The Love Lottery. Shirley Jump

as head of the Love Lottery, you need to participate, too.”

      “Oh, no, that’s the last thing I need. To make my love life public again.” The whispers about the runaway bride had finally died down. There hadn’t been a call from a reporter in over six months. She had no desire to get the gossips buzzing again. It wasn’t good for business and it definitely wasn’t good for her. “Besides, I have my hands full already with the shop and now—” Sophie held up the folder “—this.”

      “Your hands are never too full for love, dear.” Mildred toodled a little wave, and walked away, leaving Sophie holding the bag. Literally.

      Harlan gave Sophie Watson thirty minutes, then he plopped his hat back on his head and strode downtown, Mortise and Tenon trailing along at his feet, a pair of happy panting puppies ready to go anywhere.

      Harlan found Sophie standing beside his chairs, picking up an iced something or other from the tiny table she’d set between the two wooden seats. “I’m here to give you back your sweater, Miss Watson, and—” he plopped himself in an empty chair and kicked back “—to reclaim my chairs.”

      “You can’t just sit there.” Sophie snatched her sweater out of his hands and shrugged into it.

      “Reckon I can. These are stolen property. My stolen property. I’m staking my claim before anyone gets any crazy ideas—” he turned to her and arched a brow “—and tries something like branding them.”

      “I don’t own a branding iron, Mr. Jones, so the identity of your chairs is safe. Though I would be glad to hang a sign promoting your woodworking.” That crafty smile flitted across her face. “As an expression of my gratitude for your temporary relocation of the chairs to my front door.”

      “No need for a sign. I’m not in the woodworking business.” Not now, not ever. “And this ‘temporary relocation’ ain’t nothing more than a furniture hijacking. So I reckon I’ll sit here until you’re ready to give back what’s mine.”

      She scowled. “Those seats are mine for now, and while they are, they’re for paying customers. Only.” The dogs settled at Harlan’s feet, with Mortise resting his snout on Harlan’s boot. “And there are no dogs allowed in the shop.”

      “We aren’t in the shop, we’re outside, on the public sidewalk. And as for customers …” He looked up and down the sidewalk, then peered around Sophie and into the shop. It was just after two, and the usually busy coffee shop was nearly deserted. “Seeing as there aren’t many of those right now, I think I can sit here in peace. Should a … what’d you call them?” He smirked, teasing her.

      She pursed her lips. “Paying customer.”

      He tipped a finger her way. “Should one of those happen by, I will gladly vacate my seat for the time they need it. Until then, I’m here.” He lowered the brim of his hat and tipped his head back, as if he were about to take a nap.

      “You are the most infuriating man in Edgerton Shores,” Sophie said, and for a second, he was sure she’d dump that iced something or other right onto his head.

      A part of him found her feistiness … intriguing. Hell, attractive.

      “I refuse to let you sit there unless you are a paying customer,” she said.

      “And I refuse to let you keep my chairs. They’re mine, and I’m damned well going to sit in them. Here or on my own porch, your choice.”

      “You’re really going to sit there, no matter what I do?”

      “You could come over here, kiss me for thirty minutes straight and I’d still stay.” He’d kept the hat over his eyes, so he couldn’t see her, but he could hear her fuming beside him. He wondered if she’d go that far, and for a second, hoped she did.

      “It would be a cold day in hell before I’d do that.”

      “Good thing we’re in Florida. No chance of any ice forming around here.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed her clench and unclench her fist. He bit back a chuckle. If he’d known it was this much fun to drive

      Sophie Watson crazy, he’d have camped out at her shop long ago.

      The woman deserved every bit of aggravation he gave her. She was always coming over to his house, lecturing him about his dogs, the length of his lawn, the furniture he made. He was pretty sure Sophie Watson had an opinion about every darned thing in the world.

      “I can’t have you sitting here indefinitely,” she said.

      He pretended to think that over, when in fact, he’d had a plan in mind before he even showed up. Sophie Watson had been driving him crazy for weeks. It was time for a little turnaround. Maybe then she’d get off his back and let him have a little peace. He had a radio station to run, a brother to worry about. He didn’t need the distraction of a sassy barista with a thorn in her thumb she’d named Harlan. “I’ve rethought your offer of rent.”

      “You have?”

      “I’d be mighty pleased to rent these chairs to you. I’m sure we can work out an equitable deal.”

      “If it’s money you want—”

      “Nope. Just a drink and the pleasure of your company.” He tossed her a grin, to show her he wasn’t all bad. And just because he could see in her face how much it drove her crazy when he teased her. Oh, this was going to be fun. By the time he was done, she’d be marching those chairs back to his front porch and staying out of his way for good.

      And in the meantime, he’d have a hell of a story to tell his radio listeners. A win-win all around.

      She considered his words for a moment, a parade of emotions dancing across her delicate features. “I’d say that’s a fair offer, Mr. Jones.” She turned toward the shop. “I’ll go get you a cup of coffee.”

      He popped forward, the hat slipping back on his head and exposing his eyes. “I’d say it is, except I don’t drink coffee.”

      “Everyone drinks coffee,” Sophie said.

      “Apparently not, Miss Meyers.”

      She let out a long breath. “What do you drink?”

      He grinned. “I’m a tea man. Get me a good cup of Earl Grey and I’m all yours.”

      Her gaze filled with skepticism. “You don’t look like a tea man.”

      “Appearances can be deceiving, Miss Watson. I might even be a nice guy and here you’re thinking I’m the devil in cowboy boots.” He tipped back in the chair, crossed his feet at the ankles—exposing said boots— and crossed his arms over his chest. Tenon let out a sigh and sprawled at his feet.

      “Oh, I don’t think it, Mr. Jones,” Sophie said as she turned toward the door of the shop. “I know you are.”

      “That man is the most annoying human being on this planet,” Sophie fumed as she readied the hot water and tea bag for Harlan Jones. This was the last thing she needed. She already had a business to run, a fundraiser to head and a grandmother to worry about. She didn’t need to add Harlan Jones to the mix.

      “I think he’s pretty cute for being so annoying,” Lulu said. “He’s got that cowboy butt and those big brown eyes and—”

      “I’ve seen his butt and his eyes and I am unimpressed.”

      “You are full of beans, Sophie.”

      “No, I’m not.” The hot water spigot hissed steam as she turned the knob. She dropped a tea bag into the mug, placed it on a saucer, and then loaded that on a tray, along with a tiny pitcher of milk, and some sugar. She debated adding honey, then decided a man like Harlan Jones probably didn’t like something that sweet.

      Lulu raised a brow at her. “You’ve been over to that man’s house seven times in the past month.”

      “I