Authors: Donna Kauffman
Sweet Stuff (20 page)
Brutus didn’t budge. He was still gazing at Quinn, tongue lolling, like a starry-eyed fan dog.
“Brutus!” Riley commanded, finally getting her wind and getting past her case of the giggles. “Off!”
Grudgingly, Brutus stepped off Quinn’s chest, then plopped his butt in the sand next to him, still staring adoringly.
“I’ve never seen him take to anyone like this, and so fast, not even Jeremy. Are you okay?”
Quinn rubbed at his chest, coughing a little as he sat up. “Who’s Jeremy?”
Riley’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. Had she really said that out loud? She closed her eyes on a silent groan.
Wow. Idiot.
She opened them to find Quinn standing, brushing the sand off his shirt. Thanks to Brutus. Again. “My ex-fiancé.”
Wow. Idiot.
She opened them to find Quinn standing, brushing the sand off his shirt. Thanks to Brutus. Again. “My ex-fiancé.”
Quinn stopped brushing in mid-motion to look at her. “Fiancé?”
“Ex,” she repeated. “We broke it off the year before last. The beginning of the year before last.”
“How long were you engaged?”
“Four years.” She laughed then, but there was little humor in it. Nerves got the best of her, and she suddenly couldn’t seem to shut up. “Who stays engaged for four years? And that was after dating for another three and a half. I didn’t think it mattered. We were together, you know? But I should have known he was never going to stick with me, right?” She shook her head, then busied herself brushing the sand from her shirt and shorts, more to give herself something to do, and anyplace else to look but at Quinn’s unreadable expression. “It’s ancient history.”
“Right,” he said. “And how long have you been on Sugarberry?”
She looked up then, serious, too. “A couple years. Yes, the same exact couple years, okay? Do you really want the whole pathetic story? I told you I was a dork.”
Quinn took a moment to give Brutus a hearty pat on the head and scratch behind the ears, then walked over to her and took her arms in his hands. His grasp was gentle, but firm, as was the look he was giving her. “Maybe. But you’re also strong, funny, sweet, and kind. And sexy as hell. You’re utterly and completely yourself at all times. That’s one of the things I find most attractive about you. You’re exactly who you are. Band-Aids, monster dog, and all. And I seriously doubt there is anything remotely pathetic about whatever happened back then, especially if it made you leave a job you obviously loved, to move this far away, to start over. Painful, hurtful, and probably a whole lot of other things, but pathetic? I doubt it. Unless maybe we’re talking about him.” He shrugged, but his gaze stayed, laser-like, on hers. “Just a guess on my part, but probably a good one.”
She stared back at him, totally taken aback. He’d stood up for her, just like that. “You don’t even know me.”
“I do know you. You just got done telling me how much we’re alike. I know you, Riley. At least I know that much.”
“I—thank you. For saying that. All of that. It means a lot.”
“I meant every word. That’s who I kissed. And it has a lot to do with why I kissed. And want to keep kissing.”
“I—” She broke off, looked away. “This ... is a lot.” Suddenly she felt vulnerable and shaky and not necessarily in a bad way—which just made getting the hell out of there so she could regroup and think all the more imperative.
“Is that bad?”
“No. Not at all. In fact, it’s very ... very good.”
“Too good? Is ... are you nervous? Because so am I, believe me—”
“Exactly. All the more reason to retreat, regroup a little. It’s been a big day, and there’s a lot swirling around here, and”—she slid her arms from his grasp and stepped back, brushing her hair from her face, though the wind kept blowing it right back—“I’m sure you want to get back to your book, now that you have an idea of what you want to do.”
“It was your idea.”
“It’s yours now. So, maybe it’s best for you to just go do ... what you do. And so will I. And ... we’ll see. About what happens next. We’ll just ... see.”
“Riley—”
“I just need a little space, okay?” She was trying not to panic, but this was too much. Way too much. It was one thing to kiss him, to fantasize about doing a whole lot more with him. But she hadn’t counted on the whole emotional vulnerability part. She thought she’d have more time to figure that out, or at least how she felt about being so ... so exposed to someone again. “I’m not running,” she told him. “I’m—that’s not me. But this is happening very fast. It was just supposed to be a kiss.”
Quinn didn’t say anything to that, and his expression was completely unreadable. She didn’t know if he was pissed, disappointed, disgusted, or all three.
“It was,” he said finally. “The best damn kiss I’ve ever had. And yes, I guess that is a lot. It is for me, too. And no, I didn’t see that coming either. That bullet. But, unless you tell me otherwise, at some point, I’m going to want another kiss. I’m also going to want to know more about you. And want you to know more about me—which is terrifying ... and exciting as hell. You’re not the only one exposing your soft white underbelly here. But ... wherever that path leads, I want to follow it. I have never been that guy who wanted to know where that path goes. But I want to know now. Because I’m very definitely that guy with you. You just have to decide if that’s the guy you want to know, too.”
“Quinn—”
“It’s a lot. It might be everything. So take some time. Figure out what you want ... and what you can handle. I know what I want.” With that, he turned and took off down the beach at a steady lope.
He didn’t look back.
Chapter 13
“
W
ell, the wolves are wary ... but excited!”
W
ell, the wolves are wary ... but excited!”
“I’ll take it. Just as long as you trust me that this is going to be amazing, we’re good.” Quinn pulled into his spot behind the diner. “I know it’s a gamble, Claire, but—”
“Stop selling me and go write the damn thing. I’m on your side.” She paused a moment. “You know, you’re excited about your books and I know you put your heart into everything you write, and that this will be no different. But ... I’ve never heard you quite like this before.”
“I’ve never written anything like this before.”
“I know, but there’s something else. You have this ... energy about you, or something. What are they feeding you down there, anyway?”
Quinn tried like hell to picture Laura Jo’s bacon and egg sandwich, but his autopilot brain took him straight to Riley. “You and your nice, clean, marathon-running arteries don’t want to know.”
She laughed. “You’re probably right. Whatever it is, keep doing it. I’ve never heard you sound this ... well, happy. Settled. I’ll talk to you later. And thanks for the due date. That helped a lot, in all corners.”
“My pleasure. Truly.” He signed off, climbed out of the car, and headed through the back door. Laura Jo wasn’t in the kitchen, which meant she was out front serving. He nodded to Petey and Magro, then ducked through the door ... only to find someone else was already occupying his regular table.
“There you are.” Alva tapped on the table with the corner of her menu, clearly annoyed.
“A pleasure, Miss Alva,” he said, the smile sincere. He had no idea what she was up in arms about, but he was certain he was about to find out. One thing about Alva, you didn’t have to be a mind reader. “Mind if I join you?”
“You’re usually here earlier,” she said, by way of a response. “I’ve been here twenty minutes.”
“I was working. Got on a roll.” In fact, if Claire’s call hadn’t disrupted the flow, he’d still be hunched over his laptop. “I’m sorry, but were we supposed to meet?” He took a seat across from her, still smiling. “If so, my apologies. I never like to keep a pretty woman waiting.”
Two spots of pink bloomed in Alva’s cheeks, but she was having none of his charm. The twinkle in her eyes ran more along the edge of dangerously glittering. “Well, you have an odd way of showing it. You know, men might like it when women play hard-to-get, but we women don’t need any such foolishness. When we’re interested, we’re interested. Is that so hard a thing to comprehend?”
“No, not at all. I prefer the direct approach myself.” Quinn was more confused than concerned, and his smile when he leaned forward and covered Alva’s hand, came quite naturally. “Are you trying to tell me something of a ... personal nature, Miss Alva?”
She snatched her hand out and swatted the back of his with it. “Of course I am. Why do you think I’m here? And if you’d stop fluttering those baby blues and trying to seduce me, I’d tell you about it.”
He subverted his choke of laughter into a brief coughing spell, causing Alva to push her water glass to his side of the table. “Take a sip,” she ordered. “And see if you can stop flirting for five seconds so I can say my piece.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dutifully taking a sip, then another one, he put the glass down only when he was certain he could maintain a sober, considerate expression. She was a pip, though.
“Of course, maybe that’s the problem,” she said.
“The problem?”
“Oh, don’t try and act all innocent with me. I’m sure you’ve left a string of broken hearts from Hollywood to New York City.”
“Actually, I don’t spend much time in either of those places. I have a place in Alexandria, just outside the nation’s capital.”
“Another town where sex is about power.”
Quinn shoved the water glass away. He knew Alva could be a real pistol, but he’d never seen her worked up like this. “Speaking for myself, I don’t trade sex for anything. But as long as the two people having it are satisfied with what’s what, then I don’t see the problem.”
Laura Jo had stopped by the table just then, heard his comment, and suddenly got busy taking an order at a nearby table. He could see her straining to eavesdrop.
“What’s this all about?” he asked.
“What it’s about is you leading on our sweet Miss Riley Brown, then casting her aside like yesterday’s newspaper. I don’t need to know the details, but we’re a close-knit community here and we stand up for each other. We had it in our hearts to stand up for you, too, but if you think, for one minute, that gives you blanket approval to just waltz in here and—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Quinn covered her hand again. “Before I end up in your next column as the What Not To Do lesson, let’s talk this over. First of all, no one has led anyone on. Riley and I are very direct people and I doubt there’s been any kind of misunderstanding on where we stand. I’d be very surprised to hear she’s said otherwise.”
“It’s not what she’s saying,” Alva said, a bit of the wind out of her sails. “It’s what she’s not.”
“Well, that’s a little different. Friends looking out for friends isn’t a bad thing. Not at all. What makes you think whatever she’s not saying has anything to do with me?”
The answer to that interested him more than it should. He’d spent the three days since their time on the beach all but umbilically attached to his laptop, partly because Joe and Hannah’s story was gushing out of him and he had the power to make them do what he wanted them to do ... and partly because it kept him from hunting down whomever Jeremy was, and punching the son of a bitch for putting that look in Riley’s eyes. Considering Quinn was a man who believed in using words rather than fists, that had been a rather surprising revelation. Mostly he’d kept himself tethered because it prevented him from doing something he’d actually regret, like trying to make Riley do something she didn’t want to do. He’d pushed her quite enough. Maybe too much. The next step was hers to take. Or not. She knew, quite clearly, where he stood.
“Well, for one, the expression on your face right now makes me think it has something to do with you.” All Alva’s irritability was gone, replaced with a more curious gleam. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, or break any confidences, but I will say we’ve been getting together weekly since she moved to the island over a year ago, and only recently she finally opened up about her life in Chicago. Her personal life, I mean. She’s a happy, outgoing, smart, and capable woman, and yet she held that in for close to two years. Tells you something. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”
Quinn’s expression was half smile, half frown. “I can’t tell if you’re encouraging me, or warning me off.”
Alva smiled, and there wasn’t the slightest bit of calculation in her old eagle eyes. Just honest affection. “I’m not right sure myself. All I know is leaving things simmering, whichever way they’re to go, isn’t the same as resolving them. Can’t leave the house as long as you’ve got a pot still on the stove, if you get my meaning.”
Before Quinn could comment, Alva’s attention perked up and moved past his shoulder.
Quinn’s neck tightened, as did other parts of his body. Had she spotted Riley? He knew they might cross paths at some point, he just hadn’t counted on it being at Laura Jo’s ... with Alva playing chaperone, and half the island in attendance. Something told him Riley wouldn’t be any happier being the topic of Alva’s conversation than he’d been on the receiving end of it.
When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Walter, Dwight, and two more of their town council cronies had stepped up to the counter. Quinn looked back at Alva. The agitation was back if the stiff posture of her tiny frame was any indication, but she wasn’t paying any attention to him. “Something going on here?”
“I’m holding my annual invitational poker tournament. Maybe you’ve seen the flyers?”
Quinn nodded. “I have. And I think it’s great. Grams, rest her soul, played a wicked game of gin rummy, but I don’t know that she ever tried her hand at five-card stud.” He smiled. “My bet is, she’d have been quite good at it.”
Alva smiled. “You don’t know everything about your grandmother.” Her twinkle was back. “But it would be a good bet to make.” She looked back at the foursome placing their coffee order. “Brodie Banneker has had a bee in his bonnet ever since the tournament I had last year, after the fall festival. It turned out to be quite the event, what with the whole secret auction fiasco, and Baxter making a guest appearance.” She folded her hands over her purse, which was draped with her gloves, the epitome of senior citizen propriety. “Naturally, I wanted to hold a rematch.”
“Naturally.”
“Charlotte and her fiancé, Carlo, are going to cater. She’s part of the Cupcake Club. They run their own catering business out of Savannah called Sweet and Savory. She does the sweet, Carlo does the savory. Baxter has promised another appearance. He’s going to give away a few of his cookbooks (signed, don’t you know) and”—she looked particularly pleased—“don’t tell a soul, but he’s going to give away tickets to see a taping of his show, all expenses paid. Hotel, the works.” Alva leaned forward and covered his hand. “Of course, I was thinking about asking you if you’d like to contribute in some way, maybe a few signed copies of your latest? I know you’re here all hush-hush, working on your next project, but since everyone coming to the match knows you—”
He nodded. “I’d be more than happy to.”
Looking very pleased, she said, “And while we’re on that topic, I’ve been meaning to ask if you can make time to have a little talk with me. For my column?”
Quinn blanched. “Me?” The single word came out as a less-than-manly squeak. “Wh-why?” He thought he’d made it past the firing squad of one.
“Now, now, don’t look like a boy with his hand caught in the church plate. I don’t just do advice columns. Sometimes I do human interest. In fact, my launch column was about Baxter when he first came to film his show here, in Lani’s shop. Turns out it was all part of his big plan to woo her—see, there’s a man who doesn’t sit around and wait for things to happen—and I got the scoop.” She leaned forward again, dropping her voice. “I’d be so honored to get the scoop on your next book. I’ve asked around, but there’s been nary a word on it. Seems like something hush-hush is happening. Am I right?”
Quinn briefly narrowed his gaze, and decided if the UN really wanted to negotiate world peace, they need look no further than Alva Liles. He didn’t bother asking her whom she’d spoken to, doubting Riley had said anything, but not putting it past Alva to have called his publisher. Maybe they should ask her to find out where the missing seventeen minutes of Watergate tape had gone. Or where Hoffa was buried.
“As a matter of fact. I do have some interesting news. But I can’t talk about it just yet.”
He thought her carefully coiffed beehive might finally come unglued as she all but vibrated in her seat with excitement. “Well, that would be very kind of you. Very kind indeed.” The sweetness and cream response didn’t at all match the avid gleam in her eyes, but that’s what made it so much fun. “You just say the word, and I’ll have you over to dinner. I think chatting over a nice meal is far more civilized, don’t you? I cooked for Baxter. All my husband Harold’s favorites.”
“That sounds civilized and tasty,” Quinn said, making a point to chat with Baxter when he had the chance, and look up that first article in the
Islander
archives. That was the great thing about being a writer, he could pass off any snooping as research.
Islander
archives. That was the great thing about being a writer, he could pass off any snooping as research.
Alva’s gaze had drifted back to the foursome at the counter, and her fingers clutched at her gloves a bit tightly.
Quinn was curious despite himself. “What is the problem with the poker tournament?”
Alva dragged her gaze back to his, annoyed all over again. “Well, this year, to avoid any ... unpleasantness, I opted to make the tournament an invitational.”
“And how does one get an invitation?”
“Why, from me, of course. It’s my party.”
“I take it Walter and other council members didn’t make the cut?”
“The tournament is only open to women. And it’s not Walter, it’s Dee Dee Banneker’s husband, Brodie, who’s the problem. He used to be a deputy sheriff, now sits on the council. I didn’t invite his wife. She was the instigator of all the drama last year. And, of course, since she’s not coming, her best friend Suzette is making a stink about it—her son-in-law’s the fire chief, also on the council—and not coming, either. Though I’d have let her if she’d asked.” Alva leaned forward. “She’s not much of a player, but she makes a mean ham salad. Win-win, really.”
Quinn swallowed another snort of laughter. “So, what is the council doing about it?”
“Passing an ordinance to prevent me from holding the tournament in any public facility. I had it here at Laura Jo’s last year, but I was aiming for a bigger venue this year, as I’ve invited a few more players. I’m not limiting it to the seniors this year. Lani May and Miss Riley, for instance, are both playing. But there aren’t any private places with more space. Lani would have us, but we can’t squeeze in there. I booked the Senior Center annex. It’s a new building we added on last year.” She patted her hair. “Due to a prior misunderstanding, I’m no longer allowed to book the center itself, but there was no rule about the annex and my money is just as green as anyone else’s. Besides, most of the players use the center facilities all the time. Doesn’t seem right to keep them from enjoying this event. Now they’re saying I can’t use it for a private event, but I don’t think they can do that.”
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