Two
It was a big plane and a relatively short flight. Sarah had been hoping to continue avoiding John Mannion, but that proved impossible when she boarded the plane and she had to pass him. Sitting in, of all places, a wide, comfy-looking leather first-class seat, a champagne glass on his table tray. He’d changed from the dusty khakis into jeans, and instead of the rumpled shirt he was wearing a black UW sweatshirt.
He’d also shaved and, from his still-wet hair, appeared to have showered. How had he managed that? And didn’t it make her, in her sedate professorial glen-check skirt, black turtleneck and black jacket, feel even more travel-mussed?
For a man who should be suffering at least some shame, he seemed unreasonably cheerful. He flashed her that warm, sexy smile that had once possessed the ability to melt her bones. In turn, she merely nodded a cool acknowledgment. Which, unfortunately, lost a bit of its chilly effect when, in a moment of inattention, she smacked the businessman across the aisle in the shoulder with her carry-on bag. Apologizing profusely, she ignored the bane of her existence and continued on to the first row of coach.
She’d chosen a window seat, which, being on the opposite side of the aisle from his, gave her a direct view of him. At least a back/side view, definitely enough to draw her attention as the miniskirted stewardess bent down next to his seat, and with her C cups practically in his face, cheerfully chatted away as if they’d been best friends forever. Which, from the open invitation in the blonde’s eyes, they might still be before the day was over.
Not that Sarah cared. At all.
She took a paperback from her purse and, so intent on not looking up in case he might glance back at her, she didn’t notice the stewardess until she’d stopped beside her row with a mimosa.
“The gentleman in seat 6A asked me to bring this back to you, Ms. Harper,” the woman said.
Sarah’s gaze flew to the wide seat up front just in time to meet his. He lifted his flute in a toast. She’d spent the past two years in two different countries, determined to get over him. A familiar zing in her lady parts, which had perked up and taken notice, was evidence that she hadn’t been as successful as she’d hoped.
She had two choices. She could refuse the drink, which, now that everyone around them was looking at her, including two elderly women across the aisle who seemed enthralled by the romantic gesture, could risk creating a buzz the entire fight back home. Or she could accept it. She chose the latter, lifting her glass in cool response to his toast. Then, taking a sip of the admittedly delicious drink, she returned to her book to demonstrate that drinking the mimosa didn’t mean she wanted anything more to do with him.
Fortunately, after takeoff, the curtain between the privileged and commoners was closed, and Sarah abandoned her book, unable to absorb a single word as she wondered how long John Mannion planned to stay in Honeymoon Harbor. And how she was going to deal with him—and the centuries-old Harper-Mannion feud—while they were both home.
* * *
Sarah might not have wanted to talk to him in the terminal, but she had accepted the cocktail he’d sent her. As a token of forgiveness? Or more likely because she didn’t want to cause any trouble. He knew her mother had lost three children to miscarriages and suffered a stillbirth before having Sarah. Who was, her parents considered, their “miracle daughter.” Having known her all their lives, he understood the expectations to succeed that she’d carried on her shoulders. A burden made even heavier by the fact that having come from a long line of fishermen, she’d be the first in that branch of the Harper family to go to college. And not just any college had been good enough for Sarah Harper.
John had never figured out whether Harriet and Jerome Harper had urged their daughter to go back east to school because they believed she’d get a superior education at that idyllic women’s college, or whether they’d wanted to send her as far away as possible from him. He suspected the latter, and if there’d been a university on Mars, they undoubtedly would have encouraged her to apply there.
The infamous family feud between two of Honeymoon Harbor’s earliest families had divided them for over a century. Which is why, when John and Sarah had fallen in love, they’d become the Pacific Northwest small seaport town’s very own Romeo and Juliet. Or as Sarah, who’d always loved musicals, put it, Tony and Maria from West Side Story.
“But with a happier ending,” she’d insist.
To which he’d always responded that was a good thing, because he’d never found dying for love all that romantic a concept. Nonetheless, they hadn’t gotten their happy ending. Which was, admittedly, his fault. And why it was up to him to make her happily-ever-after happen.
He owed it to her.
And quite frankly, to himself, because he couldn’t imagine a life without his Sarah.
He also owed it to their future children, who’d carry both Mannion and Harper blood in their veins. Which would also be a good thing for Honeymoon Harbor, right? Although he honestly wasn’t certain that one mere couple could repair generations of rivalry, it sure as hell couldn’t hurt.
After a spicy western omelet, a flaky, buttery croissant, a fresh fruit plate with strawberries as big as a baby’s fist, and two cups of the first coffee he’d had since leaving the States, he pulled a notebook from the backpack he’d been carrying for two years and began listing every possible objection Sarah might come up with. And how to counter them.
It was, John considered as the list grew, yet another battle between the Mannions and the Harpers. One he was determined they were both going to win.
* * *
John was surprised when he entered the arrival gate and didn’t see Jerome and Harriet Harper waiting. He hadn’t been totally cut off from the world during his two years in Nepal. He’d learned from Mike that after graduating from college, Sarah had gone to England, as he’d known she would, and earned her master’s in English literature at Oxford. What had come as a surprise was that she’d veered off her carefully planned track of going straight for her PhD and taken off to Japan, where she’d been teaching. That could, he considered as he leaned against a pillar watching the other passengers deplaning, be a plus for his plan. Or another obstacle he’d have to work around.
For now, settling into the mindfulness he’d learned in Nepal, he was just going to concentrate on the moment while still keeping his eye on the prize. Who was, always had been and always would be Sarah Harper.