months. As he had then, Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if Owen had let infatuation cloud his judgment. No one could fall in love that quickly. An engagement that fast seemed impulsive, if not reckless. Now he wondered if this woman was in her right mind.
“You don’t like bungee jumping?” Her tone had lost a touch of its previous zeal.
“It’s irrelevant whether I like it.” In fact, he did like it, but that didn’t matter right now. They weren’t going. Did she not comprehend what had happened to her father that very morning? So much about this “plan” of hers was wrong. One element, in particular, was bothering him so he had to ask, “Why would you think I’d want to go out and drink so much beer that I’d need a designated driver?”
Dark brown eyebrows just a touch darker than her hair dipped in confusion. “Don’t you like beer?”
Okay. This was too weird. Before he could form a response, the doorbell rang.
Harper frowned and glanced in that direction.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
“Um, no, just you.” She started to move around him like she was going to answer it.
“Then wait.” Kyle caught her elbow. “I’ll get it.”
“What, why?”
“I think that’s obvious.”
“Not to me.” Blue-gray eyes narrowed in on him as her expression turned thoughtful. “Why would you answer my door?”
“Because it’s my job,” Kyle returned flatly. “Or it will be soon if you agree to hire me.”
“You…” She went wide-eyed, and her face lost some of its color. “You, your, job,” she stuttered, before cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no…” More muffled words followed by a groan.
Kyle shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s the password for your security app? Your dad said you change it weekly.”
“Of course, you already have the app,” she said in a resigned tone, not about to admit that she never changed it. “It’s chiaroscuro and then the number 282. Chiaroscuro is spelled c-h—”
“I know how to spell it,” he said, a bit sharper than he’d intended. But a stranger showing up at her door right now was alarming, to him at least. He held up the display for her to view. “Do you know who this man is?”
“Maybe,” she answered hesitantly, studying the screen with an expression Kyle could only describe as painful. Seriously, what was wrong with her?
“Maybe,” he repeated, his patience beginning to fray, “is not an answer. Yes or no?”
“I said maybe.” Her tone held an edge now, like he’d done something to irritate her. But then she sighed, and said, “He, uh… He might be my date.”
“You don’t know what your date looks like?”
Her answer was quick and sharp, “Haven’t you ever heard of a blind date?”
Kyle’s gaze met hers, and he realized then that he’d mistaken embarrassment for irritation. Cheeks splotched with pink. She was grimacing. Understanding dawned, about the odd conversation that had just transpired and her ensuing mortification; she’d mistaken him for her blind date.
Trying not to allow her discomfort to thaw his concern, he answered, “I’m aware of the concept, yes.” He couldn’t let himself feel sorry for her because why would she be going on a blind date considering the circumstances? It was risky if not downright reckless. Until the police were done investigating the guy who’d tried to attack her father, she needed