CHAPTER 6
REID
REID found the receipt on his desk the next morning with a note from Grayson.
Your boyfriend stopped by.
Heat rushed to Reid’s face as he read the receipt, specifically, the tip amount. Then he had to laugh.
From what he had learned of Harris so far, he was no longer surprised. Harris was eccentric. He was rash; he was an attention getter by nature. He had wanted Reid’s attention since that first night, Reid was sure of it. And oh, how Reid wanted to give it all to him. Every last bit.
Reid couldn’t accept the two thousand dollars in return for giving Harris his attention. That could be construed as extortion, though he knew Harris didn’t intend that. To Harris, it was harmless fun. To Reid, it was flattering.
But it made him feel all warm inside. The fluttering behind his ribs felt foreign to him. He had to admit he kind of liked it.
Reid almost turned right back around and left his office to go find Harris and give him exactly what they both wanted.
But rational thinking had a way of ruining everything.
He should stay. He should just tear up the bill and not give into Harris’ antics. What would that accomplish anyway? Reid couldn’t allow himself to get caught up with a tourist. Not right now. He had bills to pay, books to balance, payroll to execute. He had orders to place. He knew a “come get me” message when he saw it.
But he was at least two days ahead of schedule and hadn’t seen the man in three days. And they never resolved the first-tip situation.
If he kept the visit quick, it wouldn’t hurt anything.
Decision made, Reid grabbed the light jacket he had hung on the back of his office door. He locked up behind himself and sent Sasha a wave as he walked through the bar and out the front door, ignoring the knowing look she shot his way. He sucked in a deep breath as he made his way toward Changing Tides.
Reid steadfastly ignored his conscious with every step of his feet. He told himself he was only going to the inn to let Harris know he wasn’t going to be processing his receipt and that he really should stop what he’s trying to do.
It would probably do them both some good to actually talk about whatever was building between them. Put a stop to it before it was too late.
It wasn’t long before Reid wound up at the white picket gate in front of the inn. He remembered helping Dylan build that fence. Remembered thinking Dylan had finally lost it when he had bought the old, run-down building and renovated it into the perfect romantic getaway. For whatever reason, this had been Dylan’s lifelong dream, and Reid felt honored to help see it to fruition.
Reid let himself in the gate and jogged up the sidewalk, taking the front steps two at a time. Every square inch of the property had a story to tell. Tilling up the lawn and re-seeding the whole mess, pouring enough weed killer on the sidewalk to give Reid an asthma attack just like he used to get when he was younger, clearing out the old, moldy carpet in the enclosed patio. Installing the windows. The doors. Name it, Reid probably had a hand in it. In the end, he was damned happy he didn’t have to run the place. Dylan had the patience of a saint, and the inn had flourished under his management.
Opening the front door, the rich scent of coffee met Reid head on. Right. It was still breakfast. Dylan would be busy. Hell, Harris might not even be up yet.
Before he could turn tail and run back to his restaurant and do what he had originally planned to do with his day, Reid heard footsteps coming down the north wing staircase. As though caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Reid froze in place, watching and waiting for the arrival of his judge.
He knew the moment he spotted the posh leather shoes that it was Harris. Dark wash denim followed, hugging those thighs and hips to perfection. Reid felt heat punch through him as he wondered what those thighs would feel like wrapped around his waist. Then came Harris’ rich green sweater accentuating a long torso and straight shoulders, similar to the red one several days ago. Had it really been several days? Suddenly, it felt like much too long.
The rest of Harris appeared, his face the picture of surprise as he stared out at Reid. Harris paused at the bottom of the staircase, hand gripping the banister as though grounding himself. Reid admired those fingers, wondered what they would feel like clutching and scratching at him. Harris’ lips parted in a Cheshire-cat grin, goatee immaculately trimmed around it, and he sauntered into the living room and straight toward Reid.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice a purr. “I take it you found my tip.”
Reid swallowed hard, forcing himself to remember the reason he had decided to stop by. “Yeah. And we need to talk.”
Harris’ grin dropped, his seductive demeanor disappearing. Gone was the openly flirtatious man. In his place stood a tight and stiff, closed-off one. Reid wanted to groan aloud. That wasn’t what he wanted.
He didn’t know what he wanted.
“Look,” Reid rushed on, trying to fix the situation. “I –”
“It’s okay,” Harris said, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked so small in that moment. And yet he jutted his chin out as though daring Reid to mock him for his little gesture. Reid almost laughed at the picture. “Just tear it up, like the other one. I’ll come in later today and pay for both meals. No harm done.”
Harris then executed a perfect about-face, already heading toward the Sunroom before Reid could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“Wait, Harris.” Reid hurried after him. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he did know he didn’t want this. Not one bit.
And he would think long and hard about that later. But right now, he had to fix it.
“What?” Harris snapped, turning back to face Reid. He stepped toward Reid, his face hard, his stance aggressive. Reid halted abruptly and held up his hands in surrender.
“Woah. I’m sorry. I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” he said. He offered Harris a small smile.
Harris’ eyes narrowed. “No, I think I received the message loud and clear. Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
Reid exhaled and dropped one hand, shoving the other through his hair. “No, wait. Stop. That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want, Reid?” Harris asked. Reid looked up and met those dark, dark eyes with his. And suddenly, he knew.
And he was going to hell for it.
“Come shopping with me today,” he blurted before he could think twice about it. Harris’ face dropped open in surprise. Reid cleared his throat. “Sasha’s birthday is coming up, and I was going to cruise the antique shops for something weird. It’s something of a tradition for us.”
Silence reigned between them. Reid shuffled his feet, digging deep for every ounce of patience he could spare. And prayed for more.
Then Harris nodded. “Okay. But we’re going to talk.”
Reid let out a relieved breath and a mile-wide grin. “Yeah. Talk. Great. Um.”
“Did you get breakfast?” Harris asked.
Reid nodded. “But you eat. Do what you need. I can visit with Dylan.”
“I’ll just grab a muffin and some coffee for the road,” Harris said.
They entered the Sunroom together, an awkward silence settling between them. Reid was grateful to spot Dylan already in the room, and he asked if Harris could use a thermos. Dylan raised a curious eyebrow at Reid before disappearing to fetch one. Then he gave Reid a meaningful look before wishing them a good day.
Once they exited the house, Harris juggled his muffin and thermos and reached into his front pocket, pulling out the key fob. He passed it to Reid.
“Technically, the car will turn on if you don’t have the key since I’m in the car with you. It’s a push start,” Harris explained. “But just in case something happens, you know where we’re going better than I do.”
Reid nodded, pressing the unlock button on the fob. He had the strangest urge to walk toward the passenger’s side and open Harris’ door for him. He shook it off. It wouldn’t do to confuse Harris even further.
Reid took a minute to adjust the seat, giving Harris a side-eye. Harris rolled his eyes and laughed.
“Not all of us can be as tall as you.”
The radio blasted Mötley Crüe as they headed down the narrow street toward Highway 101.
“There’s an antique shop just down the way a little bit that carries some good stuff.”
“You mean, there is such a thing?” Harris said with a mock gasp.
Reid cast him an exasperated look. “Yes, especially if you know where to look. I’ll grant you; there are plenty of junk shops around here. But we’re not going to those today.”
“Thank God. I think the one I went into earlier this week gave me fleas.”
Reid snorted a laugh.
They arrived at a large bright red barn not thirty minutes later. Knacks had been there since the dawn of time, or so the story goes. All Reid knew was that his mother had loved it and had taken Reid and his friends there for as long as he could remember. He had gotten his favorite books there and his favorite Picasso print that he had hung on his bedroom wall for years. His mother had collected Franciscan China, and the owner of Knacks had always been on the lookout for her.
“A barn?” Harris asked, skepticism coloring his words. “That’s different.”
Reid grinned. “Just wait until you see the inside.”
Reid pulled open the door for Harris, admiring how easy it opened. Mick had finally fixed the door as well as given the whole building a much-needed paint job just last spring.
Moderately organized chaos met them as they stepped into the barn. The familiar mustiness to the place relaxed Reid, though he caught the light scent of berries near the entrance. Reid knew the general layout by heart. First were the housewares, which was a good strategic move on Mick’s part. He said that most women dragged their husbands into antique shops looking for something unique to put in their kitchens or bathrooms, so he laid out just enough to pique their interest and search for more items throughout the rest of the shop.
Then came the books, the china, and teacups. Then dolls and toys. Followed by tools. Reid always got a kick out of the tools. Artwork and clocks littered the walls. Smaller, breakable figurines and higher value items were in a glass case around the cash register. That had been a new addition a few years ago when Mick grew tired of his smaller items wandering off. And like any other good local shop on the Oregon coast, Mick had a special section for locally made foods and crafts to sell, such as soaps and jams.
But, knowing all of this, Reid took a moment to watch Harris’ reaction as they moved through the front of the barn. Harris’ eyes seemed to be stuck on the “wide” setting as he took in every tiny detail, even tracing his fingers over a rich mahogany desk holding an old-mirrored tray and a set of glass perfume bottles.
“Mick!” Reid hollered as the door swung shut behind him. He watched in concealed amusement as Harris jumped.
“Are you allowed to shout in an antique shop?” he asked.
Reid lost it, snorting out a laugh just as Mick walked out from his office at the side of the barn in what used to be the tack room.
“Holy shit, about time you wandered back this way,” Mick said, his lips spread in a wide grin. He held out his arms as Reid walked toward him.
Mick only came up to the midway point of Reid’s chest, having always been short and petite. A familiar scent of Irish Spring soap and cigarettes met Reid’s nose. Mick’s gray hair had been thinning over the years, so he wore a black beret, angled to one side. Reid flicked the edge of it.
“Still pretending you’re French, I see,” Reid teased with a grin.
“Still being an ass, I see,” Mick shot back. Then he laughed and thumped Reid on the back. “Who’s this good-looking fellow, and why is he spending his time with the likes of you?”
Harris grinned and stuck his hand out. “Harris Brewer. And I don’t really know yet.”
“Honesty. I like it,” Mick said, grasping Harris’ hand. “Welcome to Seaside. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Harris looked to Reid and shrugged. Reid turned to Mick. “Sasha’s birthday is coming up.”
“Ah,” Mick said. His grin widened again, as though he had a secret to share, faded blue eyes fairly sparkling with mirth over rosy cheeks. “I found something especially unique a few months ago and have been holding onto it for you.”
“Wait a minute,” Harris said, raising his hands. “I feel like this is cheating. Isn’t it cheating if you don’t have to search through this whole place for a gift?”
Mick laughed, his voice raspy from years of cigarette smoke. “It’s called being friends with the owner.”
Harris shook his head and muttered what sounded suspiciously like, “No, Reid’s just a lazy bastard,” but Reid chose to ignore it.
Mick disappeared into the back of the barn, which had been quarantined off years ago with a wall he had built in. Inventory was kept back there, which Reid found out one fateful afternoon when his curiosity got the better of him and snooping had resulted in a stack of boxes falling on top of him. If the front looked chaotic, it had nothing on the back of this place.
It was a wonder that Mick knew half of what he had in stock.
Harris perused more items, picking up things here or there to inspect. He spent quite a few minutes staring at the walls, then shaking his head and muttering to himself more.
“Looking for something for your friend, Maggie?” Reid asked.
Harris shrugged. “Not really. I thought maybe Maggie would like some old art or something, but I don’t have a clue what she would like or if any of what’s on these walls are valuable.”
Reid nodded. “Mick’s tastes run toward the eccentric, maybe doubly so when it comes to the art on the walls here. There’s no question of value most of the time, but the question is more of taste. I personally wouldn’t want any of these on my walls.”
“You’ve gotta tell me who does the artwork in your place,” Harris said, turning those beautiful, brown eyes on Reid once again. Reid felt his face heat up.
Luckily, Mick chose that moment to come back, saving him from responding.
“Here we are,” Mick said. A small statue stood nestled in his hands.
It was a ballerina, standing on one foot en pointe, the other leg bent up and back behind her. At first glance, it looked as though she were dancing alone, in solid white, but at closer glance, Reid noticed a small figure in the ballerina’s outstretched hand. He gasped as he realized what it was.
A scorpion, its tail poised to sting.
“Wow,” Reid said. “If there were ever a statue that embodied Sasha, this is it.”
“That’s exactly what I thought when I found it,” Mick said. “I didn’t even care if the bastard I bought it from overpriced the damn thing. I bought it anyway. Make sure to give her my love when she opens it.”
“I absolutely will,” Reid said. He turned to Harris. “Sasha used to be a ballerina with a Russian ballet company. Let’s hunt a little longer; see if we can find something just for fun.”
They spent another three hours peeking into every nook and cranny of the store. Reid remembered being bored out of his mind when his mother would spend hours at Knacks, but he felt none of that with Harris. They laughed over some of the weirder things they found. This resulted in Mick shouting at them from his tack room turned office, each trying to outdo the other.
Harris ended up buying Maggie some local soaps in an assortment of floral scents and a small porcelain bowl with tiny bluebells painted on the sides. He also bought a vintage Playboy magazine, “For research,” he claimed, and which absolutely did not make Reid blush. Reid bought the ballerina for Sasha and a couple of small irons he could use as door stops around the restaurant and his apartment, which he explained to Harris was right above the restaurant. Harris had grown quiet at that.
Harris paid Mick an additional fee to package up his gifts and ship them for him. Then the two of them waved goodbye after Mick wrangled a dinner invitation out of Reid.
“Wow,” Harris said, heaving a sigh of relief. “That was… intense.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Reid said. “Thanks for doing that with me.”
Harris shrugged as they slid into the car. “Not like it wouldn’t have been easier, and less time overall, if you had gone by yourself.”
“Still,” Reid said, turning over the car. “I appreciated the company.”
Harris remained silent at that, but Reid could feel Harris’ gaze rest on him, heavy and demanding.
They needed to talk.
“Lunch?” Reid asked, meeting Harris’ eyes. Harris nodded. “I know just the place. Do you mind a little bit of a drive?” Reid asked.
“Not at all.”
Reid maneuvered the car back onto the highway, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of The Rolling Stones.
“I saw them in concert once. My first concert,” Harris said, nodding to the radio when Reid looked over. “Hell of a show.”
Reid grinned. “I bet. Mom took me to see Neil Diamond for my first show.” Harris laughed. “Hey! He’s a fantastic performer.”
“No doubt about it. How old were you?” Harris asked.
“Thirteen.”
“Ouch,” Harris said with another laugh.
Reid snickered. He knew Harris was right. He had been into all kinds of rock and roll and country music back then. Having to go see a soft rock icon with his mom had been the pinnacle of embarrassment. “Alright, alright. It was awkward as hell. But I’m glad for the memory.”
“Good,” Harris said.
A sign welcomed them to Tillamook before the highway split into two one-way streets, each filled with small shops and restaurants on either side.
Reid pulled off into a parking space along the side of the highway. They had driven for a while, passing several small towns before entering Tillamook. It was a bit of a drive, but Reid felt it would be worth it to show the place to Harris.
That and the burgers were to die for.
“The Doo-Wop Diner?” Harris asked, his voice heavy with skepticism as he pushed his way out of the car.
“The best. Trust me, though the name could use some work.” Reid slid out of the car when traffic on his side cleared enough. He jogged around the car and toward Harris. “It’s a ’50’s style diner. Simpler times, simpler meals, and all that. You’ll like it.”
“Sounds interesting,” Harris said. His tone suggested anything but.
Reid rolled his eyes but held the door open for Harris. They were assaulted with doo-wop music and the mouthwatering aroma of hot grease. Bright red booths offset the black-and-white checkerboard flooring, all rounded off with mint-green walls. Old pictures of drive-in diners covered the walls, and old menus featuring prices for meals that were unheard of in today’s era. A bar was situated off to the right, robust milkshake and soda machines behind it instead of beer taps.
Harris caught Reid’s eye and lifted an eyebrow. Reid shook his head.
They were seated quickly and given a couple of one-page menus.
“I probably shouldn’t have brought a heart doctor to a place like this,” Reid said as they browsed the menu.
Harris snorted. “There are lots of changes going on in research right now. The latest is that they’re saying sugar is a bigger health issue than fat ever was.”
“Really?” Reid asked. “Do you do any of your own research?”
“Some,” Harris said with a shrug, laying his menu down on the table. “Especially when it comes to life-saving procedures. But I won’t bore you with all that.” Harris gave Reid an easy smile that made Reid’s stomach flip.
The waitress bustled up to their table. “What’ll it be, boys?”
Harris ordered a burger with everything and a chocolate malt. Reid ordered the bacon cheeseburger, with no pickles, and a vanilla malt.
“Never would have pegged you as the vanilla type,” Harris said with a wink.
Heat bloomed across Reid’s face. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”
“True.”
An awkward silence fell between them as Bobby Day serenaded them. Reid knew it would be now or never.
“So –” Reid began.
“Do you –” Harris said at the same time.
They both stopped, then smiled at each other.
“Sorry, go ahead,” Harris said.
“No, no, no. You first,” Reid said.
Harris lifted an eyebrow, then shrugged. “I was just going to ask if you think the Cubs have a chance again this year.”
Reid grinned. “You’re into baseball?”
“Of course.” Harris leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Tell me you’re not, and I’ll leave you here.”
Reid laughed. They got lost in their discussion of players, coaches, contracts, and before Reid knew it, the waitress slid their lunch in front of them. They tucked in, debates growing heated as they discovered more about each other’s loyalties.
“The A’s? Oh, come on,” Reid groaned around a couple of fries.
“Don’t even get me started on the Mariners,” Harris interrupted, holding his hand up to stop Reid’s rant.
Reid couldn’t remember a time he had enjoyed lunch more. It almost felt like another date.
The thought made Reid’s good mood vanish. They really should talk about what they were doing, and why they shouldn’t be doing it
Reid took a healthy sip of his malt, bracing himself for what promised to be a thoroughly awkward conversation.
“Harris,” he began.
Reid’s cell phone blared to life in his pants pocket. Fumbling to pull it out, Reid hit the small green button.
“Colburn,” he said. He saw Harris mouth the word out of the corner of his eye. Reid rolled his eyes and smiled.
“Reid, we got a situation here,” Grayson’s harried voice said over the line. Reid tensed in response. “The oven again. None of us can figure it out.”
“Shit,” Reid muttered, nodding his head and raising his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be there in a half hour. I’m in Tillamook.”
Reid could hear Grayson’s frustrated sigh. “Thanks, boss. Sorry about this.” Then he hung up.
Reid lowered the phone, meeting Harris’ questioning eyes.
“I know we need to talk, and I’m sorry, but the oven at the restaurant is on the fritz, and I gotta get back and take care of it.” Reid reached for his wallet, pulling out enough to cover their lunch bill and a healthy tip, throwing it on the table.
Harris nodded, sliding out of the booth. “Anything I can help with?” he asked.
Reid waved to the waitress as they hustled out of the diner. “Not unless you’re also an expert in basic mechanics.”
“Nope, just the human heart,” he said.
The drive back to town was mostly silent, various rock legends murmuring in the background. Reid focused on the road, cursing his faulty oven. He knew they could probably talk now, but it didn’t feel right. When they talked, Reid wanted Harris to have his undivided attention. He promised himself they would talk soon.
He could give Harris that much.
“Hey,” Reid said as he parked in the small parking lot at The Changing Tides Inn. “Come by the restaurant tonight. I’ll feed you dinner and make sure you have all my attention.”
Harris nodded. “Sure.”
They exited the car, and Reid stood their awkwardly, his purchases in hand, until Harris held out his hand. Reid started as he realized he still had Harris’ car key.
“Oh,” Reid huffed a soft laugh. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” Harris said, then gave Reid the shooing motion. “Now, get. You have an oven to fix.”
“God, don’t remind me,” Reid said, running his hand over his face. Then he began to walk backwards, away from Harris. He didn’t want to leave. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, worried.
Harris smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Now go.”
Reid grinned and started his jog down the street. Then he heard Harris shout behind him.
“Should I send Dylan over to help?”
Reid began to run backwards, facing Harris once more. “Nah, I’ll call him if I need to. Thanks!”
Harris lifted his hand in a wave and turned toward the house.
Reid knew the feeling of his chest tightening had nothing to do with his jog.