The Love Lottery

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.

CHAPTER THREE

HARLAN JONES had been coming to the coffee shop every single afternoon for a week, after he got off working at the radio station. Thankfully, Sophie had too many things keeping her busy to give him more than a passing glance. She made sure Lulu had his tea ready every day, but she avoided sitting with him again. He kept to himself, spending his time poring over stacks of documents. He seemed stressed, and she wanted to ask what was wrong. But didn’t.

She had no room in her life for a man right now, and especially not that man. The coffee shop consumed most of her time. If there was one lesson she’d learned from her broken engagement, it was that the business wouldn’t let her down. Not like a man could.

Despite her misgivings, she’d gone along with Mildred’s plan for the Love Lottery. They’d sold matches in the coffee shop and most of the downtown shops, with the big match event scheduled for this evening. Mildred had suggested they hold it at the coffee shop—what better place to hold a first date than a coffee shop, after all?—and Sophie had spent most of the day preparing extra baked goods and ensuring every inch of the café was spotless. She’d had to leave the Spring Fling committee meeting early so she could get ready for the drawing tonight. Hopefully, she hadn’t missed anything.

By four that afternoon, when Sophie returned from her last logistical meeting with Mildred and the rest of the committee, she half expected to find Harlan Jones’s rear end parked in one of the seats out front. But no, the man was nowhere to be found, and according to Lulu, hadn’t been in at all today. Maybe because it was Sunday or maybe he’d given up on that ridiculous notion of sitting in his own chairs and torturing her with his presence.

“Sure does seem quiet around here without him, doesn’t it?” Lulu said, coming up beside her.

“Without who?”

“That tall drink of whiskey you pretend to hate.”

“I do hate him. He annoys me.” She chalked up a new advertisement of specials for the day.