He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Harper had never planned a secret rendezvous before. Had never been invited to a secret rendezvous either, come to think of it, unless you counted the time Charlie Andrews sent a text asking her to meet him near the four-square at recess.
Very romantic stuff.
She climbed the oak tree, her hands scrabbling against the warm wood. June sunshine beat down on her neck. Her long cotton skirt caught on a gnarled branch, and she gently untangled it, cradling her camera with the other hand.
She scanned the rolling fields.
No sign of him yet.
Harper lay back against the wood, listening to the birdsong. Friday had whipped by in a blur of wedding prep. Diana — who Harper had successfully talked out of making more salmon mousse — had held court in the parlor, sipping Pinot Gris and chatting to guests as they trickled in. Harper and Griffin had spent the day frantically running up and down the stairs with armfuls of satin ribbon, doing their best to finalize the décor.
Well, mostly Harper.
She'd sacked Griffin after he set fire to a tablecloth.
But it was finally done, Harper thought with relief — all of it. Rooms had been fumigated. The marquee was pitched. The cakes were baked and decorated (Black Forest gâteau for the adults; Colin the Caterpillar for the kids, and also Alisdair, who shamelessly announced that he had a thing for sponge roll cakes).
Tomorrow would be perfect.
"Nice tree," a voice called. "Is there room for one more?"
Harper opened her eyes. Lawson was resting one hand against the tree, a picnic basket dangling from the other. He was dressed in jeans and a navy cricket jumper. And his hair, Harper noted in amusement, was well-behaved for once; had he gelled it? She didn't think she'd ever seen Lawson put gel in his hair.
"That depends." She sat up. "What did you bring me?"
He held up the basket. "Your favourite."
"Which is?"
His smile was cheeky. "Me."
"Hilarious." Harper scooted over as Lawson scrambled up the tree with considerably more grace than she had. "I was hoping for something edible, though."
His smile grew wider. "Some women would argue—"
"Don't finish that sentence," Harper said quickly, digging through the basket. She let out something that sounded embarrassingly like a squeal. "Chocolate almonds? I thought we ate the last of them."
Lawson shrugged. "I managed to procure some more."
