Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(83)

“Thank you for walking me home,” Harper said as they stopped in front of the yellow-and-white Victorian storefront on Main Street. She pointed to the upstairs window of her apartment. “Do you want to come up? I have some wine in the fridge.”

Clay checked his watch. “I wish I could, but I promised the babysitter I’d get her home by ten,” he said, and didn’t that warm her heart. He was such a good dad. Devoted, involved, loving, and—holy cow—was he looking at her boobs?

Was Dr. Dreamy checking out Harper Owens’s cleavage?

She watched his eyes to see if they’d dart again, and they ended up doing a minidip—not enough to be called an ogle, but enough that she decided it was the bra, which took her from a moderate B to a sexy C in one shimmy.

St. Helena rolled up its welcome mats at dusk so there weren’t many people out. Just Harper and Dr. Dreamy, alone on the lamp—lined sidewalk, the gentle spring breeze wrapping around them as they stood under the twinkling lights of her grandmother’s shop—and the million or so stars overhead. So she shimmied again and—bingo.

He was sizing up the goods. Which meant this was a premeditated escort.

With the latest crime spree including senior citizens, barrel tipping, and indecent exposure in the community fountain—all related events—Clay hadn’t offered to walk her home for her safety. He’d offered to walk her home so he could make his move.

And since her body hadn’t been moved on in far too long, she was ready.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but there was never a time when Tommy wasn’t around, and I didn’t feel comfortable calling you at work,” Clay said, that deep voice rolling over her and lighting the anticipation that had been simmering since he’d pulled up the bar stool next to hers, offered to buy her a drink, then started asking all the right questions. “So when I saw you at Spigots tonight, I figured it was perfect timing.”

“Perfect,” she repeated, stepping closer and looking up into his deep brown eyes. It was perfect. The perfect place for their perfect first kiss. The perfect moment to take their relationship from I teach your kid how to paint to I know how to make you pant in a single brush of the lips.

“I’m going to San Diego for a conference the second week of May and I’m scheduled to be the keynote speaker. It’s a weekend conference, right on the beach.”

“San Diego is beautiful in the spring,” Harper said as if all of her knowledge about the coastal city hadn’t come from the passenger seat of her mom’s car when she was nine and headed toward Mexico for a month-long artist retreat on native beading.

“It is,” he said. “And the conference is only one night, but I was wondering if you were free.”

“The second weekend in May?” That was the worst possible time for Harper to get away. It was spring inventory prep at the Fashion Flower, the couture kids’ boutique and art store she managed, and she was the only person who could handle the delivery. But a weekend away? With Clay? Naked? “I’m all yours.”

“Really?” He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled.

At her.

It wasn’t the same smile he gave her when picking Tommy up from class, or even the one he’d flashed when seeing her around town. This smile was different. He was looking at her different. As if she were special. As if she were—

“A lifesaver, Harper. That’s what you are.” Clay released a long, relieved breath. Funny, since she had stopped breathing altogether. “Tommy’s mom can’t take him that weekend, and his sitter is only fifteen, hence the reason I need to get her home by ten. I didn’t know who else to ask and you are so good with him.”

“You need me to babysit? Tommy?” She had to ask because she’d had a drink or two, and her brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders, but she was pretty sure he’d just demoted her from quirky-but-cute art teacher to backup babysitter. And her competition didn’t have a driver’s license.

“That would be great. He really adores you. You know?”

Oh, she knew. She knew this moment so well she wanted to cry. It was just like senior prom when Daniel McCree passed her a note saying he wanted to ask a special girl. Only after Harper had mentally picked out her dress, shoes, and the perfect place to lose her virginity had he explained that the “special girl” was Janie Copeland—the captain of the dance team and Harper’s neighbor.

Harper had delivered Daniel’s invite on her way home, then received a record eleven more invites to the prom that year. None of them were addressed to her.

“Tommy would probably be more comfortable at my place. You can sleep in my bed, if that works for you,” Clay offered, and Harper had to bite her lip to not laugh at the irony. He looked at his watch again. “I’m late. Can we work out all the details later? Kendal’s mom flips if I get her home after ten.”

“That’s the great thing about thirty-year-old women,” she pointed out brightly, holding on to that smile even if her cheeks hurt from the weight. “No curfew.”

“Something to keep in mind,” he said with a wink. “Oh, and you have some kind of punch on your dress.”

Harper looked down at her favorite daffodil-colored dress and saw the bright red splotch, right below her minuscule cleavage he’d been eyeing all night. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, he pulled her in for a hug. Not a dual-armed embrace, bodies touching kind of event. But a side-hug/pat-to-the-back combo that bros gave each other. “Thanks, Harper. I owe you,” he said and headed back toward the bar.