Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Good to hear it.” Her smile wavered when his expression turned serious. Deadly serious. She had the sudden urge to run. “I, um, should let you get on with your afternoon, then. Take care, West.”
She started to walk away, but he stopped her just by saying her name.
“Harper.” She turned to face him again and he reached out, rubbing his thumb across her cheek, just beneath her eye. She sucked in a breath when he touched her, awareness prickling from his nearness, his fingers on her skin, however briefly. “You had dirt on your face,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said weakly. God, could she sound dumber? Her knees wobbled and she tried to smile at him but failed miserably. “Thanks.” She went to move past him, but he stopped her again, his fingers circling her wrist.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.
Was he actually asking her out on a date? No freaking way. He hadn’t let go of her wrist. Did he feel her pulse fluttering wildly under his fingers? Probably. And there was nothing she could do about it either. “Um, digging through piles of old receipts in my grandma’s office?”
His eyes warmed, his lips curling into the faintest smile. “Sounds exciting. How about after you get off work?”
“Um.” She swallowed hard, hating that she’d said um twice like some sort of idiot. Don’t blow this! “Nothing, really.”
“Want to come over? I was hoping I could get your input on something.” When she sent him a puzzled look he continued. “Your grandma wants me to paint the interior walls at the condo. I had some other ideas of what I’m considering doing to the place, too, but I wanted to get your insight before I started.”
“Oh.” Disappointment wrapped her in its embrace, leaving her cold. She slowly withdrew her hand from his grip, giving him a tight smile. “Sure. I’d be glad to help you.” It’s what she did, after all. Helped people. Harper Hill, ever accommodating, always ready to lend a helpful hand. Even West realized this, but how could he not? That’s what everyone expected from her. She wasn’t wild and crazy, like Delilah. She wasn’t opinionated, saying whatever the hell she wanted whenever she wanted, like Wren. She was quiet and accommodating and what the hell was that ever going to get her in life?
“Thanks, Harper. That would be great.” He smiled, looking pleased. He just wanted to earn her grandma’s approval for fixing up her place. This had nothing to do with her or him and what they shared so long ago. She was a fool to even think it.
“What time do you want me to come over?”
“What time are you done here?”
“Around five I guess?” Ugh, she didn’t want to go over to his place at all. Not if he just wanted to show her paint samples and ask her opinion about tearing out the ugly brown tile in the downstairs bathroom—which she’d say yes to if he asked, and she really hoped he asked.
Yeah. She was ridiculous. Falling right into helpful mode even in her thoughts like she couldn’t stop herself, which she supposed she couldn’t. Not like she could talk about her problems with Wren and Delilah either. Wren would freak out if she knew Harper was hot for her big brother. And Delilah was West’s ex-girlfriend so no way was she broaching the subject with her. For all she knew, Delilah was still intere
sted in West.
Though deep down, Harper suspected Delilah was really lusting for Lane Gallagher. But that was another story for another time.
“Call me when you’re done.” His gaze shifted to the top of her head. “Gonna borrow this.”
He pulled the pen from her hair, causing it to fall past her shoulders in haphazard, totally weird waves. If she didn’t curl it, she straightened her hair every morning. Seeing it in its natural state wasn’t a good thing and she was quietly mortified West did just that.
“Let me give you my cell number.”
He took her hand and flipped it over, writing his phone number on her palm like they were in still in school. She tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand, hoping it didn’t look too awful. Praying he wouldn’t notice the subtle tremor running just beneath her skin.
“How old are we again?” she teased.
West glanced up at her through his absurdly long eyelashes, his gaze meeting hers. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you had a way to contact me.” He paused, appearing a little unsure. A look she wasn’t used to seeing West wear. “You’ll call when you’re done here tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you. Or I’ll text,” she reaffirmed, wondering if maybe he was interested in her. Maybe this was more than talking about paint color and redoing the countertops?
“Good.” The relief on his face was evident. “You look really pretty with your hair down, Harper. You should wear it like that more often.”
And with that he was gone, headed back to the table where his crew waited for him, more than a few of them eyeing her curiously.
Blushing like a fool, she hurried out of the dining area, back to the sanctuary of her grandma’s office, where she could relive the words Weston Gallagher just said to her about her stupid, crazy hair.
“SO, HEY.”
Later that afternoon, West turned to find Tate and . . . Lane? Standing in front of him.