Cari Webb - The Charm Offensive

But that wasn’t right. She wasn’t interested in Brad. She’d given up on relationships and all that ten years ago when she’d climbed into the ambulance with her unconscious sister and her three-pound niece born with a drug addiction eight weeks too early. Love stories belonged to people like Ruthie and Matt. Sophie might dream about her own fairy tale in the darkest, quietest, loneliest hour of the night, but dawn always returned her to reality.

Ruthie nudged Sophie. “Brad’s mother is the newly elected mayor of Pacific Hills. If you traveled down the coast at all last fall, you would’ve seen her campaign posters with the two greyhounds in shop windows and on the residents’ lawns throughout the entire town.”

“Your mother is Mayor Harrington?” Sophie had vowed never to follow in her own mother’s shallow footsteps. But Brad’s mother was mayor of the coastal town south of the city. Surely being like Mrs. Harrington wasn’t a bad thing.

“She is,” Brad admitted. “And I’m definitely not following in her footsteps.”

His voice was tight and drew her in even more. “You don’t want to be mayor?”

“I’ll leave the politics to my brother.” Brad lifted a bag off the cart and passed it to Matt. “And stick with what I know.”

Sophie needed to stick with what she knew, too. And that wasn’t Brad Harrington. Both Brad and Matt towered over the squat shelves that she swore groaned and pleaded for retirement every time she restocked. But the place was stuck in its current unpampered state, much like Sophie was stuck in baseball caps and budget lockdown. This was her life.

She pulled her baseball cap lower on her forehead. “You must have other clients or business to attend to. Something more important than installing a security system in a pet store for free.”

“I’m crashing at our friend’s place until my boat is ready,” Brad said. “Zack can use the food for the dog he rescued on his last trip to the mountains.”

“You’re still setting sail, then?” Matt asked.

“Just waiting for the guys at Delta Craft to let me know the restoration is complete.” Brad tossed the last bag to Matt. “Hopefully before the end of the month, I’ll sail out of the bay.”

“What about your job?” Sophie asked. “What about your family?”

“My partner is handling things in my absence,” Brad said.

Sophie noted he never volunteered anything about his family. And again she wanted to know more. But he was leaving. What else mattered?

“Brad is the H in J & H Associates.” Matt straightened the food bags on the weary shelf. “Always helps when you own the company.”

Sophie nodded. She was a business owner herself, but leaving had never been a consideration. Never. Not even for a long weekend. She had to be here to maintain the business and provide for her niece. An indefinite hold had been put on vacations. Last fall, she’d taken a day trip with Ella to Chicago for a second opinion on Ella’s eye surgery. Less than a twenty-four-hour turnaround, with most of their time spent in airports and waiting rooms. Definitely not Sophie’s idea of a vacation.

“So, do we have a deal?” Brad wiped his hands on his jeans and smiled. “Security system for dog food.”

“What kind of dog did your friend rescue?” Sophie was curious. “A Chihuahua hardly eats enough to pay for the cost of the security system.”

“A forty-five-pound mutt with one blue eye and one green eye,” Brad said. “I can be done installing this unit within the day.”

A day. She could handle one day with Brad Harrington. Brad’s presence was fleeting, like that wistful glance at the designer shoes in the department-store window—noticed and forgotten. “You have a deal.”

“That gives you about eight more hours to harass me,” Brad said.

The grin in his voice and the laughter in his gaze pulled her own smile to the surface.

“I’ll be back after I pick up a few things.” Brad looked at Matt. “Do you have a tape measure in your truck?”

“I’m parked out front.” Matt hugged Ruthie and moved to the front door.

Sophie watched Brad head toward the broken window. “I’ll replace that,” she said.

Brad faced her and shook his head. “This one is on me. Can’t put in a new security system when there’s a broken window.”

There was a stubborn set to his mouth, but something in his manner, how his head tilted just slightly, made her think he welcomed her argument. He wanted her to spar. Sophie stuffed her hands in her back pockets and held his stare, once again aware of that fluttery feeling in her core and her too-warm skin. His one-sided grin twitched into place as if he was aware of her feelings.

“Auntie!” Ella’s panicked shout steamrollered over all those soft, romantic notions inside Sophie.

Nice smiles, belly flutters—but Brad Harrington didn’t belong in Sophie’s world. Her reality was a ten-year-old girl, eye doctors and abandoned things.

Sophie swung around as Ella stepped into the doorway, a neon-pink brush stuck in her knotted hair, her fingers gripped around her white cane. “Auntie, I told Charlotte I’d have braids today. She has braids today. And I promised we’d match for the field trip. We have to match. It’s pairs day. You have to match your partner on pairs day.”

Sophie hurried over to her niece and started working the hairbrush loose. “Well, it’s a good thing Ruthie is here then, because there’s no one better at braids than her.”

Ella pushed her eyeglasses up her nose. “I thought I heard her. And Matt, too?”

“Good morning, Ella-Bell,” Matt called from the entrance. “Need a lift to school today?”

“I don’t want to wrinkle my dress,” Ella said. “Auntie ironed it last night.”

“Then we’ll plan another date.” Matt walked outside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Ella smoothed her hands over her dress and whispered to Sophie. “I haven’t wrinkled it yet, have I?”

“You look perfect.” Sophie leaned in and kissed Ella’s porcelain cheek.

“But am I wrinkled?” Ella stretched out the last word, unable to contain her concern.

“Not one wrinkle.” Ruthie adjusted the bow at Ella’s waist. “Now do you want one braid or two?”

Ella’s shoulders lowered and the corner of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. “Charlotte says she has less hair than me. She says her hair is flat and mine is puffy.”

“That’s your curls, Ella.” Sophie freed the brush and untangled the worst snarl. “Charlotte’s mother texted me last night. She can’t do French braids, so Charlotte will have two ponytail braids.”

“Ruthie, can you do a French braid?” Hope pushed out Ella’s words in a rush.

Ruthie squeezed Ella’s shoulders. “How about two French braids? That will still look like two ponytails.”

“You can do that?” Ella asked.

“Anything for you,” Ruthie said.

“Careful, Ruthie, or Ella will call you over every morning to style her hair before school.” Sophie handed Ruthie the hairbrush.

Ella shook her head. “Only on special occasions. I don’t want to inconvenience her.”

The sincerity in Ella’s tone and seriousness in the firm set of her mouth ripped through Sophie’s heart. Ella had feared being an inconvenience ever since she’d overheard a conversation between Sophie and her older sister, who was also Ella’s mother. The little girl hadn’t needed supersensitive hearing skills during that particular morning. Sophie had dragged Tessa into the shower, fully clothed, after her sister’s two-day-long binge of drinking and drugs. Even through the hair pulling, kicking and continued resistance, Tessa had never ceased ranting about the inconvenience of family. The inconvenience of parenting. The inconvenience of children.