phone away, telling Sam that was enough for her. If they liked him, no doubt she would, too. Looks didn’t matter, she’d asserted, Owen had proven that a beautiful facade did not necessarily harbor a beautiful soul.
But now, phone in hand, she used the app to study the man standing on her porch. Sam was right; he was good-looking if a bit somber. She’d been sold on Mikhail because, like her, he was an artist, a professional musician and successful songwriter. According to Sam, he was also a microbrew master who enjoyed traveling, concerts and long rides on his vintage motorcycle. Also like her, he was a bad relationship survivor. Sam had revealed that his ex-wife had cheated with his best friend and left him devastated. This was Mikhail’s first post-heartbreak date, too. They had so much in common.
As a photographer herself, she thought it would be nice to be with someone who understood her dedication, intense focus, odd hours and the often-transient nature of her job. Someone who could relate to the inherent challenges of putting your work on display for others to critique and value.
A little spike of yearning accompanied this pep talk. She took a second to gauge it, trying to determine if there was more yearning than fear. When she couldn’t decide, she reminded herself that it would be good to socialize again, to find a nice guy who was exactly what he claimed to be. Unlike Owen, who had deceived her and left her way more bitter than she wanted to be. More bitter and distrustful than a woman should ever be. In retrospect, she suspected that he’d intended to use her from the start. With her history, and her dad being her dad, she should have known, or sensed, that something was off, or at least exercised a bit more caution.
“Stop beating yourself up, Harper. Not all men are users,” she muttered and headed toward the door. Inhaling a deep breath, she put on her game face and opened the door.
“Harper Jansen?”
“Yes! Hi!” she said with possibly too much enthusiasm. Dialing it down a notch, she added, “I’m Harper.” Why was he frowning? Nerves, maybe? She rather liked that, the notion that he might be sharing her trepidation. “Please, come in.” She waved him forward.
Tipping his head thoughtfully, he paused for a few seconds before moving inside where he stood stiffly, looking like he was trying to decide what to say.
It seemed prudent to take the reins. “So, I’m just going to come right out and tell you that I’m super excited about this.”
After a beat, he asked, “You are?”
“Of course, I am!”
His mouth turned down at the corners while his gaze narrowed with what might have been skepticism.
Wow, she thought, Sam was right, he has been out of the social scene for a while. She went on, “And I have a fun idea how we can get to know each other.” Gesturing at herself and then him, she went on, “I’m glad you went with casual. Jeans are perfect for what I have in mind.”
“Uh, okay.” Brow furrowed, voice hesitant, he said, “Generally speaking, my wardrobe will vary according to whatever activity you’re engaging in.”
Harper felt herself grinning at 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.
