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The door creaked open and she peeked her head around it, wincing in preparation for what would most likely be some sort of devastating, horrible image she'd never be able to scrub from her brain no matter how hard she tried. Roger writhing around on their bed with an unknown woman. Or perhaps the woman would be straddling Roger, naked and riding him for all he's worth.

Harper frowned. Roger had never been a big fan of her on top. They always did it missionary style. Lately they hadn't been doing it much at all . . .

Her gaze landed on the bed, her shoulders stiff, breath lodged in her throat, fully prepared for what she might see. But there was no woman writhing around with Roger on their bed, locked in a passionate embrace. And there certainly wasn't a woman riding her boyfriend for all he was worth. Instead, it was only Roger, lying on his side in the middle of the queen-size bed, practically curled into a ball, sleeping soundly.

She closed the door just as softly as she'd opened it, tiptoeing back out into the living room, where she collapsed on the couch with a barely contained sigh of . . . relief? That's what she should be feeling.

So the disappointment Harper experienced at finding him alone wasn't a good thing. But that was exactly what she felt: complete and utter disappointment. What the hell was wrong with her? Did she really want Roger to cheat on her?

No.
Though that would've at least stirred up some excitement in her life, right?

Leaning back against the soft, chocolate-brown microsuede couch, she closed her eyes. She was being ridiculous. So she and Roger had been going through a rough patch. Make that more of a . . . boring patch. Yes, their relationship had turned boring quickly. Like the moment they moved in together. At first, she'd loved it. Loved making Roger dinner and watching him work out in the tiny backyard on the weekends, completing all of those tasks she put on his honey-do list. Loved sharing a bed with him every night, enjoyed the sweet, thoughtful sex they experienced.

Harper made a face, keeping her eyes closed. Who had sweet, thoughtful sex? God, that sounded so pathetically boring. And that was the problem. Everything about her and Roger had turned . . .

Boring. With a capital, giant, bold-ass B.

“Hey.”

Opening her eyes, she found Roger standing in front of her, a little rumpled, a lot confused. His glasses were perched crookedly on his nose, and she wanted to reach out and straighten them. Smooth out his hair, brush her hands down the front of his wrinkled shirt. Roger wasn't one to appear rumpled. He had an image to uphold, even when he was home with just her.

She did none of those things though. Instead she offered him a hey in return.

“I didn't know you were home,” Roger said as he settled on the couch beside her, leaving a few inches between them. Within reaching distance though, and that was a good thing. It
had
to be a good thing. Maybe they weren't a passionate, overcome-with-need-for-each-other couple, but comfortable was good. Comfortable was safe.

And Harper liked feeling safe.

“I didn't want to disturb you,” Harper said, settling her hand in the empty space between them, picking at a nonexistent loose thread. She wanted to see if Roger would reach for her hand and entwine their fingers. It wasn't fair, what she was doing. Testing him. She couldn't help it though. Besides, she was testing herself just as much.

“I was so tired when I got home from work I just collapsed on the bed and crashed.” He sent her a rueful smile. “And it's not even tax season anymore.”

Her smile was strained while panic ate at her insides. Oh, God, she couldn't do this. Not with Roger. She'd been fooling herself thinking that he was the one. He so wasn't. She worked for him, they spent all of their time together, yet she'd never felt so disconnected from someone in her entire life. They'd lived together for the last six months, and it just . . . it wasn't working. They were good friends, but that was it.

Did he realize it? Did he see that they weren't what anyone would call a passionate, madly in love couple? She'd been feeling that way for a while, keeping her worry to herself, but after what had happened today her fears were confirmed.

If she was really happy with Roger, then she wouldn't have had such a strong reaction to Weston.

The moment she'd set eyes on West, her entire body had broken out in goose bumps. When their gazes first met, she'd been instantly transported back to that singular hot night they'd shared. The night he'd approached her with a drunken, crooked smile and asked if she'd take a walk with him. She'd said yes like an eager puppy, and he'd seemed just as eager, taking her hand and dragging her along with him.

They'd found a secluded alcove near the lake. He'd wrapped her up in his arms when she complained that she was cold and proceeded to warm her up with his lips and hands for hours. It had been the most passionate night of her life, hands down. A make-out session, one that West had most likely
forgotten
, was the most passionate encounter she'd ever experienced.

How sad was that?

But she wanted that. Craved it. Passion. Longing. Heat. Lots and lots of heat. Glancing over at Roger now, she felt no heat. Well, there was that pleasant warmth lingering within her, but it felt like friendship. Fondness. None of that passionate, overwhelming burn that threatened to consume her.

That's what she wanted, what she needed. Yet what she and Roger shared didn't even come close to passion.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and patted Roger's hand, offering him a sad smile. “Roger, I think we need to talk.”

“A
ND SO WE
both agreed, I'm moving out.” Harper shrugged and reached for her coffee, taking a sip. “I spent the night at Grandma's. I'll be staying there through the weekend and then I'll go in Monday when Roger's at work and get all my stuff moved out.” Where she was going to go, she wasn't sure, but she'd figure it out.

She had to.

Her best friend, Wren Gallagher, gaped at her, mouth dropping open, her eyes wide with what Harper knew was shock. Eyes that were as blue as her brother's, if Harper was being truthful. Why hadn't she ever really noticed it before? West and Wren shared the same eyes, as well as the same initials.

“Wait a minute.” Wren shook her head. “
You
broke up with Roger?”

Harper nodded, remaining quiet.

“But why?” Wren asked incredulously.

She knew her best friend would ask that question. She would've done the same if the tables were turned. The problem?

Harper really didn't have an answer. Not a good one, at least. What could she say? That she wanted burning passion—which probably wasn't real, just something out of a romance novel, but she wanted to try for it anyway? Yeah, Wren would look at her like she was crazy.

Maybe she was. It didn't really matter. She couldn't string Roger along any further. He was a good guy looking for a woman to spend the rest of his life with. He deserved to be with a woman who really wanted him and loved him for who he was. Not a woman who'd settled because she thought that's what she should do.

“He deserved better,” Harper finally said, her voice soft. She didn't want too many people to overhear her. Word of their relationship's demise would be out by the end of the day anyway. Living in a small town, anything that happened was duly reported and spread around like crazy. The story of Harper and Roger splitting would be a big one. Everyone had assumed they'd eventually get married, including, at one point, Harper.

Wren blinked at her. “
He
deserved better?” She leaned across the table, her voice lowering to a soft whisper. “What about you? You deserve better too, you know. I always thought . . . ” Her voice drifted and she clamped her lips shut.

“What?” Harper prodded. “Just spit it out. You know you want to.”

“Roger is sweet as pie, but he's so
boring
.” Wren practically spit the last word out. “Seriously, Harper. This might be the best thing you could've ever done for yourself. Now you're
free
.”

She wanted to believe what Wren said was true. That this was a good move. A smart move. But what if it wasn't? She'd never really felt trapped with Roger. What they shared had been nice. Pleasant. Maybe that was all she could ever hope for. What if she never found a man as good as Roger? What then?

Panic had hit her hard last night in her grandmother's too small and rather lumpy guest bed. What was she supposed to do now? Where could she go? She refused to move back home. Her parents—specifically her mother—loved to run her life and the minute she stepped back into her childhood home, it would feel like she was giving her mother the reins to take over once more. Or worse, that she'd somehow failed at being an adult and had to move back home at the age of twenty-six.

No thank you.

“You really think this was a good move for me?” Harper asked tentatively. She glanced around the coffee shop, thankful she saw no one she knew. It was mostly filled with tourists and she was glad.

Like, really glad. She didn't think she was ready to face all the questions, the sympathetic looks, the reassurances that everything would be okay. And yeah, she knew everything would eventually be okay.

Well. She hoped so.

“Of course.” Wren smiled. “And now we're both single together! This is a rare occurrence. We should go out tonight and celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” Harper shook her head. “Shouldn't I be in mourning or something? Roger and I were together for over a year. We
lived
together, Wren. And you want me to go out with you tonight so we can party and get drunk?” That wouldn't look good, would it? Out on a Saturday night with her best friend and without a care in the world? While Roger stayed at home and cried over the loss of his fickle girlfriend?

Okay, he probably wouldn't be crying. He'd actually taken the news like a champ and said that he'd felt the same way, which came as a surprise to her. He knew she'd felt restless lately and he was worried that he wouldn't be enough for her. That had made her feel bad.

Until he said that she wasn't enough for him either.

Wren waved a hand. “You worry too much over what people think about you. You always have.”

“And you don't worry enough.” This was why they made such a good team. They balanced each other out.

“Fine, let's go out tonight and you can cry into your glass of white wine while you slowly get drunk. Same diff.” Wren smiled, looking like she'd just solved world peace. “You need to let loose, Harper. Roger kept you all stifled up in that little house of his and you never wanted to go out anymore. I've finally got you back.” Wren made a face. “I sound incredibly selfish, don't I?”

“Sort of.” Harper reached out and grabbed her hand, clasping it between both of hers. “But I don't mind. You're right. I was so busy trying to make sure what Roger and I had was working that I probably neglected our friendship.” She'd neglected everything, including her own needs. And she did have needs, damn it. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to apologize, it's okay. Really. I understand. Men make us do crazy things.” Wren smiled and withdrew her hand from Harper's. “Speaking of men, I know some of my brothers are going out tonight. We should go with them.”

Just like that, nerves jumped in Harper's stomach. “Which brothers?”
Please say Holden and Lane. Please, please say Holden and Lane.

“Holden and West.” Wren wrinkled her nose. “That jerk invited them over for dinner last night but didn't include me. Can you believe it?”

“Which jerk?” Harper knew which one. She just . . . what? Wanted to hear his name said out loud again? Wanted to talk about him in the sneakiest way possible?

She was pitiful. If Wren knew she was hot for West she'd probably . . .

Harper didn't know what Wren would do. She'd tried her hardest to keep her brothers away from her friends, which had been impossible. Boys surrounded Wren in her house. When they were younger, all of Wren's friends had wanted to go over there after school and on the weekends for a chance to hang out with the Gallagher boys, including Harper. Though she never admitted it. Wren really was her friend.

She just happened to have a minor crush on her best friend's big brother.

“West. He's such an ass. Why wouldn't he invite me? Is it because I don't have a penis?” Wren's head jerked toward the entrance, her eyes narrowing. “Uh-oh, look who just walked in.”

Harper ducked her head, glancing as slyly as she could toward the door, fully expecting to see West striding inside. But it wasn't him.

“What's the big deal? It's just Tate.” Harper turned to face Wren once more, only to find her friend wasn't paying her any mind. She was too busy staring at the handsome firefighter as he made his way to the counter to place his order.

“He acts like he's God's gift to women,” Wren all but sneered.

Well, Tate Warren was extremely handsome. And he knew it too, with that perfect smile he was always flashing at innocent women and the way he drew attention whenever he was in his uniform, considering he filled it out oh-so-finely. Harper was of the quiet assumption that Tate wore it more often than was necessary just so he could make women drool.

And they were drooling right now. Well, except for Harper. She was too busy saving her drool for a certain someone who was related to her best friend, who she'd bet a million bucks also filled out his uniform oh-so-finely.

Wren? She was glaring at Tate like she wanted to rip his head off. Or his clothes.

Huh.

“What's your deal?” Harper asked, leaning across the table so Tate wouldn't overhear them. “You look like you want to gouge his eyes out.”

“That wouldn't be a bad idea.” Wren grimaced. “He's a jerk.”

“He's been nothing but nice to me,” Harper defended. “I like him.”

“Right, because you were protected in your cozy little relationship. Wait until Tate finds out you're single. He'll try and make a move on you, I'm sure,” Wren said bitterly.

“Wait a minute.” Harper frowned. “Did he try to do that to you?”

Wren blinked. “Do what?”

“Make a move on you?” And if so, why hadn't Wren gone for it? Tate was gorgeous. And nice. And hot. Close in age. Oh and single, a rarity in Wildwood.

“Wren Gallagher.”

They both glanced up to find Tate standing right next to their table, smiling down at them, his hands on his hips. Harper leaned back in her chair, smiling at him in return, but all Wren managed was a glower.

Yikes.

“Harper.” Tate nodded, his green eyes twinkling. Oh, he was pretty. Why hadn't she ever noticed it before? Had she been so focused on making it work with Roger that she hadn't noticed the other good-looking men in her life? “Good morning.”

Harper parted her lips, ready to wish him a good morning as well when her best friend interrupted her.

“Why are you in your uniform?” Wren asked, rolling her eyes. “Trying to turn on the ladies?”

“Considering you're the only one I want to turn on and yet you're immune to my charms, Gallagher, that would be a no.” He turned his attention to Harper. “I just got off work. Thought I'd grab a coffee and a doughnut, then go crash for a few hours.”

“Tough shift?” Harper asked politely. She'd always liked Tate. He'd come to Wildwood just over a year ago and fit right in like he was homegrown. He was nice, if a little egotistical sometimes, cocky but never rudely arrogant. And he had reason to be. Women seriously fell at his feet. She saw it happen once out at the lake last summer while he'd been out on a call. The woman had literally fainted on top of his booted feet.

He came by his reputation rather naturally.

“Brutal. But what else is new? We're out there fighting fires and saving lives.” He returned his gaze to Wren, letting it linger. “I hear your brother starts his first shift at my station tomorrow.”

Wren nodded. “He sure does.” She said the words like she was reluctant to even speak to him.

“Well. Can't wait to meet him. If he's anything like Holden I'm sure we'll get along fine.” The barista called Tate's name, and he winked at them before he started to walk away. “See you later, ladies.”

“Something in your eye, Tate?” Wren called after him but he ignored her, too busy chatting up the cute barista who was batting her eyelashes at him.

“What was that about?” Harper asked as soon as Tate left the coffee shop.

Wren shrugged. “He's annoying.”

Uh-huh. Just like Harper found West so annoying. “What did he ever do to you?”

“I don't know. Breathe?” Wren rolled her eyes and laughed. “I'm ridiculous, I know it. But there's something about him that bothers me. He's so . . . sure of himself.”

Most women would find that an attractive quality.

“His attitude borders on arrogant. He always smirks at me, like he knows my deepest darkest secrets no matter how much I try to hide from him.”

“Are you trying to hide secrets from Tate?” Harper asked.

“Of course not,” Wren said quickly. “I've grown up around firefighters my entire life. They're nothing special, even Tate.”

Hmm. There was more here than met the eye.

And Harper was dying to know exactly what it was.

T
HE MOMENT THEY
entered the bar, West saw her. Sitting with his sister, her auburn head bent toward Wren's, her perfect mouth stretched wide in a smile as she listened to whatever his sister had to say.

Lord knew Wren always had something to say. The woman never stopped talking.

Holden and Kirsten had wanted to take him out for a celebratory drink before he started his shift at the Wildwood station tomorrow. Considering he had to be there bright and early at seven in the morning, he had zero plans to get wasted. He wanted to make a good impression on not only his fire captain, but also the firefighters who would be under his supervision.

His little brother and Kirsten, on the other hand, had already downed a six-pack between them at home by the time West had stopped by to pick them up fifteen minutes ago. They were well on their way to Drunkville, and Holden had to be at work tomorrow morning just like West did. But Holden was younger. He'd bounce back easier.

Hopefully.

“Ah, good, Wren's here!” Kirsten shouted, making West grimace. “And look, Harper's here too.”

His body went on high alert at hearing her name, and got even worse when he got a better look at her. She was wearing some flirty flower print dress with little sleeves that showed off her slender arms, a scooped neckline that dipped low though not scandalously low. Her hair was up in a ponytail, showing off her neck. A pretty neck he was immediately tempted to kiss again. She sat on the barstool with her legs crossed, the very tops of her thighs exposed, along with the rest of her legs, simple black sandals on her feet. All that skin was bared, on display. Not in a vulgar way. No one could ever call Harper Hill vulgar. But considering he'd had his lips on her skin before, knew her taste, knew the way she'd suck in a breath when his lips touched a particular spot, well . . .

Seeing all that beautiful, smooth skin, he was tempted to put his mouth all over her, all over again.

She has a boyfriend, asshole. You need to rein it in.