“I’d have inhaled dirt if you’d put it on a sandwich,” Trent said.“I’m seriously that hungry.”
They sat in comfortable silence as he devoured the rest of the food.
“That was so freakin’ good.I owe you one, Harp,” he said, leaning forward to put the empty container on the table.
He picked up a mini éclair and took a bite, flakes of the choux pastry falling onto his Pixies T-shirt.Taking a moment to chew, he inhaled slowly and then turned to look at her.“Open.”
His easy smile had disappeared.Her heart quickened.
“Please, open.”His voice roughened.He held the pastry to her lips.
Tentatively, Harper opened her lips and took a bite.When she reached up to wipe it from her mouth, he stopped her with his free hand.
“Hmm,” Trent murmured before leaning in to nibble her lips slowly.“Chocolate.”He breathed against her.His tongue brushed across her lips, teasing her with a sugary kiss.
She shivered as her mouth opened.
Trent let out a soft groan as his tongue brushed across hers.He tasted delicious and was soft and warm, a calm to the craziness in the rest of her life.
“Batter up.”The hammering on the door shook Harper out of her trance.She jumped away from him on the sofa.Outside the door, Cujo laughed.
“Fuck off!”Trent yelled and then groaned.“Sorry about that.Guess my five minutes are up.”He leaned forward to give her a shorter but equally mind-blowing kiss.
“Thanks again for dinner.I was beginning to dread the next few hours.”He brushed her hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek with his thumb for the briefest moment.
“My pleasure.”
“Mine too.”A grin appeared on his face.“I’ll walk you out.”
***
Trent loved Sundays.For one thing, Second Circle closed early.It was a little after six when he finally flipped the Closed sign and turned down the main lights to the studio.The televisions had stopped their flickering and the sound system was finally off.
A sigh of relief escaped him.The boys would think him pathetic if they knew how much these moments of silence meant to him.
For a solid hour, he pored through the week’s receipts and bank statements, made sure it all added up.Finance was not his favorite subject—he was never going to get an MBA—but Junior had taught him enough to manage his own books and never be taken advantage of.
The week had been good to the store.All the craziness meant more money rolling through, and more clients meant their fixed overheads were covered more easily.
The more the team’s reputation grew, the bigger some of the jobs had become.Over half of his current clients were repeats who wanted big pieces.Full back panels or sleeves.
The cash flow had made it possible too, for him to afford to do more free work in conjunction with the local rehab unit, the one responsible for his sister’s recovery.He remembered the moment Kit had walked into Junior’s shop with tears in her big brown eyes.She’d been fourteen, her dark brown hair still in pigtails, so unbelievably young, and his initial reaction upon seeing her crying was to wonder which asshole he needed to kill for breaking her heart.But then she raised her sleeve, showing him the fresh, red wounds, and the collection of silver lines that scarred her upper arm.
“Please fix them for me,” she’d whispered to him.His stomach lurched at the memory.He’d recognized the lines for what they were straight away.What he didn’t understand was what on earth could cause a sweet young girl from a good family to self-harm in that way.He’d pulled her to him, holding her tight as she collapsed against him, thinking if they just stayed that way, he could stop her from doing it again.
They’d gotten through Kit’s cutting as a family, learned about the group of seniors who made Kit’s daily life hell, and worked through the impact they’d had on her self-esteem.The rehab unit had given her the tools and skills to handle the challenges of life in a more productive way.And he’d promised Kit that once she was through treatment, he would be good enough and knowledgeable enough to help her cover the evidence of her pain, that silvery trail up her arm.
When the ledgers balanced, he closed the laptop and headed out of his office back into the studio.As he pulled on his jacket he looked around, remembering the day when they’d installed the new full-motion hydraulic beds.He and Cujo had gotten so drunk in celebration that they’d slept on them that first night.Now, Second Circle was way past the point of breaking even.Trent smiled at the thought of doing well enough to move into a bigger condo.Or maybe even a house with a garage where he could fix up muscle cars.Not that he had any time to spend on cars right now.The studio consumed most of his waking hours—and if the TV show took off, he’d have even less free time.
The picture of the studio’s opening day hung next to the alarm panel.None of them were looking straight at the camera.They were outside the shop.Cujo’s arm was draped over Trent’s shoulder, but he was looking around to say something to Pixie, who had her head thrown back laughing.Trent had almost forgotten that Cujo used to have longer hair.He’d been as shocked as anyone when Cujo had shaved his head to raise funds for the rehab unit.Trent, huge smile on his face, was looking over the top of Pixie’s head to Lia who, dressed as demurely as a fifties pinup, was flipping him the bird.After that shot, his mom had given up trying to get them all into a straight line saying cheese.
He set the alarm and locked up.His stomach rumbled.Dinnertime, and he doubted his little delivery angel was likely to drop by again.It felt like forever since he had seen her, though it had been only yesterday.She was working the late shift.Maybe if he got his shit together quickly he could fit in a gym session and grab a bite before swinging by to drive her home.
***
“You were right,” Harper told Drea as she cleaned the steamer on the espresso maker.Twenty minutes until closing.She prayed that nobody came in wanting a latte.
“I’m always right, Harper.About what this time?”Drea wiped down the counter.Joanie was still in the back, getting ready to leave, and the café was empty.
