Trouble (Dogwood Lane 3)

Harper walks to the fireplace mantel and picks up a little bell. She turns it upside down and then back around again.

“I’m always in the mind-set that you have to do what works for you,” she says. “Always. No matter what. Your grandparents hated the fact that I didn’t want anything to do with show business. Your mother thinks I’m a lunatic for living here and doing what I do. But you know what? I love it.”

“I know you do, and I can see why. It’s lovely here. I think I can be happy here too.”

She smiles. “You’re a lot like me. You coming here shows that. But along with power and self-confidence can come something else—a predisposition to close doors. We can rule things in or out too quickly. It’s important to make sure we don’t make snap judgments. Sometimes that will close the doors we need to walk through.”

I raise my brows. “So we’re referring to Penn as a door now?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, my butt,” I say with a laugh.

“I heard you turn him down today.” She leans against the couch and looks amused. “I doubt that’s ever happened to him in his entire life.”

I certainly didn’t turn him down the first time he asked.

My cheeks heat. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“I guess.”

The air between us gets heavy, and I know she’s waiting on more from me. I get it. Most girls would have loved to have been pursued by Penn. But most girls aren’t in my shoes, either, trying my hardest to move beyond guys like Penn. Although the men in LA sometimes wanted something else—a good word put in with a director or a meeting with an agent—it was always something. And it’s a singular “something” with Penn too.

I can’t blame Harper for being curious, but I can’t blame me for not wanting to go into it. Not when I’d have to mention sleeping with him.

“He’s really not my type,” I lie.

“If you aren’t attracted to that boy, what on earth are you looking for?”

She can’t be serious.

“Harper. For real. I’m nearing thirty years old. Am I sexually attracted to him? Yes. I’m not blind, and pheromones are a real thing. But I’m over that. I’ve had sex with the bad boy. I’ve given in to a sexy smirk and played the cat-and-mouse game. Done it. Won it. The prize isn’t so great.” I blow out a breath. “I have dreams of having a life where I feel . . . fulfilled. I want to go to sleep at night feeling valued, like what I bring to my relationships and to the world I live in is important and cherished. Things that aren’t based on my last name or exemplary business dinner manners or skills in the sack.”

“Of course you want those things,” she says, nodding like crazy. “You should want those things. But the fun part of life is that you don’t know where you’re going to find that fulfillment.”

“I don’t think it’s from your boy Penn.”

Harper cocks her head to the side. “It might be. Who knows? I know he comes across as a playboy, and he has been one—don’t get me wrong. But there’s more to him than meets the eye. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Maybe that’s true,” I say, shaking a finger her way this time. “But I’m not wading through the one-liners and innuendos until he realizes that.”

“Fair enough.”

She heads into the kitchen, and I follow her. The remnants of a chocolate cupcake sit on the counter next to an empty glass of milk. Harper cleans it up as I pull out a chair at the table.

“I’m going out tonight with a couple of my friends to Mucker’s,” she says. “Do you want to come?”

I consider it. It would probably be fun, and I do need to meet people. But the adrenaline that got me through my first workday has evaporated, and my bones feel tired. The more I think about getting dressed again, the more I don’t want to put on a bra.

“Nah,” I say. “I think I’ll stick around here. If I change my mind, I’ll come later.”

“Suit yourself.” She tosses a sponge into the sink. “We always sit on the patio if you come. The dining room will be packed, so just try to slip outside.”

“Will do.”

She pats me on the shoulder as she walks toward her bedroom.

I pick up a saltshaker and spin it between my hands. The silence sinks around me. My phone is quiet in the other room. There’s not a single text or phone call from any of my so-called friends from California, and while I didn’t expect them to really care, I can’t help but be a smidgen disappointed that not one of them does.

“It’s for the best,” I say out loud. “It’ll make this transition even easier.”