“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said gently. Pacifying the harpy was at the top of his to-do list. “You can put the bottle down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then why are you hiding in the bushes?” The harpy’s voice shook, but he sensed that she was second-guessing the need to bonk him over the head and gut him.

“I wasn’t hiding in the bushes,” he replied, taking a step closer to get a better look at her. Other than her wide eyes and shallow breathing, she seemed normal. Wait...was that...

“Sophie?” he asked.

“Yeah?” She lowered the bottle until it hung by her side, her left hand clasping her trench coat closed so tightly, her knuckles went white.

“It’s Coop,” he told her. “Cooper Simons.”

“Oh.” Sophie grimaced and shook her head in self-disgust. “Now I feel like an idiot.”

“Are you okay?” Despite recognizing the crazy woman as one of his sister’s closest friends, he remembered how disturbed she’d looked a moment earlier.

“I’m having a really shitty day,” she admitted. “I came to visit Aria, but she’s not here, so I was waiting on the porch...” She trailed off, then shrugged. “I may have overreacted. Sorry.”

Cooper edged forward and held out a hand, palm facing upward, non-threatening. “Bottle, please.”

It took a few moments for his meaning to sink in, then Sophie slapped the bottle into his palm. “I’m so sorry,” she said sheepishly.

He set the bottle on the ground, then inched closer, taking care not to startle her. Her eyes tracked him, but she didn’t back away. Sophie’s bare legs beneath her coat—which only reached mid-thigh—made her look small and vulnerable. And cold. The temperature had dropped rapidly since sundown, and there would be a frost by morning. She must be frozen.

Cooper slung an arm around Sophie’s shoulders and led her back up onto the porch. He pushed her softly down onto the sofa, and she tucked her feet beneath her butt. Cooper shucked his jacket and laid it over her exposed legs.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” she exclaimed. “I’m fine. I don’t want you freezing on my behalf.”

“I insist,” Cooper replied, smiling when she stared at him in disbelief. “I’m a gentleman. I couldn’t live with myself if I let a woman be cold while I’m toasty warm.”

He expected her to be pleased by the sentiment, so he was shocked when she scowled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Gentlemen don’t exist. You’re all the same: a bunch of misogynistic pricks who think with their dicks.”

Cooper smothered a laugh, compelled to defend his gender. “We’re not so bad. Most of us are nice once you get to know us. It’s not our fault we get distracted by pretty faces.”