the near future, because he wasn’t interested in being either the nobly-tortured, self-restrained chump or the dick-driven moron who threw away years of friendship for a roll in the hay. He liked things nice and easy. No complications. Lots of fun. Pippa didn’t fall under any of those headings.
He strode into the living room, automatically reaching for the remote to flick on the TV. He wasn’t really hungry, but he went into the kitchen and made himself a big bowl of ice cream. He sat on the couch and dug in, kidding himself that he was watching the cricket report when really he was thinking about the way Pippa had hugged and kissed him on her doorstep.
She’d called him kind, which was a pretty big joke given all he’d been able to think about was her breast pressed against his biceps. And when he’d returned her embrace—an impulse he hadn’t been able to control—he’d sucked in a lungful of her perfume and the warm, milky smell of her daughter.
Who—yeah—had totally been in Pippa’s arms while he was thinking about how soft her breast felt against his arm.
He was so kind. Practically a saint.
Disgusted with himself, he pushed his half-full bowl onto the coffee table and dropped his head against the cushion, trying to find some clarity. Or at the very least a little peace of mind.
He’d left as soon as he’d registered his own interest—he figured that counted in his favor. And he’d held her for only a second. And even though he wouldn’t swear on it, he was pretty sure he’d helped out with the car with absolutely no expectations. Just as, even now, a part of him itched to grab his toolbox and go over to her place to fix that ridiculous abandoned door leaning against the wall, as well as that stupid, half-assed lock she had to wrestle with.
So what? She’s Steve’s ex. Doesn’t matter what good deeds you want to perform, Boy Scout. She’s out-of-bounds.
She was. Even if she and Steve had ended things amicably, the same would be true.
Which meant it really was time to stop thinking about her.
Harry reached for the remote, cranked up the volume and pretended that that was what he was doing.
PIPPA PRACTICALLY LEAPED down the steps the next morning, eager to get into the day. She had a car again! She felt as though she was rejoining the modern world after a week in the Stone Age.
Alice talked to herself in the backseat as Pippa drove to the village, her head full of plans. Once she had restocked the pantry, she might make a run to the library to check if the textbooks she’d ordered for her classes had arrived. Then she should probably get a head start on the five-thousand-word assignment that was due before the end of the month.
But first there was something she wanted to do. She parked in front of the liquor store and strapped Alice into her stroller, then went inside and bought some beer. The salesman helped her stow it on the rack at the back of the stroller before she exited and crossed the road. A bell rang as she entered the cement-floored reception area of Village Motors and a young girl looked up from behind the counter.
“Hi. How can I help you?”
Pippa offered up her best smile. “Would it be possible to speak to Mr. Porter?”
The girl’s gaze flicked between Pippa, Alice and the beer. Lord only knew what she was thinking.
“I’ll see if he’s busy,” she said primly.
Pippa pushed the stroller back and forth while she waited, hoping to keep Alice distracted. When Alice started vocalizing, she squatted to play peek-a-boo, making her daughter smile.
“I’m Mike Porter. How can I help you?” a deep voice asked.
She glanced up to find a powerfully built older man with a graying horseshoe mustache and Harry’s eyes and nose towering over her. Like Harry, he was tall and broad. She would have recognized him as Harry’s father anywhere.
She stood. “My name is Pippa White. I own a bright yellow hatchback. Your son Harry repaired it for me….”
“Right. The head gasket.”
“That’s me. I wanted to drop by and say thank you for your help, and to offer you a small token of my appreciation.”
She collected the carton of beer from the luggage rack, offering it to him. His forehead pleated into a perplexed frown.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said gruffly.
“I wanted to. I really appreciate what you and Harry did for us. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have a car again.” Her arms were starting to get tired and she adjusted her grip a fraction. “Unless you like your beer frothy, you might want to grab this. I’m afraid my upper-body strength isn’t what it should be.”
“Sorry.” Mike took the carton, placing it on the counter. He looked uncomfortable and a little uncertain as he faced her. Pippa stifled a smile. Like Harry, he didn’t know what to do with her gratitude.
“Please take it. It’s a tiny fraction of what the repairs would have cost, and I really want to acknowledge your generosity.”
“Harry won’t like this. He was pretty keen to help you out.”
For some reason, his words sent a wash of warmth up her chest and into her face.
“I know. But he needs to accept that I’m pretty keen to thank you for that help, too.”
Mike’s gaze moved to Alice, his mustache twitching around his smile as he studied her round face. “This your daughter?”
“Yes. Alice.”
“How old is she?”
“A little over six months.”
His gaze returned to her and she could tell he’d made a decision. “Thanks for the beer, Pippa. It won’t go to waste. And I’ll be sure to direct Harry’s comments your way when he hears about it.”
She smiled. “You do that. I can handle it.” She slid her hand into her handbag and grasped her checkbook. “Now, I don’t suppose you could tell me what I owe for parts?”
Mike’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “You don’t need to worry about all that. Harry covered everything.”
“I know. That’s why I want to make sure he isn’t out of pocket. It’s one thing to give up his time, but I can’t let him pay for parts, as well.”
Mike shook his head. “Sorry, but that’s something you’ll have to take up with Harry.”
“Mr. Porter—”
“Mike.”
“Mike. Harry is a great guy, but I don’t feel comfortable having him pay out money on my behalf. I know I didn’t ask and he offered, but I can afford to cover the parts, and I really want to. It’s important to me. I’ve got Alice to look after now and standing on my own two feet means a lot.” She could hear the emotion vibrating in her voice and she swallowed. For a woman who had spent much of her adult life merely getting by, being responsible for another person was a profound shift. More than
