Читать книгу The Love Lottery - Shirley Jump - Страница 8

“NICE chairs.” Lulu Saunders shot Sophie a grin, then plopped into one of the two Adirondack-style oak chairs that now sat on either side of a small brightly tiled table in front of the Cuppa Java Café. The handmade chairs were the perfect complement to the homey atmosphere of the coffee shop. She’d been looking for outdoor furniture for months, and when she spied these on Harlan Jones’s porch one afternoon, she’d stopped looking at any other types. They were perfect, and even better, made by a local resident.

In a small town like Edgerton Shores, the more local the better. Sophie bought her coffee beans from a local vendor who roasted them on site, made her muffins with local ingredients, and catered to her clientele with drinks named after local celebrities. She’d hired Lulu, who came from a family that had lived in this town for as long as there’d been an Edgerton Shores, and who, with her outgoing, boisterous personality, was nearly a local legend. Sophie herself had lived here all her life, and wanted the coffee shop to feel as if it had been here forever, too.

Which was why she’d tangled with that annoying Harlan Jones this morning. That man got on her nerves in the worst way. On top of that, he had the most incorrigible dogs in the world. And it seemed he was determined to make her a laughingstock in her own town. But he made some seriously nice chairs.

Sophie dropped into the opposite chair and turned her face up to greet the sun. She had a rare temporary break, with no customers in the shop. She spent most of her days here, dispensing lattes and fresh-baked biscotti, and though she loved her job, she also loved the occasional opportunity to enjoy the fruits of her labor. “Thanks,” she told Lulu. “I stole them from Harlan Jones’s front porch.”

“Stole them?”

“Yep. That man is too stubborn for his own good.”

“And sexy,” Lulu said with a sigh. She pushed her dark brown hair off her brow, and then took a sip of one of the two iced coffees she’d brought out earlier. “Not to mention that Southern drawl. He’s yummy all around.”

Sophie laughed. “Yummy? I wouldn’t describe Harlan Jones with that word or anything close to it.”

“Then you are blind, girlfriend, because that man is the sexiest thing to come to this town in a long time.” Lulu pressed a hand to her chest. “And since I’m the one who rented that house to him, you should be thanking me for improving the neighborhood view.”

Mildred Meyers came striding down the sidewalk, saving Sophie from replying about Harlan Jones’s sexiness quotient. Probably a good thing, because Sophie had no time for a man in her life. She’d learned her lesson about trying to mix a relationship and a business that consumed most of her hours, a lesson that had ended her engagement and left her wondering how anyone managed to combine entrepreneurship with a personal life. On top of that, the messy and very public ending of her relationship with Jim had been the talk of the town for months.

Reminder to self: Never run out on your own wedding on a slow news day. The reporters had bugged her for weeks, disrupting her life and her business. Thank goodness the furor had finally died down. Sophie was inordinately relieved when Gertrude Maxwell took up a Winchester shotgun and chased her cheating husband out of the house, thus becoming the new topic du jour.

Either way, Sophie loved her cozy little coffee shop. It wasn’t just her business, it was her refuge, even if building the business into something strong and viable was a continual, energy draining effort. She worked hard, but at a job she loved. When she reached the end of her week and realized she hadn’t so much as flirted with a man, never mind go out on a date, she told herself there’d be time later for a relationship.

Yeah, like maybe when she was in a retirement home.

“I’ve had the most amazing brainstorm!” Mildred exclaimed as she approached them.

Sophie smiled. Combining Mildred with the word “brainstorm” could very well be a dangerous proposition. Mildred had once been a teacher—had even served as Sophie’s third grade teacher—and had always been an active member of Edgerton Shores. She was an effusive, quirky woman with a penchant for bright clothing in garish combinations. Today she had on a pair of neon-lime Capri pants and a coral blouse that seemed to rival the sun in color strength. A chunky turquoise-and-gold necklace completed the ensemble, and was echoed in her jeweled sandals. “Where’s your partner in crime?” Sophie asked.

“Your grandmother was feeling a bit under the weather, so she stayed home today.”

Concern flooded Sophie as she and Mildred headed into Cuppa Java and Sophie started making Mildred her usual order. “I should leave and go see her. Make sure she’s okay.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Your grandmother told me specifically that you were ‘not to worry or run over to her house for no good reason.’” Mildred fluttered her fingers in air quotes. “She is just fine, and ‘you have enough on your hands,’ quote, unquote.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Besides, I left my can of pepper spray there. She’s covered for any situation.”

Sophie bit back a laugh. Mildred and her pepper spray. Ever since she’d read a newspaper article saying that local crime had risen two percent over the last year, she’d started carrying the little can in her purse.

“Miss Meyers, I hardly think there’s going to be a pepper spray–worthy incident in Edgerton Shores this afternoon.”

“You never know,” she said, wagging her finger in Sophie’s direction. “Anyway, back to why I’m here. I came up with the most brilliant idea!”

Sophie finished mixing a latte for Mildred, then slid the coffee over to her. Lulu had also come inside and was busy loading fresh-baked cookies into the glass display case. “For what, Miss Meyers?” Sophie asked.

“For the town’s Spring Fling, of course. We wanted something that would draw attention to the town and get people around here excited again.” Mildred’s red lips spread in a wide smile. “And I’ve got the perfect solution.” Mildred dug in her floral tote bag and took out a thick pad of paper filled with notes in her distinctive loopy handwriting. “A love lottery.”

Lulu sputtered, biting back a laugh. Sophie cocked her head, sure she’d heard Mildred wrong. “A love what?”

“A love lottery. I told your grandma about it and she thought it was a splendid idea. All the single people in town put in applications to be matched with another single person. They pay a few dollars for their match, and once they find their perfect love, they go out on a date.”

“Like one of them, whatcha call it? Online dating services?” Lulu asked.

Mildred waved a dismissive hand, then tucked the notepad back into her tote bag. “We aren’t going to do any fancy internet stuff. We’ll be matching people based on similar interests, the old-fashioned way.”

“What old-fashioned way?” Lulu asked.

Mildred pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “By instinct, of course. By, well, my instincts, since I have so much dating experience.”

Sophie looked at Lulu. Lulu looked at Sophie. Both of them decided not to ask about any of Mildred’s dating experiences. There were times when a little information was just too much.

“I’m not sure about this,” Sophie said. “Do you really think we’ll have enough participation? Edgerton Shores is a pretty small town.”

Mildred harrumphed. “I have done my research, and this town has a sixty-two percent available rate. We are home to some highly desirable singles.”

“We are?” Lulu said. “Someone better tell me where they are, then, because I’ve been looking for a man for way too long. Specifically, a man with a j-o-b.”

Sophie laughed. Poor Lulu hadn’t exactly gotten lucky in love, though Sophie wasn’t one to talk. She’d thought she’d had it all, then realized pretty quickly that was a figment of her imagination. That she’d mistaken infatuation for love and had missed the warning signs that she was marrying Mr. Wrong. Thank God she’d gotten smart before she got a wedding band.

The media, however, had never seemed interested in her side of the story. They’d loved the sensation of a bride ditching her groom at the last minute—and that was all the sentence they wanted before they put in the period.

“For instance, there’s Art Conway, over on LaBelle Terrace,” Mildred said, interrupting Sophie’s thoughts. “That man’s got a nice retirement package from GE, and a brand-new Cadillac.” A smile danced across the older woman’s features. “He’s quite the talk at the senior center.”

Sophie bit back a laugh. She could just see the results of the love lottery—a whole lot of eligible retirees making a love connection. Chances were it would spur more hanky-panky at the bingo hall than anywhere else. Still, it sounded like a pretty good idea, and an easy fundraiser.

Sophie glanced at Mildred’s notes. “It could work. Maybe. But I’m not sure we’d be able to raise the money we need.”

“You have a point.” Mildred pressed a finger to her bright coral lips.

“Unless … we combine this with the Spring Fling celebration,” Sophie said. “That’s never a very big event, just a picnic on the town square and a dance at the end of the week. Making it the highlight of the week would increase awareness for the community wellness center. Maybe then all the events combined would bring in more money.”

Mildred nodded. “I know how important that is to you. It’s something this town has needed for a long time.”

For the past year and a half, Sophie had been working to raise money to open a community wellness center to provide much needed services for the town’s large senior citizen population. Sophie had proposed the idea, after watching her grandmother’s health decline over the last few years. If there was some kind of a community place where Grandma Watson could go with her friends, to take exercise classes, cooking classes, or simply to fill her days with fun, she would. Grandma got out from time to time, but ever since her hip replacement a few months ago, she’d become more frustrated by the lack of nearby venues for a day or night out. The closest place like that to Edgerton Shores was nearly forty-five minutes away—a trip that could double during tourist season. The town needed its own place, and needed it soon. Sophie and the rest of the committee members had held a bake sale, a fish fry and even sold T-shirts, but it hadn’t been nearly enough. She glanced again at Mildred’s notes. “This could be just the kind of thing that would add to the project’s coffers.”

“We could put out the word to nearby towns,” Lulu said. “There are single gals all over Tampa Bay looking for Mr. Right.”

“Great idea. And if we have enough participation in this love lottery thing,” Sophie said, running some quick numbers in her head, “we’ll be one step closer to building that community and wellness center. Maybe even have enough money to start renovating that building Art Conway gifted to the town last year.”

“Art is quite the man.” Mildred sighed. “He knows how much this town needs a place that meets everyone’s needs.” She flexed her right arm. “As for me, I could use a power-lifting class.”

Sophie chuckled. “You and me both, Miss Meyers. Okay. I say we go for it.”

Mildred clapped her hands together. “Wonderful!” Then she thrust her bright floral tote bag into Sophie’s hands. “I think you’ll do a terrific job with this.”

“What? Me? But I—”

“Volunteered to head the publicity for the Spring Fling this year, remember?” Mildred gave Sophie an apologetic smile. When Sophie had volunteered to promote the annual town celebration, she hadn’t expected it to involve much more than sending a few press releases to the local media. And she certainly hadn’t anticipated having to promote a date day. “And if you ask me, nothing deserves publicity like a Love Lottery.” She turned to go, her mission of passing the buck completed. Then she paused, and cast another smile over her shoulder. “And don’t forget, as head of the Love Lottery, you need to participate, too.”

“Oh, no, that’s the last thing I need. To make my love life public again.” The whispers about the runaway bride had finally died down. There hadn’t been a call from a reporter in over six months. She had no desire to get the gossips buzzing again. It wasn’t good for business and it definitely wasn’t good for her. “Besides, I have my hands full already with the shop and now—” Sophie held up the folder “—this.”

“Your hands are never too full for love, dear.” Mildred toodled a little wave, and walked away, leaving Sophie holding the bag. Literally.

Harlan gave Sophie Watson thirty minutes, then he plopped his hat back on his head and strode downtown, Mortise and Tenon trailing along at his feet, a pair of happy panting puppies ready to go anywhere.

Harlan found Sophie standing beside his chairs, picking up an iced something or other from the tiny table she’d set between the two wooden seats. “I’m here to give you back your sweater, Miss Watson, and—” he plopped himself in an empty chair and kicked back “—to reclaim my chairs.”

“You can’t just sit there.” Sophie snatched her sweater out of his hands and shrugged into it.

“Reckon I can. These are stolen property. My stolen property. I’m staking my claim before anyone gets any crazy ideas—” he turned to her and arched a brow “—and tries something like branding them.”

“I don’t own a branding iron, Mr. Jones, so the identity of your chairs is safe. Though I would be glad to hang a sign promoting your woodworking.” That crafty smile flitted across her face. “As an expression of my gratitude for your temporary relocation of the chairs to my front door.”

“No need for a sign. I’m not in the woodworking business.” Not now, not ever. “And this ‘temporary relocation’ ain’t nothing more than a furniture hijacking. So I reckon I’ll sit here until you’re ready to give back what’s mine.”

She scowled. “Those seats are mine for now, and while they are, they’re for paying customers. Only.” The dogs settled at Harlan’s feet, with Mortise resting his snout on Harlan’s boot. “And there are no dogs allowed in the shop.”

“We aren’t in the shop, we’re outside, on the public sidewalk. And as for customers …” He looked up and down the sidewalk, then peered around Sophie and into the shop. It was just after two, and the usually busy coffee shop was nearly deserted. “Seeing as there aren’t many of those right now, I think I can sit here in peace. Should a … what’d you call them?” He smirked, teasing her.

She pursed her lips. “Paying customer.”

He tipped a finger her way. “Should one of those happen by, I will gladly vacate my seat for the time they need it. Until then, I’m here.” He lowered the brim of his hat and tipped his head back, as if he were about to take a nap.

“You are the most infuriating man in Edgerton Shores,” Sophie said, and for a second, he was sure she’d dump that iced something or other right onto his head.

A part of him found her feistiness … intriguing. Hell, attractive.

“I refuse to let you sit there unless you are a paying customer,” she said.

“And I refuse to let you keep my chairs. They’re mine, and I’m damned well going to sit in them. Here or on my own porch, your choice.”

“You’re really going to sit there, no matter what I do?”

“You could come over here, kiss me for thirty minutes straight and I’d still stay.” He’d kept the hat over his eyes, so he couldn’t see her, but he could hear her fuming beside him. He wondered if she’d go that far, and for a second, hoped she did.

“It would be a cold day in hell before I’d do that.”

“Good thing we’re in Florida. No chance of any ice forming around here.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed her clench and unclench her fist. He bit back a chuckle. If he’d known it was this much fun to drive

Sophie Watson crazy, he’d have camped out at her shop long ago.

The woman deserved every bit of aggravation he gave her. She was always coming over to his house, lecturing him about his dogs, the length of his lawn, the furniture he made. He was pretty sure Sophie Watson had an opinion about every darned thing in the world.

“I can’t have you sitting here indefinitely,” she said.

He pretended to think that over, when in fact, he’d had a plan in mind before he even showed up. Sophie Watson had been driving him crazy for weeks. It was time for a little turnaround. Maybe then she’d get off his back and let him have a little peace. He had a radio station to run, a brother to worry about. He didn’t need the distraction of a sassy barista with a thorn in her thumb she’d named Harlan. “I’ve rethought your offer of rent.”

“You have?”

“I’d be mighty pleased to rent these chairs to you. I’m sure we can work out an equitable deal.”

“If it’s money you want—”

“Nope. Just a drink and the pleasure of your company.” He tossed her a grin, to show her he wasn’t all bad. And just because he could see in her face how much it drove her crazy when he teased her. Oh, this was going to be fun. By the time he was done, she’d be marching those chairs back to his front porch and staying out of his way for good.

And in the meantime, he’d have a hell of a story to tell his radio listeners. A win-win all around.

She considered his words for a moment, a parade of emotions dancing across her delicate features. “I’d say that’s a fair offer, Mr. Jones.” She turned toward the shop. “I’ll go get you a cup of coffee.”

He popped forward, the hat slipping back on his head and exposing his eyes. “I’d say it is, except I don’t drink coffee.”

“Everyone drinks coffee,” Sophie said.

“Apparently not, Miss Meyers.”

She let out a long breath. “What do you drink?”

He grinned. “I’m a tea man. Get me a good cup of Earl Grey and I’m all yours.”

Her gaze filled with skepticism. “You don’t look like a tea man.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Miss Watson. I might even be a nice guy and here you’re thinking I’m the devil in cowboy boots.” He tipped back in the chair, crossed his feet at the ankles—exposing said boots— and crossed his arms over his chest. Tenon let out a sigh and sprawled at his feet.

“Oh, I don’t think it, Mr. Jones,” Sophie said as she turned toward the door of the shop. “I know you are.”

“That man is the most annoying human being on this planet,” Sophie fumed as she readied the hot water and tea bag for Harlan Jones. This was the last thing she needed. She already had a business to run, a fundraiser to head and a grandmother to worry about. She didn’t need to add Harlan Jones to the mix.

“I think he’s pretty cute for being so annoying,” Lulu said. “He’s got that cowboy butt and those big brown eyes and—”

“I’ve seen his butt and his eyes and I am unimpressed.”

“You are full of beans, Sophie.”

“No, I’m not.” The hot water spigot hissed steam as she turned the knob. She dropped a tea bag into the mug, placed it on a saucer, and then loaded that on a tray, along with a tiny pitcher of milk, and some sugar. She debated adding honey, then decided a man like Harlan Jones probably didn’t like something that sweet.

Lulu raised a brow at her. “You’ve been over to that man’s house seven times in the past month.”

“I have had my issues with him as a neighbor and dog owner, that’s why. And because I like his chairs.”

“You like what he puts in his chairs.”

“I’m not attracted to him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He drives me crazy. Him and his damned dogs. Don’t you remember what those terrors did to the steaks I had on the grill last weekend?”

Lulu laughed. “I never seen a dog run so fast.”

“They were like a band of thieves. One starts digging up my lilacs—serving as the distraction, I’m sure—while the other jumps on the grill, yanks those steaks right off the barbecue. They were gone before I could do a thing. I had to serve everyone grilled cheese.” She shook her head. “I bet he trains them to be bad.”

Lulu laughed. “They’re dogs who spied an opportunity and took it.”

“That opportunity happened to be dinner. Yours and mine and everyone else’s.”

Lulu shrugged. “So give them a biscuit the next time you see them and maybe then they’ll leave your lilacs alone.”

Sophie snorted. “Those dogs would probably bite off my hand. I like dogs, but Harlan Jones’s dogs aren’t ordinary dogs. They’re … golden-coated monsters.” Not to mention, they were huge. The only dogs Sophie had ever spent a lot of time around had been her mother’s dachshunds. Energetic, but small, and eager to please. The two Goldens were big and looked ready to topple her at any moment. She’d heard that breed was supposed to be friendly and smart, but Harlan’s dogs were rambunctious giants who never listened to her.

“Okay, so you don’t like the man’s dogs,” Lulu said. “What about his voice? You can’t tell me you don’t like that sexy drawl lighting up your mornings.”

“I don’t listen to him anymore. You know that.”

“I thought he was pretty funny.”

Sophie shot Lulu a glare. “He was making fun of me.”

Thank God he hadn’t heard the story of her breakup. It was bad enough that he recounted their every neighborhood argument on his radio show. If he got wind of the public demise of her relationship last year, Sophie could just imagine how long he’d milk that particular joke. She had no desire to be back under the media spotlight again. She’d be perfectly happy doing her job every day and not worrying about nosy reporters. “Harlan Jones doesn’t care about anything but his ratings.”

“Oh, lighten up, Sophie. That man could make fun of me anytime, long as he used that drawl when he did it. He’s like a piece of candy in your ear.”

“Which only makes you deaf. Honest, I don’t see his appeal.” In the weeks he had been in Edgerton Shores, Harlan Jones had seemed to convert every local resident into a WFFM fan. Women stopped him on the street just to hear him speak and men dropped by his yard to ask him what he thought of the Marlins or the Dolphins that season.

Every resident but Sophie.

She’d come inside to escape him, but it seemed it was impossible to do that. When Harlan wasn’t on the radio, he was on the tip of people’s tongues, or worse, he was here. And thus a topic of conversation.

Okay, so he had a nice smile. And a sexy drawl. Didn’t mean he was the kind of guy she wanted, or needed, in her life. He was the antithesis of what she was looking for.

“Women on the moon could see that cowboy’s appeal,” Lulu said, clearly not convinced.

“I can’t see why. I mean, I don’t even call him by his first name.”

“Yet.”

Sophie scowled. What did Lulu see in that man? Or for that matter, what did everyone else see? He was too full of himself for her. All confidence and swagger, like he was God’s gift to Edgerton Shores. “Why’s a cowboy living in Florida anyway? There are radio jobs all over the world.”

Lulu grinned. “If you ask him, you’ll know why.”

“I don’t want to know why. I just want him to go away.” Sophie raised the tray into her arms.

“Bringing him tea and fresh-baked biscotti is sure to accomplish that.”

Sophie glared at her assistant and left the kitchen. Lulu was crazy. Sophie didn’t like Harlan Jones. He wasn’t her type anyway. He was obnoxious, rude and mean. And he owned the world’s worst dogs.

If he didn’t make such darn nice chairs, she wouldn’t talk to him at all. Already, she regretted commandeering the furniture this morning. That’s where her impulsive streak got her—saddled with the last man on earth she wanted to spend time with.

She had a business to run. A fundraiser to plan. Thinking about Harlan Jones would do nothing but raise her blood pressure.

Harlan watched Sophie come out through the door, a tray balanced in one arm, a determined, no-nonsense look on her face. He could see she didn’t want to give him the time of day, much less a smile.

Ah, he loved a challenge. Especially one that drove her as crazy as she drove him.

A twinge of guilt ran through him. He should be at work, trying to get the radio station back in the black. Tobias was counting on him—and that wasn’t a role Harlan took lightly. But for now, for just a moment, he wanted to enjoy himself.

“Miss Watson, I do hope you intend to join me for that cup of tea,” he said as she laid his drink and some long, thin cookies before him. The water, he could see, was steaming hot, just the way he liked it. The cookies, crisp and fresh. The woman knew her stuff. He might just have to stay a while and make himself at home, considering how tempting she made the place. Surely he could find a way to work and take some time to annoy his neighbor—and all while enjoying a cup of tea.

“I can’t sit out here with you,” Sophie said. “I have a shop to attend to.”

“Seeing as how I’m your only customer, I think you can spare a minute or two to sit with me.”

“I—”

“Have you even tried these chairs you’re so darned fond of? Might as well plop your saddle in one and see how she rides.” He grinned. “Who knows? You may want to rethink our deal.”

Sophie hesitated a second, then pulled out the second chair and lowered herself into it. A slight smile crossed her face and he knew, as his own behind told him, that the seat had done the trick. If there was one thing Harlan Jones could do, it was make a pretty good chair. Too bad he knew better than to try to make a living at it.

Once again, the what-if questions flitted through his mind, but he pushed them away. He’d seen how a life built on a dream ended. His father had ended up penniless, with his wife literally working herself into an early grave to put food on the table. What food there had been, that was. Harlan had ended up getting a job at fourteen. He’d handed every paycheck to his mother, and still, there’d been lean weeks, lean months.

Times when the temperature on the heat was kept so low, living through those cold winter nights was barely tolerable. And more than one night when dinner was a couple slices of bread slathered with store-brand margarine.

Now Frank Jones relied on his sons to support him for the rest of his days. Not that Harlan minded doing it, but he was smart enough not to repeat those mistakes. His mother had suffered because of her husband’s selfish quest, one that drained instead of paid. Harlan would not make the same mistake. And he would take care of his brother for as long as Tobias needed the help.

Harlan shrugged off the thoughts. It was the end of a stressful day. For five minutes, he was going to enjoy himself and not think about the responsibilities that lay waiting for him outside of the tiny circle of Sophie Watson’s coffee shop. He could indulge in this oasis, and then go back to shouldering his burdens.

“I have to admit you do make a nice seat,” she said.

“Why, thank you. Though I think since you’re sitting on something I have smoothed with my own two hands, you can start calling me Harlan.”

Pink rose in her cheeks. “You are still a customer, Mr. Jones.”

“Technically, you’re my customer. And I don’t go for all that fancy-schmancy stuff. Harlan will do just fine, thank you.” He paused a second, then added, “Sophie.”

The pink flush turned crimson and washed over her face at the use of her name. Damn. He’d have to do that more often. Just to drive her crazy, of course. Not because she looked so pretty when she blushed.

She half-rose out of the chair. “I need to get back inside.”

“What do you do when you aren’t serving coffee and … what do you call these?” He lifted up one of the cookies.

“Biscotti.”

“Nah. I call them bis-yummy.” He bit off another chunk.

She laughed. There. He’d accomplished his goal. She was smiling now. Even better, she’d slipped back into the chair. “I’m afraid I don’t do much, Mr.—”

He raised a brow.

“Harlan,” she corrected, stumbling a bit over the use of his name. “My business takes up a lot of my time.”

“Seems a shame, considering you’re living in paradise.” He waved an arm to indicate the sunny sidewalk, the palm trees dotting the landscape, the bay’s beach twenty minutes away. Like he was one to talk. These few minutes sitting outside were the extent of his time enjoying paradise. In six weeks, he had yet to visit the beaches or watch a sunset.

“Don’t you have to get over to the radio station and embarrass someone else?”

He took a sip of the tea. “Nope. I’ve already done my show today.”

He did have a mountain of work he should be doing, not to mention a mile-high stack of financials to review. He also needed to find time to run over to Tampa General and visit Tobias. But right now he wanted nothing more than to soak up the sun. Maybe doing so would clear his head and ease that knot in his shoulders.

“How disappointed your fans must be.” Her voice was droll, sarcastic. “To have to wait until tomorrow to hear you bash another human being.”

His ego winced at the bruising. “I take it you aren’t a fan?”

She arched a brow in answer.

He chuckled. “Well, I guess I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.” He raised the mug in her direction.

Silence extended between them. They sat there, watching the people walking by. Everyone knew and greeted Sophie, and a surprising number of people said hello to Harlan, too. That told him the show was growing in popularity. Thank goodness.

“So what brings you to Florida from …” She let the sentence trail off, the question implied.

“Texas.” He gave her a grin. “For someone who doesn’t like to call her customers by their first name, you’re treading on some mighty personal ground.”

She colored and got to her feet again. “You’re right. I’ll leave you to your tea.”

“Do you often run away from a challenge, Sophie?” If she wasn’t such an infuriating, difficult woman, he might like the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“Me? Run away?” She parked that fist on her hip again. Given how often she did that, it was a wonder she didn’t have a dent. “If I remember right, you were the one getting bristly at personal questions. Seems I’m not the one doing the running, Mr. Jones.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Oh, we’re back to that now, are we?”

“I do think its best, don’t you?” She gave him a smile that had no hint of flirtation in it and moved her chair back until it sat in perfect alignment with his. A clear signal she was done sitting with him. “Seeing as how we have a business relationship only.”

“Are you saying you want to keep it that way? Business only?” What was he doing? He had no time or desire for a relationship right now.

He wasn’t pursuing Sophie Watson, he told himself. He was trying to get back at her for her constant rants about his dogs and his show.

Sophie tucked her long blond hair behind her ears and leveled her emerald gaze on him. “I’m a smart woman, Mr. Jones, and I learned a long time ago that smart decisions are the ones that serve me—and my business—best. So the answer is yes. Business only.”

Good advice—advice he should take himself. Harlan drained the last of his tea, picked up the lone cookie remaining on his plate, then rose. “Then I’ll bid you good day, Miss Watson.”

“Good day, then. And kindly remember our agreement.” She picked up the tray, added his empty mug, then balanced it on her arm. She flashed him a smile that was anything but friendly. “Because if you ruin my reputation on the radio again, you might get more than you wanted in your tea.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Why, of course not, sir.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Just a business arrangement. I’ll speak nicely of your chairs if you don’t speak of me at all.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He wagged the cookie at her, not making any promises. “But I think I need to up my rent charge. For personal aggravation.”

He could hear her sputtering all the way into the coffee shop. An hour ago, he’d been ready to murder Sophie Watson for stealing his chairs and forcing him off his porch. But now, she’d given him a challenge he couldn’t refuse. That woman had a breaking point and Harlan Jones intended to find it.

Then he’d take his chairs and his bis-yummy and go back to his own little cave, and forget that sassy woman had ever marched on up his stairs and into his life.