“Gah,” she groans, tossing her head back. “That was such a good theory. A lot went into that.”

“I could tell. But sorry, no visiting old dogs for me.”

Her eyes widen, and she turns a death glare on me. “Are you bringing ice cream to Denise?”

“No,” I answer, exasperated.

“Okay, just checking.” She taps her foot and then nods at the ice cream. “So what are you going to get? Are you actually going to eat it?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.” I turn around and reach into the cooler, relieved to spot a carton of cookie dough. “I’m going home and eating this entire thing.”

“A whole carton?” This time she looks at me with disbelief.

“Well, maybe not the whole carton, since I can’t remember the last time I ate a sweet, but I’m still going to eat some of it.”

“Oh, some of it.” She waves her hands in the air, teasing me. “Watch out, Port Snow, Rogan Knightly is going to have a few bites of ice cream.” She shakes her head in disappointment. “Nut up, man, and have a bowl.”

Fuck, I’ve missed this side of her, this teasing, playful side. It’s doing all kinds of things to me, twisting and turning my already-knotted stomach.

“After this conversation I might just eat the whole damn thing.” I start to walk toward the register but pause and face her, holding up the carton. “This right here? This is your fault.”

“My fault? How is you eating ice cream my fault?”

“Because.” My eyes give her a slow once-over. “You’re driving me crazy. I don’t know if I actually want to be friends with you or fuck you up against a wall.”

Talk about shocking the crap out of her. She takes a step back, eyes wide. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a Lactaid pill and a bowl of dairy. Night, Harp.”

“There’s no way you carved these cabinets from one piece of wood. You’re such a liar.”

“Am I?” I lean against the butcher-block counters of the Harbor Walk House, taking a brief break from assessing the space and taking measurements for production. “You don’t know the kinds of talents my hands possess.” I think about it for a second. “Well, at least the ones outside of the bedroom.”

She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “What happened to no sexual innuendos?”

“I was stating a fact, not an innuendo. I mean, do you or do you not know how my hands feel running up and down your body? Or the way my fingers can easily make you soaking wet with just a light flick of your nipple? Or how I can make you come multiple times with just my fingers twisting and thrusting inside you?”

Harper’s chest is rising and falling at a more rapid rate; her fair skin instantly blushes. That’s her number one tell, and I love it.

“I hardly see how that’s proper business talk.”

“Oh, we’re talking business? My mistake, I thought we were talking these bad boys.” I lift up my hands, which she once knew so well.

“Why are you curling your finger like that?” She points with her pen. “Stop that.”

“Oops, sorry.” I chuckle, knowing exactly what I was doing. “Muscle spasm.”

“We’re getting off course.” She quickly licks her lips and stares down at her paper. “Um, where were we?”

I hold back my smirk. “Cabinets, my hands . . . muscles contracting, oh, I mean spasming.”

“Yes, spasms. I mean . . . no! We’re not talking about spasming or contracting or fingers.” She pushes her hair out of her face. “Okay, so wood.” She sputters. “Cabinet wood, not penis wood. I don’t know why I said penis wood or why I’m staring at your penis.” She clamps her hand over her mouth. “Oh God, did I say that out loud?”

Fuck, laughter bubbles up inside me.

“Forget I said crotch—”

“You didn’t say crotch.”

“Wh-what?” Her head tilts to the side, eyes wild. “I mean penis, forget I said penis, or wood. Let’s just move on.” Pen poised, she winces. “I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

“Give it up, Harp. You have sex on the brain.”

“You put it there,” she snaps and tosses her notepad and pen on the counter and then stares at the cabinets. “This is not one piece of wood.”

“Nah, ordered them from a factory.”

Tossing her hands in the air, she walks away. “You’re infuriating.”

“Just the entryway.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, leaning against a wall of the Inn by the Sea, arms crossed, my shoulders pulling on my suit jacket, shaping the fabric around my arms. I’m only aware of this because Harper keeps staring at them. She thinks I don’t see it, but I do. The little glances in my direction. She might be keeping her heart under lock and key, but her lust is apparent, with every sideways glance and once-over she gives me.

“Yes. Sally will go over this more with you, but they just need the entryway of the inn and then the closed-in back porch.”

“Any bedrooms? I redid them. Want to check one out?”

“What? No.” She shakes her head. “No, that’s not necessary.”

“Big, comfortable beds.” Her eyes flick to my crotch and then back to her papers. “Mirrors on the ceiling.”

Her head snaps up. “Seriously?”

“No.” I laugh. “I’m classier than that. Just wanted to see what your reaction was.”

“You know, you seem to be forgetting about our no-sex-talk rule.”

“That wasn’t sex talk, that was . . . informing you of the new accommodations.”

“You’re making this harder than it should be.”

“Is that right?” I wiggle my eyebrows. Huffing, she blows past me and straight out the inn doors to my car. I follow close behind her. “You seem upset.”

“I’m annoyed.” She tries to open my car door, but it’s locked.

Casually, I lean against my car and look up at the cloudless sky. “Want to go to lunch?”

“Right now?”

I hold up my watch. “It’s noon. I’m hungry. You seem like you could use some food.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She clutches her folder and papers to her chest.

“I think it’s a great idea.” I push off the car and unlock it. “Hop in.”

“But . . .”

I don’t give her much time to refuse my offer. Instead, I take her folders from her and plop them in the back seat of my car and then help her into the passenger seat. I pull on the seat belt and go to buckle her in when she snags it from me.

“I’m quite able, thank you.”

“Just trying to make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

“Some might call this kidnapping.”

Hand on the door, I say, “Maybe it is,” right before I shut it and round the SUV.

This might be jumping the gun when it comes to our “friendship,” but I’m willing to push her. I know she doesn’t trust me, but there’s only one way to solve that: nudging her to step outside her comfort zone and spend more time with me.

“What are you in the mood for?” I ask, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car.

“Will you actually eat with me? Or are you going to gnaw on a carrot while I shove food in my face?”

“I’ll eat with you.”

“Good.” She smiles. “Then take me to Mario’s. I want some pizza. And you’re buying.”

“Be honest,” Harper says, pulling a piece of cheese off her finger with her teeth. I swear to God, she’s doing that on purpose. “When was the last time you ate pizza?”

“I really can’t remember.” I fold my slice in half and take a big, gooey pepperoni-filled bite. Fuck, it’s so good.

“That’s absurd. I had pizza last week. Who doesn’t know the last time they had a slice of pizza?”

“A guy who doesn’t really care?”

“Pah!” she exclaims. “If you didn’t care, then you would be eating all the pizza, every day. It’s because you care that you don’t eat it. So what’s the deal? Why are you Mr. Health Nut now?”

“I’ve always been healthy.”

“Not this healthy. So, what is it? Are you looking to try out for Mr. Hard Body up in Pottsmouth?”

“The all-male strip club?”

“Yeah, I mean, what other reason is there?” She gestures to my chest. “Not that I’ve been staring, but I can’t help but notice how tight your dress clothes are. You weren’t this muscular in college. So . . . what is it?”

Not that she’s been staring? Ha, okay. She’s been staring, a lot.

And if I open up just a little, it will go a mile in her book. If I’m going to gain back her trust, I need to give her little pieces of me, of the man I am today and the decisions I’ve made. Because I can’t help the way I’m drawn to her, drawn to the familiarity of what we had. But when she first arrived, I didn’t know how long she’d stay in Port Snow, didn’t think either of us was ready to acknowledge we might be open to more, so every time we were drawn or pushed together, the fear made me push her away. Same as it did after college. Now I know I have to change that. I need to prove to her that the past is exactly that—the past.

I’m a different man.

A better man.

It’s about time she sees that.