Harper stood in front
of the bathroom mirror
and smoothed her tan skirt
below her knees.
She adjusted her navy blazer.
She painted her lips red
and fluffed her long, dark hair
that spiraled to the small of her back.
Harper grinned, winked at herself
and turned off the light.
Harper knew better than
to put herself down,
so she accepted what she saw.
She moved over the cream carpet
to the kitchen.
The coffeemaker percolated.
Harper opened the ash cupboard
and shifted glasses
to find her white mug.
She poured warm pumpkin
spice coffee into her mug.
She crossed the kitchen,
opened the fridge, swooped,
and grabbed a half gallon of whole milk.
Harper looked at the expiration date.
She tipped the jug and splashed a taste
of dairy into the mug.
She returned the milk and returned
and opened and closed a drawer for a spoon.
She stirred coffee and tossed
the spoon into the sink.
Harper sat at the cherry maple
kitchen table.
The news played on the large TV
as she read a newspaper
to drown out the lousy news.
She put a slice of coffee pound cake
on a white napkin.
She ate and sipped caffeine.
She’d start her new job today,
and butterflies knocked
around in her stomach.
Harper looked at her watch.
It was time to meet her new boss.
She grabbed her light beige coat
and looked at the oak-framed family pictures
on the maroon living room walls with beige trim.
Her dad would be so proud of her.
Harper set the house alarm
and closed the door behind her.
An autumn breeze brushed across her face.
She slid into her Jeep, started
the engine to life and turned up
‘90s R&B.
She crunched over gravel
and crisp gold and red leaves
from bare willow trees.
Harper looked left and turned
onto the highway.
The just-risen sun shone
softly on the city streets,
bringing with it a flurry
of early-morning activity.
Harper finished college
last fall and returned
to Yakima to work
for an investment firm.
Harper’s modest upbringing
led her to cherish each day.
Harper grew up in a blue-collar neighborhood
where people looked out for their neighbor
and attended church on Sundays
only to rush home to watch the game
on a large screen.
Harper watched her dad work himself
to death in the mill.
Harper drove by her old home
on the east side now and then.
It was a small white three-bedroom house
with black trim and a fence that she helped
her dad paint when she was ten.
Harper’s father kept the yard cut
and red rocks in the flower bed.
A Douglas fir rested in the backyard
near the maple gazebo.
Before she ran off with another man,
Harper’s mother named her Harper
because she knew she’d someday find
her way to a piece
of the American Dream.
Harper listened to LØLØ
on the stereo when her
engine overheat light
blinked like a shaking leaf,
forcing Harper to pull
her Jeep to the side
of the highway.
Harper sobbed before she thought
to call someone.
Cars swooshed by.
She noticed folks talking
on their phones, presumably, about
the fights from last night.
Harper moved her sleeve across her
damp blue eyes.
She unleashed a string of expletives
as exhaust bellowed
white smoke, sending
a cloud of fluid hissing
through the Jeep’s hood
on the first day of her
job in September.
Harper made eye contact
with a man who skimmed
over his shoulder
and veered to the shoulder.
Harper thought the man came from money
because of his black Benz and executive demeanor.
Logan told her he grew up in a four-story home with six bedrooms.
He went to college and founded an investment firm afterward.
When he traveled to the office, he’d take the 405.
Logan exited his truck and moved close
to the white line to avoid clusters
of approaching headlights.
He rapped his knuckles on her window.
Harper grabbed her chest and turned in his direction.
“I’m Logan.” He gestured. “I wanted to give you a hand,” he said. “Pop the hood.” he motioned.
Harper reached to pull the lever.
She got out, closed the door, and moved to the front.
“I’m Harper,” she said, wrapping her long hair around her neck.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, opening the hood.
Warm radiator juice splashed against
his face like a wet blanket slapping the floor.
Logan moved his sleeve across his eyes.
Harper covered a smile.
Logan’s gaze eased into a serene glimmer.
He unbuttoned and shook off his dress shirt.
Harper gave him a sultry once-over
and gulped as her heart raced
through the nervous stutter
etched in her voice.
Harper fetched a wrench from her trunk
and handed it to Logan.
Logan wiped the sweat from his brow,
finishing tightening a loose screw.
He caught her in the corner of his eye,
biting her bottom lip.
Logan knew Harper drooled for a taste
of the sweat pooling on his neck’s ridges.
Logan motioned for her to twist the key.
Harper moved to the car, smoothed her skirt,
and slid into the car.
The car turned on and cut right back off.
Harper slapped the steering wheel with her left
and right hand.
“I’m going to be late,” Harper said, lifting and lowering her arms. “This is my first job out of college.”
Logan noticed a new hire folder
bearing his company’s name.
Logan offered to give Harper a lift.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Harper sniffled.
Logan told her that’s what bosses are for.
Harper narrowed one eye. “That’s not funny.”
“Neither is being late.” Logan winked. “Harper Carson, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m Logan Michaels.”
“The owner of Terris Enterprise?”
Logan nodded.
“I’m not the late type.” Harper motioned. “Like at all.”
“I’d say you’re right on time,” Logan said.
Harper blushed.
Harper moved her loose bangs behind her ear. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Sir?” Logan laughed. “I own the place, I don’t work there, at least not at the office.”
“So, I could take you for a cup of coffee later?”
“Yes, but I’ll drive.”
“Fair enough.” Harper said.
“Let’s get you to work.”
“Shouldn’t I call someone to tow it?”
“I’ll take care of it for you,” Logan said. “I’ll let your supervisor know what happened.”
“He won’t be mad, will he?”
“He knows better than that.”