Tasha grinned at her, and Harper determined then and there that she would actively work at having a relationship with her and Jenny. For once in her life she wasn’t going to allow the length of time she spent in a given town to dictate the effort she put into getting to know people. This time she’d make friends on a deeper level than her usual enjoy-them-while-they-last-but-don’t-get-too-involved way.
“I’m surprised you managed to pull yourself away from Lover Boy,” Tasha said to Jenny as she raised a hand to catch a nearby waitress’s attention.
“It wasn’t easy,” the small brunette agreed. “But it’s been far too long since I’ve had any decent girl time. And much as I love Jake, the estrogen deprivation was starting to make me twitch.”
Tasha gave her a solemn nod. “I totally get that. Lovely as men can be, there’s such a thing as testosterone overload.”
“But, oh, what a way to go,” Jenny murmured with a small, private smile.
All three women laughed. “Oh, sure, rub it in for those of us who haven’t been as lucky lately,” Harper said. She raised her brows at Tasha. “Or maybe that’s just me.”
“Nope. Much as I’d love to say it is, I’m part of the ain’t-getting-any demographic myself.”
A college-aged blonde stopped by their table to drop three coasters in front of them. “You ladies ready?”
After they placed their orders, they watched the blonde stride off. Then Jenny turned to Harper. Planting an elbow on the table, she propped her chin in her palm to study her. “I never would have pegged you as a beer drinker.”
“What did you think I’d drink?”
“Martinis,” Tasha said unhesitatingly, and Jenny nodded her agreement.
“Really?” She shifted her gaze between the two women. “Why?”
“Probably because you’ve got that whole—” Jenny rotated a hand “—sophisticated thang going for you.”
This time Tasha nodded.
Then the petite brunette dismissively flapped the same hand. “That’s not important, though,” she said, focusing her attention on Harper. “I was wondering...how would you like to take on some added responsibility at the inn?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Harper was at once excited at the idea and uneasy. She always enjoyed the challenge of learning or conquering new skills. At the same time, the goal that had brought her here had nothing to do with her job at The Brothers. “You know I’m not looking for a full forty-hour week.”
“Right now you’re not even up to thirty hours.” Jenny sat straighter in her chair. “What I have in mind will add maybe an extra five hours a week. And I think it’s something you’d not merely enjoy but be really good at.”
“Okay, now you’ve got me all curious.”
“Me, too,” Tasha said.
“Every year, from the Thursday before Labor Day through the holiday, the town holds its annual Razor Bay Days. Max told Jake, who of course told me, about your ideas to bump the Village’s fund-raising efforts up a notch. That’s exactly the kind of thinking we need for handling the inn’s participation in the events.”
Jenny must have seen her instinctive shake of the head, for she hurried to say, “You don’t have to reinvent the wheel, sweetie. It’s mostly a matter of handling the things we already have in place. For instance, we always buy a block of preferential seating for the Saturday parade and Sunday night fireworks in town, and you’re in a perfect position to let people know they’re available. The actual sales will be handled at the front desk. You’d set up an Adult Night with an appropriate theme and activities, as well as a coordinating Game Night for the kids. You’re so damn inventive, this stuff oughtta be right up your alley.”
“I’m surprised you’re not doing it yourself,” Harper said slowly. “You must have it down pat by now.”
The cocktail waitress arrived then with their order, and the three women exchanged pleasantries with her as she placed their drinks on the table. When she walked away again, Jenny leaned forward.
“That’s actually part of the problem. Razor Bay Days is the inn’s single largest occupancy week, and it’s routinely sold out as much as a year in advance—in many cases to people who come year after year. I feel we need some fresh eyes on this, fresh ideas.”
A few ran through Harper’s mind, and she couldn’t help the excitement that coursed through her veins. She loved doing this sort of thing. “Okay, it sounds like fun. I’ll do it.”
“Excellent!” Jenny smiled hugely and leaned into her. “Let’s get together at my office tomorrow and—”
“Everything was fine until you came along,” a belligerent voice suddenly cut through their conversation, and Harper twisted in her seat in time to see a man take a swipe at the drink in front of another man sitting with a woman at the bar. The top-heavy glass tumbled over, and liquid spilled across the bar to waterfall over the side.
The woman leaped to her feet, brushing at her shorts and the waistband of her top, which were spotted with whatever had been in the glass.
“Crap. Wade’s at it again.” Jenny, who had turned toward the bar as well, swiveled back in unison with Harper to face center again.
“Who’s Wade, and why on earth did he do that?”
“Wade Nelson.” Tasha tipped her chin in the direction of the woman who’d jumped up. “He and Mindy were married once upon a time.”
“But Wade has issues, and one day she finally had her fill of them and kicked him out,” Jenny said, picking up the story. “Eventually she and Curt Neff started going out, and a year or so later they got married. Wade refuses to accept that it’s over between him and his ex-wife.”
The man was still loudly haranguing the ex-wife’s husband. “You’d think they’d be furious, but I don’t hear them saying anything to him in return.” She wanted to turn around to see, but her manners-count upbringing deemed it best not to gawk at them again.
“They learned through hard experience that ignoring him is best all around,” Jenny said. “I don’t know if I could keep my mouth shut as well as they have, though. That has to be hard.”
“Seriously hard. How long have they been doing it?”
“Seven years.”
An incredulous laugh escaped her. “Are you bamming me? They’ve been apart seven years and he still thinks—what?—that she’ll come back to him? When he acts like that?”
“She and Curt have been married seven years,” the petite brunette corrected. “Mindy and Wade have been divorced damn near nine now. But you’ve got the basic idea right. He simply won’t admit she’s never coming back.”
Sunlight flooded the front end of the bar for an instant as the door to the street opened; then the room regained its usual atmospheric dimness once again when it slowly closed behind the new arrival. A no-nonsense voice Harper would know anywhere said, “Let’s go, Wade.”
Like a compass needle seeking true north, she swung around to watch Max Bradshaw stride up to the bar. He wore his usual uniform of knotted-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life black tie over a khaki shirt with shoulder epaulets. A gold-toned badge was pinned to his chest, and gold, black and green shield-shaped patches, each sporting a spread-winged eagle and the Razor Bay Sheriff’s Office designation, decorated his shirt’s sleeves above the hems that bisected the solid mounds of his biceps.
His jeans, soft and worn almost white at the seams, might have seemed incongruous with the crisp professionalism of his upper torso if not for the black web utility belt