Page 18 of Make Her Mine

It will be perfect.

As I’m imagining the whole scene, Jefferson walks by, blocking my view.

And I find myself leaning over and knocking on the window before I even think through what I’m doing.

He stops and looks in. He’s clearly surprised to see me waving at him. But as soon as I mouth, ‘Help me’, he pivots toward Dottie’s front door.

A minute later he arrives next to the booth. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“I need you.”

His brow lifts. “Oh?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a little prob?—”

Zach returns just then, before I can finish my sentence.

So I do the only thing I can—I grab Jefferson’s hand and pull him into the booth next to me.

CHAPTER 5

JEFFERSON

I may not be the brightest of the Riley siblings, but I’m pretty sharp. It takes me only the time from when Harlow grabs my hand to when my ass hits the seat to figure out what’s going on.

Harlow Hansen and I are now accomplices.

I slide my arm along the booth behind her, my palm resting on her shoulder, and I pull her close.

I feel her body stiffen. I’m sure in surprise. But if we’re gonna do this, we’re going to do it.

Zach’s eyes narrow as he takes the seat across the table from us.

Deanna shows up just then, delivering plates. She puts the French toast and bacon in front of Harlow. Of course she does. And an omelet with a ton of vegetables in front of Zach.

I steal a piece of bacon from Harlow’s plate and lift it to my mouth, feeling stupidly smug.

I don’t know what Harlow has told Zach, I don’t know how long they’ve been here, I don’t really know what’s going on at all, but from this moment on, Zach Nelson is going to think that Harlow and I are crazy about each other. And that she is so far over him, she barely remembers the days of looking at him with puppy dog eyes and writing him little love notes that she’d slip into his locker.

Sudden tension wraps around my ribs. I remember those stupid notes probably better than either of them do. I also remember Zach showing them off to the football team and making fun of them.

Harlow doesn’t know about that. And as long as I am breathing, she won’t.

That’s essentially what I told Zach and the rest of the team when I heard them joking about the notes ten years ago.

My stance hasn’t changed.

I force myself to relax, hug her a little tighter, feel her squirm against me—obviously trying to put some space between us—and grin. Zach can think I’m grinning at him. I’m actually grinning about the extra perk of this whole thing: driving Harlow nuts. That’s always been fun. This next week is going to give me all kinds of opportunities for that particular entertainment as well. Win-win-fucking win.

“Morning, Zach,” I finally say.

I reach for Harlow‘s coffee cup, and lift it to my mouth. I’m prepared for it to be straight black and strong, but I’m not prepared for the taste of cinnamon, or just how damned strong it is. My mother, candy-maker extraordinaire and co-owner of the best bakery in the state, has spoiled me with lattes since I was in high school. I’m man enough to admit that I like my coffee a little sweet and frothy. I’m not ashamed of that. And if you want to put a swirl of chocolate in there, I’m not gonna be mad.

I work on not coughing as I swallow and set the cup back down.

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