Josie storms into my apartment without knocking. Her eyes flash with something beyond irritation. She’s ready to rumble. “You were a jerk. You know that, right?” She tosses her bright orange purse onto the sofa and then joins it. Next, she grabs a pillow and tosses it at me in case I’m not paying enough attention to her rant.

“No, I was not. I helped carry the heavy box inside.” Guilt tickles my conscience. I scratch it by remembering how her appearance in the apartment next door can’t be coincidence.

“You know what I mean.”

“What do you know about this girl? You just met her.”

My sister’s eyes narrow. “I know enough to wonder what’s making you act like a total douchebag. And for your information, I met her the other day and know a lot about her already.”

“Really.” I draw out the word and sit in the chair near her. Ah, Josie. She has a heart for strays. She’s like the proverbial cat lady, but with people. You have issues? Josie takes you under her protective wing. She and my ex were friends at one time.

I don’t blame Josie for what happened, but we were both taken in.

“She’s been stalking you, too?”

My question has the desired effect. Josie’s eyebrows lower in a confused dip. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not a bit. Stalking, chasing. Whatever. I mean, come on. Girls like her are exactly like Tori. They go after what they want with a vengeance.”

Her expression changes from confused back to confrontational, her mouth kicking up at the corner. “And just how has she been stalking you? I have to hear this.”

“She eats lunch at Dastardly Bastards when we do.”

“So?” She’s actually grinning now. “How else?”

“She’s has a post office box where I do.”

“Uh huh. It’s probably the closest mailing center.”

My argument feels lame all of a sudden, but I’m not crazy. Dane knows. “Come on. Then she moves in here.”

“Because I told her about the empty apartment when she was in the bookstore.”

“And how did she happen to go to the store my sister owns? See, stalking.”

A delighted bubble of laughter is all I get from Josie. “Gosh. You are an idiot. How does your ego even fit in this room?”

I tamp down the urge to get mad at her amusement. It’ll only feed her delight, as she knows how to push all my buttons. “I’m serious. That woman has been watching me.”

“Has it occurred to you that she might think you’re attractive?”

“Again, stalkers probably think that about the person they stalk.”

“Oh, brother.” Josie rises and strolls over to my kitchen cabinets to begin her usual pilfering for a snack. “She mentioned seeing us together at Dane’s place for lunch one day. She thought you were a famous singer or something like that.”

“That’s a good reason for following me? Because she thinks I’m a singer?”

“Thinking you are a star is a good excuse for looking at you. I can assure you. She’s not a stalker.” Josie pulls a box of crackers from my cupboard. “I think she’s sweet. You should get to know her. We went shopping and to lunch today.”

“Perfect. My sister is now friends with Harper the Stalker.”

“Don’t call her that. I think she’s lonely.”

“Common characteristic of a stalker.”

“There’d be a lot of stalkers in the world if that’s what makes you one. Besides she needed some help.” She pauses and pops a cracker into her mouth.

“She has a husband to help her move in. You have to quit getting into people’s business.”

Josie shakes her head. “Not married.”

“She is. I saw her mail at Letters Express the other day.” I do know something about Harper. Josie’s been blinded by some sort of superficial charm. “She’s is a married woman who’s been following me and—

“Wrong.” Her mouth pinches ruefully at the corners. “She’s a widow.”

“Widow?”

“Yes. Her husband was killed in some accident.”

“Oh.” I stare out the window to avoid looking at Josie. Harper shouldn’t be trying to carry all that stuff by herself. I’d assumed she had manipulated the situation to get Josie’s help. But there is no husband, no parents, friends, or anyone to help her.

She’s all alone.

“Yeah. It’s sad, huh? Remember how we felt after Mom and Dad died?”

There’s a tiny residual clench of my heart, the one that will never go away at the mention of my parents.

“Um hm. What else do you know about her?” My voice is softer now. I picture her pretty features, those eyes that hypnotize me. Her small, high breasts and tight ass. She’s so feminine and frail.

I think about her all alone in this city, prey to guys who don’t know she’s lost a husband, and my feelings shift from suspicion to sympathy.

Josie takes her former position on the sofa and curls her legs underneath her bottom. “She moved here from Tacoma, Washington, but doesn’t know anyone. She used to live in Texas.”

“So, why Nashville?”

“I guess she just likes it here. She’s funny. Leo, I think you’ll get along with her. And she needs friends. Do me a favor and be nice to her. She’s not stalking you.”

I nod at Josie. I’ll make it up to Harper. “OK. You win. Seeing her in so many places was kind of freaky, that’s all.”

“Say I was right.”

“You were more informed.”

“Say I’m always right. Because it’s true. Don’t you think she’s cute?”

I shoot her a warning look. “Josie.”

“It’s about time you stopped moping around and move on. Bad breakups happen. It’s life.”

I gather up my ammunition and shoot with an unfair advantage. I know how to make her back off. “Let’s talk about you and Dane. I think—”

“Shut. Up.” She scolds me with comedic flair and a grin, but she’s conflicted. It’s in the way she’s overly dramatic with her response.

We both lock in a stare—a sign of a truce for as long as I can remember.

Then, she nods at me. “I can’t stick around, but be nice to Harper. Offer a sort of olive branch, because she thinks you don’t like her.”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling and lean my head against the back of my chair. “What do you want me to do? I can’t just go over there. And if I tell her I thought she was watching me…well, I don’t see that as a good start for her as my neighbor.”

“No. Definitely don’t do that. Just go over and take her something. Like food.”

“Like a bag of chips and a six-pack?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, you’re a riot. She’d move out if you did that. Go to Fresh Market and grab some cheeses and a put them in a basket with some crackers. Add a bottle of wine to it.”

“For Pete’s sake, don’t you think that sounds a little…” I wave a hand around, searching for the right word. “A little like a romantic gesture? Cheese and wine? I’m not asking her out. I only want to make her think she’s OK as my neighbor.”

“She might be fooled into thinking you’re cultured. I’d love my neighbor if he brought me that.”

“Don’t need her to love me. Tolerate me? Yes. You’ve got to do better than the cultured argument. What about chips and dip?”

She huffs at me. Literally huffs. “Why do I even try? Fine. Take her some Fritos and bean dip.”

“Sounds great. They sell those at the local gas station.”

“You, my idiot brother, do what you want. You don’t listen to me anyway.” She mutters the entire time she walks to my door. “Always pretending to want my advice and then, when I give it? Deaf.”

After Josie leaves, I grab my wallet and keys so I can head out and pick something up for the neighbor.

* * *

I knock on Harper’s door three times. Her truck was parked outside when I returned from the store, so I know she’s home. Is she looking through the peephole at me? Have I upset her so much she’s not going to answer? I feel like a dork standing here with this basket, since I wouldn’t be taking food to a new neighbor under normal circumstances.

This feels like something my mother would’ve done when she was alive. I can hear her telling me to do exactly what Josie had.

The door finally opens. I take in Harper without knowing what to say. She appears to be harried, her ponytail lopsided with strands of hair falling at her cheeks. She’s a hot mess. It’s very cute except for one small detail— she holds a steel meat mallet.

For one uncomfortable moment, I remember seeing her watching me in all my usual haunts. Maybe Josie was deathly wrong and this is where I meet my end.

“Harper.” I take a step back out of swinging distance.

“Oh. It’s you.” She blows a strand of hair from her eyes.

“I wanted to bring you a housewarming gift.” I hold up the basket by the handle.

“Thanks.” She opens the door wider. “Come on in.”

“You look busy. I can leave this—”

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “Sorry to ask, but could you hold something while you’re here?” She takes the basket with her free hand and walks to the kitchen area.

I stand in the doorway, not really wanting to come in. But it seems a little rude to back away and run for my life. And I could probably dodge the mallet. I’m amused by my own paranoia. Josie would have a good laugh if she knew.

“So can you hold something for me?” she repeats.

“Sure,” I say and step inside. I chuckle to myself at the feeling of stepping into the lair of a dangerous creature.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I hide my grin. “Am I holding a steak down or what?”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows knit and she tilts her head. “I don’t understand.”

I point to the weapon she holds.

“Oh. I don’t have a hammer, and I’m trying to put my bed together. The entire thing came in a box.”

Only a woman would move into a place without owning basic tools. “How about I go get my tools?”

“You have a hammer?” She waits a beat. “Of course you do. Yes, please. That’d be great.”

She walks around the bar and places the mallet inside a drawer. “I’ll put this food away.”

Because Josie suggested cheese and crackers, I was determined to steer clear of those items. It’s the way of brothers and sisters. You do the opposite of what they want.

Instead, I’d filled the basket with gourmet marinara sauce, whole grain pasta, fresh French bread, and a parmesan cheese. I don’t know if she cooks, but spaghetti seemed easy and safe. I figure if you can boil water, you can make pasta.

I leave and return five minutes later with a small metal toolbox. She opens the door on one knock. Her ponytail is fixed now, no stray pieces escaping the hair band.

I grin because I kind of enjoyed the other look. It was wild and uninhibited. Sexy.

“Real hammer, real screws. I assume you need screws for the bed? Unless you wanted to use paperclips or something.” My sarcasm makes her smile.

She assumes a serious expression. “I used bread bag twists. That doesn’t work?”

I follow Harper into her bedroom where planks spill from the end of a long box. The picture on the side is of a platform bed. “This, right?”

“Um hm.” She kneels on one side of the box and grabs a sheet of instructions. “When you knocked earlier, I was reading these. I realized I needed a hammer and a screwdriver.”

“Yeah. You always do.” I turn my head to nod at the mattress leaning against the wall. “You didn’t carry all this up here, did you?”

“Your sister helped me.”

I grimace. “Don’t do that again. Come and get me. Josie should’ve yelled when you needed help,” I say. Then I realize they didn’t, based on my actions the first time they asked. “Sorry about earlier. I was in the middle of something,” I lie. “Instructions.” I hold out my hand for them. It’s not too difficult to figure out what we need. I search for the pouch of screws and locate my Philips screwdriver.

Harper doesn’t say much. I spend a few seconds of silence concentrating on lining up two boards of the platform frame. “So. What brings you to Nashville? Hand me one of those washers, please.”

She drops the washer into my outstretched hand. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought I’d visit here and after I did, I loved it.”

“You travel a lot?” I grab the Philips and insert the screw.

Harper hesitates. “No. I grew up in Texas. After I got married, I moved to Washington. I haven’t been anywhere else.”

I nod, a little uncomfortable that I’ve taken the conversation to a topic that suddenly feels very personal. “I need a screw. A long screw.” I hold out my hand again and press my lips together at my words.

She stares at me. There’s a noticeable flush to her cheeks. Good God. I’m not the only one whose thoughts went straight to the gutter. The girl’s got a dirty mind, and it didn’t take a shortcut for her to travel there.

I dip my head so she can’t see my grin. “Can you hand me another long screw? Same length as the last one?”

Harper’s hand shakes a little as she rummages through the bag. She locates the one I need and drops it near my leg. “Here you go.” No eye contact now.

For a girl who’s been staring at me every time I see her at Dane’s bar, she is now painfully shy. “What do you do, Harper?” I ask and continue twisting the screwdriver.

She’s silent.

“Do you have a job yet?” I ask.

“I applied for a few. I’ve only worked one places before, so it’s probably going to be tough to get hired.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she answers and her chin lifts in challenge. “I did some babysitting and dogsitting when I was in high school. My parents didn’t want me to work then, so I didn’t. And Wesley thought women should stay…well, I just didn’t work.”

I nod. Apparently, her dead husband didn’t want her to work any more than her parents did.

“What do you do?” she asks.

It makes sense she’d return the question. Still, I always hesitate to tell people much about how I spend my time and make money. “I’m writing the next breakout novel.” I give the statement lightly so I almost sound like I’m teasing.

“A writer. That’s interesting. Have you written anything I’ve read?”

“I doubt it. Screw?” I hold out my palm and move to hold the next two pieces of wood together.

She quickly drops the screw into my extended hand. No blushing this time. All this talk must be distracting her.

“Is that how you make a living?”

I’m caught a little off-guard by her question. The Mr. Expose blog is how I actually have steady income. The two thrillers I’ve written certain don’t qualify, since I’ve spent all year sending them to agents.

I concentrate on twisting the screwdriver and move on to the last boards of the frame. “Well, I do have some freelance work I do. But you won’t have read any of it.”

“Try me,” she says.

Only two people know I’m Mr. Expose. Josie is one and Dane is the other. Neither would tell a living soul, so my secret is safe. “Hey, we’re almost done.” I stand and place my hands on my hips. “Let’s put the mattress on the frame.”

I grab one side and she gets the other. We walk the mattress over to the platform. “Thanks for helping me. I’d be hammering away with the meat tenderizer if you hadn’t come along.”

“Not a problem. What else do you need?”

She looks around the room. “Nothing really. I wish I had a television or more books. I’ll get those later.”

Harper’s belongings are sparse. How does someone who’s been married have so little in the way of housekeeping? Josie is single and her apartment is packed with enough furnishings for three houses.

“I’m so glad you came over. I thought maybe you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t know you.” I give her a pleasant smile. If I had a collared shirt on, I’d be pulling at my neckline.

“When I knocked on your door and introduced myself…”

“I didn’t expect a new neighbor. That’s all.” But now the thing that’s been bugging me resurfaces. I can’t help myself. “Plus, I thought I knew you from somewhere. Have we met before?”

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “But I thought you looked familiar, too. Actually, I thought you were Joe Delaware, the famous country singer when I saw you one day at a bar I found downtown. I was eating lunch there and you were with Josie. Of course, I didn’t know Josie then. Small world, huh?”

“Joe Delaware is a lot older than I am.” I laugh. “And a lot richer.”

Harper shakes her head. “Well, close up I can see the difference. You’re a better looking guy than he is.”

I don’t do well with compliments. I know I’m not dog-turd ugly. Or so I’ve been told by Josie when her friends asked her to play matchmaker.

Instead of responding to her, I glance around the bare living room. “If you need a book to read, I have quite a few. You’re welcome to borrow one.”

“That’d be really nice.”

“I need to get back to work if you don’t need any more help. Come grab a book if you like.” There. I’m still being neighborly.

I grab my toolbox and Harper follows me across the hall. She hesitates a little in the doorway as if waiting for an invitation.

Man, have I ever behaved like a dick.

“Come on in.” I wave at the shelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling. “There’s a rolling ladder at the end. Help yourself.”

Harper lingers at the end shelf, browsing through the books at eye level. She has a tiny waist that nips in and I imagine my hands spanning across the entire width. For such a small thing, she has a fine ass. It’s my Achilles’ heel and I force my gaze up.

Too late.

I imagine grabbing her ass and pulling her flush to my body, feeling the heat of her skin through her clothes.

I sit on the bar stool, one leg dangling, fighting a hard-on that I’ll have to adjust when I stand. Still, I’m a glutton for punishment and reluctant to stop watching her since she isn’t paying attention to me.

“Can I take this John Grisham one?” she asks and turns to face me.

I nod. “Take anything you want. But no dog ears. I hate those. Please use a bookmark.”

“You’re serious? I won’t. You can trust me.”

“My sister would turn down page corners on every book I owned. We used to fight over that. It’s the reason she named her bookstore Dog Ears.”

Harper pulls the Grisham book from the shelf. “You and your sister are very close, huh.”

“I guess.” I roll my head back and look at the ceiling. “She can drive me insane, but she’s also my best friend. We’re twins.”

I don’t know why I’ve told her this. The story is really one of those inane details.

“You don’t look a thing alike. So you’re not identical.” She throws both hands to cover her face. “I cannot believe I said that.” She drops her hands and her face turns a bright shade of pink.

I cannot quit grinning at the way she’s so embarrassed over her thoughtless remark. “I hope we’re not.”

She holds up the book. “On that totally stupid note, I think I’ll be leaving. Thanks for the book. I’ll bring it back when I’m finished.”

“You’re welcome to borrow all you want. If you need help with something heavy, or whatever, please let me know.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

She closes the door behind her and I stare at it. Harper is someone I could be interested in. Not that I’m looking. But if I wanted more than a hook-up, Harper would be exactly the kind of girl I’d choose. She’s the opposite of my ex, Tori—a woman I now know was all flash and dishonesty.