Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(43)

At one time she was considered an up-and-coming set and window designer. She’d started making a name for herself as a live artist who told her stories through people and everyday pieces of furniture, fabrics, and paint.

But there wasn’t really a market for her kind of talent in St. Helena. Besides the Boulder Holder and the Fashion Flower, there wasn’t another clothing shop in town with a big enough window for her to work with. But St. Helena was the only home she’d ever known, and every person in her patchwork family lived there. And that was what was important.

After a lifetime of watching her mother put her art before matters of the heart, Harper knew she wanted a different life. She valued things like connections, security, and love above all else.

“That may be, but giving one person sole credit when there will be so many people helping out doesn’t seem fair.”

Plus, she wasn’t sure what Adam would say to that. Or the department, for that matter. She didn’t mind if Liza capitalized on the event, but she didn’t want to diminish other people’s hard work.

Liza looked at her as if she were slow, and maybe she was. Maybe that was why she was still folding ruffled bloomers instead of pursuing her passion for visual arts. Then again, she didn’t hate her job, but she’d hate herself if she bulldozed over people.

“Well, other people wouldn’t be able to get Vintage Elementary to send out flyers offering extra credit to every student who participates in the event. They also couldn’t get every mommy blogger in Northern California to get on board with a grassroots marketing effort to ensure that parents all over the greater wine country know that this is the family event of the summer.”

Harper was pretty sure, if given the time, she could do the same. But she didn’t have the time. And she’d promised Adam she’d help.

“What’s the second requirement?” Harper asked, and immediately Liza’s face went flush.

“This one is actually a favor.” The woman who was always cool and collected—a Stepford in every sense of the word, sans the wife part—smoothed down the hem of her skirt and self-consciously looked around. “I need advice on picking out something sexy.”

“For Brooklyn?” Because ruffled bloomers was as sexy as the Fashion Flower got.

“For me.” Liza lowered her voice, even though the shop was nearing closing time and there wasn’t another soul in the store besides the two of them. “I’m stopping by the Boulder Holder on my way home, to pick something up. And I needed your advice first.”

Now it was Harper’s turn to flush. “You need my advice?”

“I have a date tonight. A real date. Time with a man who isn’t my brother, father, or elderly relative.” She shook her head. “God, I haven’t been on a first date since I married Brooklyn’s dad, and even then I think he took me to his favorite college pub with his dorm mates.” Liza laughed, a little self-conscious, a little bitter, and a whole lot sad. “Pathetic, right?”

“No,” Harper said, placing her hand on Liza’s. “I think it’s a real situation for more women than you’d think. And wearing pretty lingerie makes us feel sexy, and everyone wants to feel sexy when they go on a first date. It’s not pathetic at all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harper said. “What are you looking for?”

“Well, that’s why I came to you,” Liza admitted. “My mom was in the shop the other day and overheard Adam talking to you about some bra-and-panty set.” She shrugged. “I figured if he liked it enough to request it by name, then it must be pretty sexy. And I need all the sexy I can get.”

It was an odd statement for someone who carried herself as though she had it all figured out. A woman couldn’t get trendier or more put together than Liza. She dressed for world domination, moved with purpose, and yet she was nervous about what kind of panties to buy. Nervous enough to ask Harper.

Or maybe, like Liza, Harper carried herself differently than she thought. Perhaps the way she perceived herself and how other people saw her didn’t match.

Or maybe, she thought with a secret smile, she carried herself differently since Adam. She felt different. Lighter, edgier, more relaxed.

Whatever the reason, it felt good. Liberating.

Sexy.

“It’s called Honeysuckle,” Harper said, thinking of what her grandmother would say. “It’s elegant without being uptight. Sophisticated without being stuffy. I think it will look lovely with your complexion and will help with your inner goddess.”

“Thank you,” Liza said, the words sounding a little rusty from lack of use. “For the advice and . . . well . . .” And there went the fidgeting again. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be going on a date at all.”

“Why is that?”

“His son is in Brooklyn’s art class,” Liza said, and Harper got a really bad feeling in her gut. “I’ve noticed him looking at me for a few weeks now, but he never approached me. Then the other day after class he asked me to dinner, told me about how you encouraged him to get back out there, make some time for himself.” She waggled a brow. “Cute, sweet, and a doctor to boot.”

Harper felt sucker punched in the gut. She would have let loose a grunt from the pain, except her smile was so tightly frozen her lips couldn’t move.