More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(13)

Harris, who was still working on the swing, gave her a quick, disgruntled look before dropping his eyes back to his task. The silence between them over the last half hour had been interrupted only by his increasingly frustrated curses, and Tina, who hated being amused by anything Harrison Chapman said or did, couldn’t help being entertained by his irritation at his inability to complete the job at hand.

Tina said nothing, merely got up and began to industriously clean up the packaging scattered around her small flat. Then she moved the stuff she had assembled into the bedroom, which she intended to give up for Libby and Clara.

When she returned ten minutes later, Harris was standing in the middle of the living room—hands in his front jean pockets—glowering at the wobbly-looking swing in front of him and swearing steadily beneath his breath.

“It’s not quite right,” he acknowledged, without looking up.

“Yeah, I can see that,” she said, keeping her voice level, while—for the first time in memory—she wanted to laugh long and loud in this man’s presence. “I think you probably needed those as well.” She pointed down at a few scattered leftover pins and screws, and he glared down at them before pushing an irritated hand through his hair.

“They didn’t belong anywhere. I think they were just extras in case some of the others get lost.” He was bullshitting. They both knew that. But he was too stubborn to admit that he’d been defeated by a piece of baby paraphernalia, when Tina had assembled two and a half separate items in the same amount of time it had taken him to (barely) complete one.

Tina didn’t say anything in response to his nonsense and instead picked up the leftover odds and ends and set them aside. She would take the swing apart and fix it after he left.

“Well, thanks for your help,” she said, barely refraining from layering the last word with the sarcasm just clamoring to creep into her voice. She pasted a polite, impersonal smile on her face and stared at his imperfect yet arrogant nose in an attempt to avoid his eyes.

“I think it’s safe to say you didn’t need my help after all,” he said drily, his deep voice rich with self-directed amusement. The wry self-deprecation surprised her into glancing up and meeting his gaze straight on. “I never was much good with puzzles.”

“I remember,” she said, her voice husky.

The memory of a fifteen-year-old Harris, impatiently shoving aside a jigsaw puzzle and stating emphatically that it was “boring,” floated unbidden into her mind. Tina vividly recalled him claiming that even if it was raining, he’d much rather be skateboarding. He had departed without so much as a goodbye, leaving Greyson and thirteen-year-old Tina to complete the puzzle without him.

“Do you?” His voice took on a gruff note, surprise evident in the two words, and Tina was horrified that she’d allowed even that much to slip. She didn’t want to remind him of how much she had adored him throughout her teens.

“You were never very patient,” she said with a dismissive shrug, her eyes once again drifting south to his nose . . . only this time, she couldn’t prevent her gaze from sliding even farther down to his mouth. That wide, beautiful, bow-shaped mouth. Once, long ago, she’d become intimately acquainted with those lips. And she had never really forgotten the taste of them, not even with everything that had happened afterward. It wasn’t something she would ever forget. Similar to the way the craving of an addiction stays with you even after you’ve kicked the habit.

“I’m sure you want to get home,” she said pointedly.

“Not particularly. Why don’t we get some breakfast?”

“No. Thank you. Please leave.” His face tightened, and it once again surprised her into glancing up into his eyes. They held a trace of something very much like hurt. She blinked, and it was gone, to be replaced by . . . nothing.

“I suppose I’ll see you around then,” he said after a moment, turning to pick up his jacket, knife, and car keys. When he straightened to face her again, he graced her with a perfectly bland smile. “Please tell Libby to call me if she or the baby need anything.”

“Clara.”

“What?” His straight brows lowered over those deep-set, thickly lashed navy eyes in confusion.

“Libby named the baby Clara.”

He absorbed Tina’s words for a moment before grinning, his even teeth looking even whiter than usual against the darkness of his stubble. It made him look slightly naughty, and Tina battled to regain her breath. Feeling like she’d just tackled the stairs up to her flat again.

“Good for her,” he said. The relish in his voice surprised her, and she tilted her head to stare at him assessingly.

“I thought you hated that name.”

“Nah, I hated the evil bitch with the same name who tutored slash tortured Greyson and me for five years, but I have nothing against the name itself. It’s pretty. But Greyson is going to hate it.”

“Not that he cares,” she reminded him, and his face darkened as that beautiful grin slowly faded from his lips.

“Not now. But he will. And when he does, he’ll sorely regret his behavior and actions these last few months.” His voice was confident but grim.

“And you’re happy about that?”

“It’s petty, but yeah . . . I’m okay with that. He thinks . . .” He paused, his eyes on her face, but his gaze was turned inward.