“Are you flirting with me, Zane Lewis? Because there are some people from West Ridge High who would drop their jaws at that.”
“I flirted with you back then, too, you just didn’t notice,” I tell her.
“That’s because you flirted with everyone,” Harper counters. “It doesn’t count.”
“Well I needed someone to practice my moves on,” I say.
“I was your practice?” Harper laughs out loud.
“Of course! I knew I was never going to do anything with you, and I wasn’t going to get anywhere. It was good practice for girls playing hard to get, because you were actually impossible to get.”
We keep going around the grocery store for a while, talking about what we were like in high school. I have to keep reminding myself about what Mom wanted me to get as just talking to this new, grown-up Harper who came from the city is distracting as hell.
I can’t get the image of her stripping out of my mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HARPER POLSEN
“Are you going over to the Lewises’ place?”
I slide my foot into my sandal and look up to see my mom just outside of the kitchen.
“Yeah, why?”
“Can you bring over the punch bowl and ask Bev if she thinks it’ll be big enough?”
Mom had agreed to let Bev use her punch bowl for the big party the next night, and she’d dug it out of the closet that morning, to judge by the noises that got me out of bed at seven.
“Sure,” I say.
I follow my mom into the kitchen, where I can see the punch bowl. It’s always been a fixture of my family’s parties, deep and wide, made of heavy glass. It’s actually really pretty.
“We were talking about maybe doing a special anniversary punch for the event,” Mom tells me as I heft the big bowl, making sure that I can actually carry it across the yard.
“First of all, don’t the two of you have enough on your plates with what you’ve already got planned? And second of all, what would make it a special punch?” I grin at my mother, setting down the punch bowl and grabbing my purse from where I left it the last time I came in.
“It’s cheaper to do punch than it would be to buy bunch of bottles of different kinds of alcohol for everyone,” Mom points out.
I consider that and nod my agreement. “So what makes it a special anniversary punch?” I settle my purse on my shoulder and pick up the punch bowl once more.
“It’ll be a Champagne punch,” Mom replies.
“Ooh,” I say. “That’s actually kind of impressive. But wouldn’t a Champagne punch get pricey quick?”
Mom shakes her head. “The great thing about it is that it’s actually pretty cost-effective.”
“I guess it would be, depending on how you make it. And of course it’ll be fancy.”
“Of course,” Mom agrees.
She kisses me on the forehead and I’m off, out of the house and walking across the yard to the Lewises’ back patio where Zane is sitting.
He’s in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with the word ‘Army’ on it, and when he sees I have the punch bowl in my arms, he immediately stands up, perfectly correct and at-attention, and holds out his hands to take it from me.
“Can you get the door for me? It’s not that heavy, but my arms are kind of full,” I tell him.
Zane moves to get the back door into the kitchen open for me. Bev is pouring herself a cup of coffee and looks up as I come in, Zane hot on my heels.
“Oh! Thank your mother for me,” Bev says, taking the bowl from my arms and setting it down on the counter before leaning in to kiss me on the forehead.
“She woke me up at seven looking for that, so it better be worth my trashed sleep,” I tell Bev with a little grin to show that I’m not actually all that upset about the situation.
She laughs. “I can offer you a cup of coffee to get you through the morning. You do know that I would like you to attend the family dinner party your parents are hosting later this week,” she says. “As Zane is attending I want there to be even numbers for the table and I already cleared it with your mother last night.”
“I knew I was going to be helping with the fancy meal, but it would be nice to formally attend and not be stuck in the kitchen,” I say. “And yes, the coffee actually sounds heavenly. I already had one, but I’m still barely keeping my eyes open.”
“What about you, Zane? Are you going to have another cup?”
Zane shrugs. “Might as well,” he says.
Bev pours two more cups, emptying the pot. She rinses it and fills it up. As I add milk and sugar to my coffee, she starts a new pot. That’s one good thing about the Lewises’ place, they have at least relatively fresh coffee on from early in the morning until almost nine at night. There was more than once when Zane and I were in high school when we took full advantage of that fact.