Harper's Wish

Now he finally had a face to put with the name—a much prettier face than he had imagined. He had built her up in his mind’s eye as the harpy he’d dubbed her, thinking she’d be thin, gaunt, with unnaturally long teeth and beady eyes.

She was nothing of the sort. But she was still the woman who’d nearly ruined his career, he reminded himself.

“You don’t even know who I am,” he said.

Her eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Sorry, should I? Have we met?”

He couldn’t help it. He cursed.

“Connor Callahan?” he repeated his name. “Éire?”

Satisfaction flooded through him as he watched the color slowly drain from her face.

“Éire?” she whispered.

“Ah, you remember what the restaurant was called, even if you can’t remember the name of the man whose reputation you ruined.”

“I—” But she stopped there, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Let me see if this rings any bells.” He cleared his throat before he began the recitation of her review from memory.

“Though barely competent, Éire’s executive chef tries too hard with the menu, putting on airs with mediocre aptitude.”

Her face whitened further, her expression becoming pinched as he continued.

“The filet mignon, though a fine cut of meat, is decimated by the lack of skill in preparing it. It will never measure up to the succulent cuts to be had at nearby restaurants in the district, and if ingredients as pure as this can be prepared with such average talent, then imagine the rest of the dishes.”

“Oh. That Connor Callahan.” She attempted nonchalance, but by the pink rising in her cheeks, he knew he had her right where he wanted.

“Can I tell you my favorite line? The one my investors quoted when they pulled out on me?”

She shifted in her seat. He injected a full Irish brogue into his voice and spread his arms to accommodate the full theater of the words.

“Éire is owned by Institute of Culinary Distinction–trained Irishman, Connor Callahan, who clearly believes his own blarney when he claims his restaurant is a dining experience to delight the senses. Perhaps he could use a taste of humble pie since I remain unimpressed and dub his establishment not...worth...it.”

The silence that followed these words was thick. He watched the fine cords in her neck flex as she swallowed. Her cheeks were stained crimson with what he hoped was embarrassment and shame, the very same emotions he’d felt when he’d read her defamatory review.

“Well. Clearly, it all worked out for the best.” Her gaze skittered around the office’s interior, came back to his face, and then quickly looked away again.

He ground his teeth together. Hadn’t she been paying attention? Could she really be so self-focused?

“Perhaps it’s best you leave now.” He didn’t think he could control his temper much longer if she stayed.

To his aggravation, though, stay is exactly what she did.

“I, um... I admit that review was perhaps a bit...harsh.”

“A bit?” He tightened the arms crossing his chest, trying to hold the worst of his anger inside. “When my customer counts dropped, I lost my investors, all my backing, and after that, I didn’t stand a chance. You ruined me.”

He didn’t dare mention how Chloe had left him and Molly shortly before Éire’s failure. While he knew he couldn’t place the blame for that directly at Harper’s feet, the memory of that time, with all its bitterness and disappointment, still chafed.

Harper looked into his face, and he suspected that took some courage on her part. Her eyes sparked. “You can’t blame your restaurant’s failure entirely on me. My reviews are just words. People can decide for themselves.”

“Sure, if they would have given me a chance. But scarcely a single patron darkened my door after that review.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

She hesitated again.

“Maybe you’re right. I should go,” she suggested at last.

“Yes, I think you’d better,” he tossed back.

She took one last glance around, almost as if she wished she could stay. The very idea threw him and deflated some of his ire.

“Well, I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me, Connor Callahan.”

She backed up without taking her eyes off him, as though she was wary of letting down her guard. He felt a twinge of guilt at that. Had he really come off so fearsome? Wounded was more like it. This woman had callously ruined his reputation in an industry where reviews like hers could make all the difference.

“I wish you the best this time around,” she offered before finally turning and exiting his office.

When she was gone, he experienced another ripple of irritation.

She had ruined him. His first restaurant had struggled a bit at first, but his father’s faith in him had carried him through the rocky beginning. Yet when Éire had been awarded the “not worth it” rating, the clientele he’d been building suddenly dispersed into the dining rooms of trendier, more popular establishments. He knew it hadn’t all come down to Harper’s review, but her critique certainly hadn’t helped. And it wasn’t just the criticism. It was one thing if she didn’t like his food, but her words had been outright cruel, disdainful and full of snobbery. After that review...everything had begun to fall apart.

But here she was, the woman who had been the catalyst to his first restaurant’s failure, obviously as down on her luck as he had been three years ago. There was a certain poetic justice in that, and he couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t that he wished anything truly horrible on her. After all, she had just gotten him out of a tight spot. But he had to admit, there was something satisfying about learning she’d fallen from grace. It made him wonder if the old adage was true—what goes around comes around.

CHAPTER TWO

“IT WAS HUMILIATING,” Harper pronounced as her sister loaded another helping of summer squash salad onto her plate. “He was about to offer me the job, and then as soon as he found out who I was, he kicked me out of the restaurant.”

Tessa froze. “Seriously? He didn’t physically remove you or anything, did he?”

“No, nothing like that,” Harper hastened to reassure her. “He just made it clear I wasn’t welcome on the premises.”

Tessa clicked her tongue in disapproval, and while Harper appreciated her sister’s support, she knew she couldn’t entirely blame Connor for his reaction.

“I kind of deserved it,” she admitted. “It was a pretty mean review. In fact, it was the one that jump-started my column, gained me all sorts of attention.”

“You should apologize. Then maybe he’ll hire you.”

Harper didn’t know whether to laugh at her sister’s naïveté or cringe at the suggestion of facing Connor Callahan once more.

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Tess. He’s obviously not the kind of guy to forgive and forget. I think it’s best if I give him and his restaurant a pretty wide berth.” She paused, surprised at how disappointed she felt following this observation. It shouldn’t have mattered any more than the other restaurant owners who had turned her away. But she couldn’t help wishing she’d have a chance to see Connor Callahan again. “Have you ever been to his restaurant?”

Tessa shook her head as she forked into the quiche Harper had made for dinner. “No, it’s kind of out of the way.”

“True.” She stabbed a piece of squash and nibbled it in contemplation.

“Have you told Mom and Dad?” her sister asked after swallowing a bite of the quiche.

“About losing my job?” Harper cringed. “Not yet. But I’ll email them in another day or two.”

The thought stole what little appetite Harper had, and she put down her fork.

“You should at least tell Paige,” Tessa said. “Maybe she can help you out, pull some strings to get you another job in the city. Not that I don’t want you here,” Tessa quickly assured. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay at the cottage as long as you like.”

Harper gave Tessa a grateful smile, trying to mask her discomfort at the thought of telling her older sister how she’d been fired from her job. Paige was the golden girl of the family—graduating with top honors from college and going on to attain her master’s in risk management analysis before she’d been hired on at their father’s investment firm. Paige had climbed the ladder with her usual dexterity and efficiency, and while Harper loved her, she always felt inferior around her older sister. The last thing she wanted was to ring her up and ask for job help.

“I can’t wait that long,” Harper said. “I need a job now. And I appreciate your offer to stay here for as long as it takes, but I refuse to live here without contributing to the household expenses.”

Tessa opened her mouth to protest, but Harper held up a hand.

“I mean it, Tess. I’m not going to sponge off my baby sister. I want to pull my own weight.”

“Harper, this cottage is as much yours as mine—”

Harper held up a hand to forestall this thought. “No, Tessa. This is your home. I appreciate your letting me stay here until I get back on my feet, but the cottage belongs to you and you alone.”

After all, Tessa had been the one who had moved in here when their grandmother was dying. She had nursed Nana in the last days of her life. It was a role she was already qualified for as a pediatric nurse, but that hadn’t made the task any easier. Because her baby sister had been there for their grandmother on a daily basis, and because Tessa loved this town, Nana had left the cottage to her. Nana had made sure Paige and Harper received bequests of equal value upon her passing, but since Findlay Roads had become a resort destination, the burgeoning real-estate market had tripled the value of the cottage.

But Harper didn’t begrudge her. No, the cottage was Tessa’s and for good reason. And Harper had no intention of living there as if the place were her own.

She pushed her plate aside and suppressed a sigh. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Connor Callahan who owned the Rusty Anchor? She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, lamenting every harsh review she’d ever written and letting a sigh escape.

“How about if we do lunch tomorrow? I could take the afternoon off. We’ll go shopping in that new boutique on Second Street. My treat.”

Harper shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll hit the pavement again and see if I can find any other job openings.” There had to be something available, even with most establishments already hired up for the season.

Tessa stood to clear the dinner dishes. “Try not to stress yourself out about it. Things will look up soon. I’m sure of it.”

She touched a reassuring hand to Harper’s shoulder, and Harper nodded. But as soon as Tessa turned around, she rested her cheek in her palm and frowned.

* * *

“WAKE UP, MY lazy bones.”

Connor nudged his daughter’s sleeping form and grinned at the way she burrowed her head beneath her pillow with a tiny groan.

“Dad!” He heard a muffled cry of indignation.

“It’s too beautiful a day to stay in bed.” He tugged the coverlet down and laughed as she squirmed. Seating himself on the edge of the mattress, he gently pulled aside the pillow. Molly blinked owlishly at him and then gave a yawn.

“I told you not to stay up so late, didn’t I?”

She huffed in annoyance.

“I’m dropping you off at the Evanses’ for the day. What do you want for breakfast?”

She stretched out her arms and legs and curled her toes as she sighed. “Pop-Tarts.”

He clicked his tongue. “No, Molly, a proper breakfast.”

She twisted around and rolled herself into his lap. “Pop-Tarts are a proper breakfast. They’re made with whole grains. It says so on the box.”

He smothered a laugh at this logic. “How about blueberry pancakes?”

Her eyes lit up. “With whipped cream?”

He eyed her.

“And extra blueberries?” she pressed.

“You drive a hard bargain. That’s not much better than Pop-Tarts.”

But she grinned, knowing she’d already won. As a single father, he found it difficult to deny her some days. As if his acquiescence could make up for the way her mother had walked out on them.

“Extra blueberries it is.”

She gave a tiny squeal of joy, smacked a kiss on his cheek and then hopped out of bed before padding in the direction of the bathroom. He rose and headed for their apartment kitchen above the restaurant.

Forty minutes later, Connor finished cleaning the remains of the whipped cream off Molly’s face.

“How are you enjoying your summer so far?” he asked as he tossed the paper towel into the waste bin. “Do you miss the first grade?”

“Nope,” Molly replied. “Summer is my favorite time of year because it means no more school.”

Connor pretended to be shocked. “But Molly...what about Christmas? I thought that was your favorite time of year.”

Molly sighed as if exasperated by her father’s lack of understanding. “That’s only ’cause there’s presents at Christmas.”

Connor laughed as he cleared the table of the remains of the breakfast. Molly helped bring over her plate and fork. Before she could scamper away, he knelt down so he was eye level with her.

“Now, listen, Molly, I want you to be on your best behavior at the Evanses’ today, yeah? No more pranks like you pulled at the Marshalls’ last week.”

She nodded, but he knew better. Molly seemed to find mischief no matter how many times she promised not to.

“That means no taking Piper’s mom’s makeup and using it to paint the baby.”

Molly frowned. “Piper’s mom doesn’t have a baby.”

“Right.” That had been the Browns. “Well. No trying to shave the dog, either.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Piper has cats, not a dog.”

Connor sighed. “Okay. My point is...no getting into trouble, right?”

She nodded, her expression all innocence. “Yes, Daddy. But can’t I just stay with you today?”

Connor tugged on one of the braids he’d made in her hair. He noted they were already coming loose with stray wisps of his daughter’s brown hair fluttering around her face. He’d never been that good at doing her hair.

“I thought you liked spending time at Piper’s house,” Connor replied.

Molly shook her head. “Piper’s house is too clean,” she pronounced. “And Mrs. Evans makes us pick up all the toys before we can do anything else. I’d like it better if Piper came here instead. Can she, Daddy? Please?”

Connor felt a guilty tug. Molly didn’t get to have friends over that often. It was hard enough to keep an eye on his daughter while running the restaurant; he could never manage two children while working. And what little free time he did have, he liked to keep for just the two of them. He worried that he didn’t spend enough time with her as it was.

“Ah, not today, love. But maybe on Monday, when the restaurant’s closed. You can show off the place, yeah? Don’t forget, you have a job here, too, after all.”

This reminder elicited a grin, and Connor noted the tiny gap where one of her baby teeth had come out last week. His little girl was growing up.

“Official taste tester,” she proudly proclaimed.

“That’s right.”

Molly beamed, and Connor leaned forward to press a kiss on her forehead. “Now, go on and get your backpack while I finish clearing the table.”

Connor stood, watching his daughter skip from the room and feeling his chest tighten at the sight. She was growing up so fast. In a few more years, he feared he’d be completely out of his depth with her. He and his sister, Rory, had been close growing up, especially after their father had moved them from Ireland to the States. His own mother had died in his birth country, and the lack of a maternal influence in his life left him feeling extremely unqualified to raise a little girl on his own.

Just then, his cell phone vibrated, and he tugged it from his pocket to check the caller ID. He frowned at the number that appeared on the screen and then answered, trying to curb some of his irritation.

“I wondered if you ever planned to call me back.”

* * *

HARPER ROLLED OUT of bed in time to say goodbye before Tessa headed off to work and then poured a large mug of coffee as she heard her sister pulling out of the drive. She dosed her java with creamer and took a sip to fortify herself for the day ahead. She’d been up late the night before, searching the local classifieds for job openings. The listings were slim, but she’d found an ad for a pet-store clerk and another for a cashier at the local supermarket. She planned to shower and dress and then head out to drop off some résumés.

She sat at the kitchen table and scrolled through the emails on her phone, deleting the junk mail and archiving the personal ones for later. She was halfway through her mug of coffee and her in-box when the doorbell rang.

Straightening, she felt a wave of annoyance. Who could that be first thing in the morning? Surely all of Tessa’s acquaintances were at work or knew she was. And Harper had only been in town forty-eight hours—she couldn’t imagine anyone would be coming to see her. She ran a hand through her hair, knowing it must be standing on end. She hadn’t even bothered to look in the mirror yet this morning.

She was debating whether to run to the bathroom to at least pull a brush through her tangles when an impatient knock sounded on the door. She grumbled “where’s the fire?” beneath her breath and then tugged at her nightshirt and sleep shorts, wishing she’d brought a robe downstairs with her.

She opened the door and almost shut it again.

Connor Callahan was standing on the cottage doorstep.

* * *

CONNOR BLINKED AT the sight of Harper, hair mussed from sleep and dressed in a modest T-shirt and pajama shorts, as she stared at him from inside the cottage doorway.

He experienced a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Oh, good, it’s the right house. You didn’t leave an address, so I had to go off your description from our conversation yesterday.”

Harper was still staring. “It’s you,” she stated.

“Aye.” He fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s me.”

He was somewhat prepared to have the door slammed in his face, after the way they’d parted the day before. But to Harper’s credit, she seemed more baffled than angry.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I wondered if we could...talk.”

“Talk?” She shook her head. “Look, if you came here to chew me out again about that review, I’d really rather skip it. I’m still looking for work, and I’d rather not start my day with a reprimand about how I ruined you.”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to offer you a job.”

It was gratifying to see how her mouth sagged open. Seconds later, her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

“Are you messing with me? Because if so, I swear—”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not messing with you. I’m serious. Look, can we talk or are you not interested? Because if you’re not, I don’t have any time to waste. I need to find another server.”

This statement made her reconsider. “Well...if you’re serious...then why don’t you come inside?”

She stepped out of the way and gestured for him to enter the cottage. He moved inside, and she shut the door behind him.

She seemed to recall her manners. “There’s coffee brewed. Would you like a cup?”

He nodded, and she led the way into the kitchen, pulling a mug from the cupboard and setting it on the counter.

“There’s creamer in the fridge and sugar on the table. I’m just going to head upstairs for a minute and change. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

While Harper disappeared to make herself more presentable, Connor poured a mug of coffee and added a pinch of sugar. He didn’t want to be nosy and roam around the house so he sat down at the kitchen table and nursed the hot brew as he waited for Harper to return. He let his eyes travel over the tidy room with its weathered white cabinets and pale blue doors. A driftwood rack hung on the wall from sturdy hooks and held various copper pans and utensils, along with ceramic mugs and jars with bold navy-and-white stripes. The room was a cozy blend of vintage and modern. It left him curious, not only about Harper but about the sister she’d mentioned and the grandmother who had owned this place before passing on.

He was admiring the butcher-block counter on the kitchen island when Harper finally reentered the kitchen, dressed in capris and a short-sleeved shirt with her hair neatly brushed and pinned behind her head. She looked much more poised and confident, but he found he rather missed the adorably disheveled woman who had answered the door.

“It’s a nice morning,” she remarked as he rose to his feet at her entrance. “Why don’t we talk out on the back porch?”

She grabbed her coffee mug off the table, leading the way through the hall and out the patio door. Connor followed. She gestured toward the porch swing, which looked to be the only seat available. He settled himself on it, holding his mug in one hand and stretching his legs out before him.

Harper eyed the remaining space on the swing and must have decided it was too close. She leaned against the nearby porch railing instead, and he felt a ripple of amusement and a strange disappointment at the distance she placed between them.

“Contrary to the impression our conversation yesterday likely created, I don’t really bite, you know,” he remarked.

She appeared flustered by this and placed her coffee mug on the porch rail before crossing her arms over her midsection. She cleared her throat.

“Does that mean you came to apologize?”

“Apologize?” He straightened abruptly, and a few droplets of coffee sloshed onto his hand. He placed the mug on the porch floor and wiped his hand across his pants. “Why should I apologize?”

Her lips tightened into a thin line, and he couldn’t help thinking how cute her mouth would be, full and kissable, if she stopped grimacing like that.

“Because you practically kicked me out of your restaurant yesterday,” she protested.

“And you deserved it,” he shot back.

She spluttered. “Deserved it? I helped you through that lunch rush, free of charge—”

He held up a hand. “All right, all right. You have a point,” he grudgingly conceded. Besides, arguing with her wasn’t going to benefit either of them at the moment.

He stood and she backed up slightly. The sight made him frown. “Look, I’m sorry. You did me a good turn yesterday, and I appreciate it.” Saying the words aloud choked him a bit. It was difficult to humble himself where Harper Worth was concerned.

But the apology had its intended effect. Harper relaxed.

“Thank you. I appreciate your saying so.”

“Good. So, now that that’s out of the way...”

Her lips turned down at this.

“...let’s get down to business. I’ve come here to offer you that server’s position you wanted.”

She eyed him studiously, as though trying to determine his motivations. “Why?” she asked.

He took a few steps across the porch, uncomfortable with having to admit the tight spot he was in.

“Because my server who didn’t show up? Apparently, she broke her leg in a motorcycle accident yesterday morning. She was in the ER and was understandably too distracted to phone in that she’d be missing her shift. I just heard from her a bit ago. And of course now she’s out of commission for the rest of the summer.” He drew a breath. “The Anchor may not be the busiest restaurant in the area, but I still can’t manage with only a part-time teenage server and my sous chef filling in occasionally. I need another person.”

He didn’t add that he was hoping business would pick up soon, and if it did—when it did—he’d need a decent server on board. And with the summer season under way and everyone hired on at other restaurants, finding good staff right now was nearly impossible.