“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
Harper was surprised by a surge of emotion. She had feltso much better after their boating excursion, but now, again, she felt wrung out. Tired. And afraid. And tired of being afraid. She cleared her throat. “The truth is, I would love for you to stay.”
He gave a quick nod. “Good.”
While Harper checked on Ellen to be sure she was set for the evening, Tariq went out to buy groceries and a bottle of wine. When he returned, he poured them each a glass of wine, put on some music, and started chopping vegetables. The apartment was soon filled with the aroma of sautéed garlic as Tariq cooked his specialty: linguini with clam sauce, garlic bread, and a big green salad.
As they ate, they reminisced about their days at Berkeley and swapped stories about the years after they had completed their degrees but before Harper came to Monterey. They talked about anything and everything except the Perles Mansion, Delilah, Asher, and Joel.
The hour grew late.
“You must be exhausted,” Tariq said, as they finished straightening up the kitchen.
“What about you?”
“I could use some sleep.”
Harper hesitated. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”
“Are you afraid to be alone?”
“No. I don’twantto be alone.” She held his gaze and stood very close to him. “I want to be withyou.”
He brushed her hair from her cheek and cupped her chin. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Tariq spent the night. And not on the floor.
Twenty-Eight
The next morning, they sat at the table sipping coffee and stifling yawns. It had been a short night, sleep-wise.
“Sorry, I don’t usually keep any milk or half-and-half on hand,” Harper said.
“It’s not a problem.”
“I drink my coffee black. I’m bitter like that.”
He gave her a crooked half smile over the rim of his coffee cup. “I know you like to think of yourself that way, but I’m not buying it. This Perles Mansion thing is a case in point: You can’t let it go. You feel compelled to fix things for people, figure things out.”
“Hard to believe the ghost tour was just one week ago, isn’t it? Also, not to dwell on it or anything, but I’m officially one full week into being forty.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“The jury’s still out. I mean, so far, I have to say, my fortieth year has been a bit…fraught.”
“My fault. If I hadn’t goaded you into going on that tour…”
“Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that. How on earth did you fail to foresee that we would discover a famous painter buried alive in her garden, which might later have led to Joel’s death?”
“A shocking lack of foresight on my part,” Tariq said, downing the last of his coffee. He stood, gathered his wallet and keys, and paused for a long moment, gazing down at her and cupping her cheek in his palm. “Harp, I know this has been a strange week, and we’re both a bit off-kilter. But last night was…really something.”
She stood and gave him a hug, lifted her face to his, and they shared a long, searching kiss.
“I’ll see you later?” Tariq asked, his voice husky.
“I’ll call you.”
