Dearborn Page 9

  Yet, you hesitate every time. I nodded to the floor. “It’s fine, Quinn. No offense taken.”

  He sighed, deep and heavy. His gaze fell to the floor. “What can I say to make you understand?” His hands fisted in frustration. “I have issues, Willow. Weird, scary issues that I’m trying to work through. I don’t want to pull you into them. It wouldn’t be fair to make you deal with my problems.”

  “I’ve been dealing with weird and scary my whole life, Quinn. I can handle whatever you’ve got.”

  He sat quietly, watching me wipe up the water around him. “Are you sure about this?”

  I met his gaze. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure.” I held my breath as he mulled it over. I didn’t know if I could take any more rejection from him.

  After a few torturous seconds, he finally spoke. “Okay.” That one word changed his entire expression. His emerald eyes were bright and shining and reflected the hope glimmering and fluttering all around us.

  QUINN

  I THREW MY DUFFLE BAG onto the bed and it squeaked. Grimacing at it, I sat down on the edge, and it groaned in response.

  I looked around. This was Willow’s old room. Had the squealing mattress been hers too? I imagined her curled up, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Both times I’d been near her, she’d smelled like vanilla and sugar cookies. I imagined myself lying next to her, pulling her closer, burying my nose in her hair, and getting lost in her delicious scent.

  Something inside of me stirred to life, just as it had the night before.

  Twice, I’d come so close to kissing her but choked at the last second. Both times, it was clear she’d wanted me to. Her eyes had practically begged me to do it, but I’d somehow managed to pull together all my self-control and resist. I was a broken man. A head case who looked like a lumberjack. Willow was the exact opposite. Levelheaded. Completely put together. She ran her own business and was starting another, for God’s sake. She deserved more than a stolen kiss in a deconstructed bathroom.

  I had a plan though.

  If I were a better man, I’d stop my scheming and back off completely. But I wasn’t and I couldn’t. Already, it seemed I couldn’t stay away from her, and now, she’d given me the best reason not to—I was moving in.

  I bounced on the bed and it argued back. I added stopping by Mattress Express to my list of things to do. Sleeping was hard enough without an argumentative mattress. Willow was going to need a new one anyway if she was going to rent this room out eventually. Maybe if this arrangement worked out, she’d let me stay on a long-term basis. With guests around, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to have a man around in case something needed to be fixed or someone got out of hand.

  My mom was my only family, and I’d do anything for her, but we’d both known our current living arrangement was temporary. I was a grown man, and she still treated me like a kid by constantly hovering over me. I didn’t need someone to make my bed for me. I didn’t want anyone folding my underwear. If I had a beer or two or three or five at the end of the day to help me sleep, I didn’t need my mom counting my bottle caps to decide if I’d had too many.

  She’d looked a little sad when I’d set my packed bag by the door this morning, but I’d seen a trace of relief in her eyes too. I kept her awake at night. We both knew it was better this way.

  I looked at my watch. It was a little after noon. Willow would be at the diner for a few more hours before she came home to get ready for school. After she left again, I would have until seven to get everything I wanted to get done. I jumped up from the bed ready to earn my keep.

  I had a few errands to run before I could get started on the afternoon’s projects. I needed to go to the lumberyard for some plywood and trim for the little project I wanted to do this afternoon. After that, I needed to hit the hardware store for a nail gun and to pick the owner’s brain about the mechanics of plumbing since last night’s disaster had proven I didn’t know what I was doing. Then I had a few other stops to make. Finishing it all before I needed to clean up for the day was going to be a challenge, but I’d pulled off massive military operations in less time. I would make it work.

  I took a quick spin around the apartment. Out of habit, I opened the refrigerator as I passed it. An untouched chocolate mousse pie sat on the top shelf. A folded note welcoming me to my new home sat on top of it.

  I smiled at Willow’s surprise. I had one for her too.

  WILLOW

  WHEN I GOT HOME FROM school, Quinn’s truck was parked out back again. It was something I would get used to, I supposed. I raced up the front steps hoping I could sneak to my room without getting caught.

  We had plans. Or maybe we didn’t. I wasn’t entirely sure.

  When I’d come home between work and class, I’d found Old Man Hansen’s breakfast ticket from Saturday. It was sitting on the kitchen table with the backside facing up.

  I hadn’t even realized Quinn had made off with Ryan’s note, but the fact that he had and then hung on to it made me smile. I’d poured myself a tall glass of tea while I considered his offer—though ‘considered’ was probably not the right word. There was no way I was not having dinner with Quinn.

  I’d checked the box for yes before grabbing my backpack and heading out the door for class. I shouldn’t have even bothered going since I didn’t hear a word of the professor’s lecture, and this time, I couldn’t even blame it on my classmates. My head was in the stars, and it had everything to do with the man in my house.

  I opened the door and the smell of the lasagna I’d cooked the night before smacked me in the face. I quietly slipped into the foyer and listened for any noise upstairs. The only sounds I heard came from the back of the house rather than above. There was a couple of thumps and then humming. Was that Quinn? It had to be. The grin on my face spread wider.

  I slipped down the hall as quietly as possible, careful to skip all of the squeaky boards I knew by heart. I was nearly to my doorway when he called out. “Willow, is that you?”

  I looked down at the coffee stain on my shirt, something that had happened while I was daydreaming during class and sighed. “Yeah. It’s me. Where are you?”

  He hesitated. “Umm … the kitchen. But can you give me just a few more minutes before you come in? I’m working on a project. It’s a surprise.”

  “Sure,” I called out. There were a couple of more thumps, a bang, and then something clattered to the ground. I couldn’t imagine what he was working on in there. The kitchen was finished.

  In my room, I found a black shirt in the closet and slipped it on. I took a few minutes in front of the mirror to tame my hair and freshen up my makeup. I was trying to keep it simple enough so it didn’t look like I was trying to impress him.

  It was all an allusion since impressing him was the only thing on my mind.

  We’d already had dinner together twice, so the note could only mean one thing—we were going on a real date. It both excited and terrified me. It had been a while since I’d let a man have this kind of effect on me.

  When I was satisfied with what I saw, I stepped away from the mirror and backtracked my way down the hall again, purposely hitting the squeaky boards this time to give him a warning I was coming.

  “Can I come in now?” I had asked before I took the last few steps. Asking permission to enter my own kitchen seemed kind of odd, but I didn’t want to ruin the ‘surprise.’

  Something hissed in the kitchen. I looked at the stream of light on the floor in front of the doorway for some kind of clue as to what was happening in there. If he were taming a rattlesnake in my kitchen, the front door would be where I headed next.

  He muttered a curse before answering, “Okay. I’m ready.”

  I bounced around the corner with a grin on my face that matched my mood. “Honey, I’m home.” I giggled at my silly joke as my eyes darted around the room, taking in the now empty spot where the microwave had been and its new location built into the wall over the stove. It wasn’t the biggest su
rprise, though.

  He was.

  He almost looked like a different person—not that I’d minded how he’d looked before. The rugged, mountain man thing had worked for him as far as I was concerned. But the new look did too.

  My eyes lingered on his face before traveling down the rest of him. He’d shaved the beard, revealing a smooth jaw much more defined than it had been when I’d last seen it. Of course, he’d been eighteen at the time. Still just a kid. Now, he was a man.

  He’d dressed up in jeans and a white button-down, which he’d then attempted to protect with Janice’s ‘Keep your hands off my buns’ apron. A spaghetti noodle hung off the ladle in his hand, and there was a tomato red smear across his chest. The nervous energy in the air was the only verification I needed. I’d just walked in on our first official date.

  “Nice apron.”

  He arched an eyebrow at me. “Not exactly manly, is it?”

  “Oh, I disagree.” Quinn could make a tutu and bunny slippers look manly. The noodle dropped to the floor, and he stooped to pick it up.

  “You made us dinner?” The awe in my voice was apparent.

  “Spaghetti. Sorry, it’s really all I know how to make.” He grinned, a lopsided smile that made my heart pitter-patter a little bit faster. “Let’s hope what you said about stuff cooked by someone else is true because your lasagna smelled pretty good this morning. It’s going to be hard for my spaghetti to compete with it. I probably should have taken a peek in your recipe book.” He gestured with the ladle to Janice’s recipe book, which still sat on the counter.

  “Probably better that you didn’t,” I said, giggling again. “That was Janice’s, not mine.”

  “She was a good cook, too.”

  “Oh, she was, but when she wasn’t cooking for the public, she put together some really weird stuff.” I needed to put the book away before he learned more about Janice than he needed or wanted to know. I also needed to remember I wasn’t alone in the house anymore. I couldn’t leave things like that sitting around. Having Quinn around was going to be good practice for when I actually opened the bed and breakfast and needed to put on a constant air of normalcy.

  “Can I pour you a glass of wine?” he asked. “Tonight’s your night to be served.”

  I thought about the pitcher of foul-tasting tea in the fridge and decided I didn’t need it. Quinn’s mood was infectious. The only thing bothering my stomach was butterflies, and it was a very welcome feeling. “Allow me,” I said, looking for the bottle.

  “Nope. That’s not the deal, remember? I’m serving you.”

  “It won’t be good if I get used to being spoiled. I can be a real handful.”

  “I’m counting on it,” he said, chuckling. He turned away from me to pour wine into two glasses he must have found in the dining room. They were the good ones, presents from Janice and her husband’s marriage.

  While I waited, I went over and inspected the microwave. It was perfect, and a surge of excitement ran through me. He was clearly detail oriented and had even added trim around it to match the cabinets. If he put this much effort into the upstairs, it was going to turn out beautifully. “This looks great, by the way. I’m really impressed.”

  He handed me a glass of wine. “I’m glad. That’s what I was going for.”

  My cheeks flushed and burned. I was glad I’d taken the extra two minutes to change my stained shirt. “Well, mission accomplished.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get it painted. I ran out of time and didn’t know where the leftover paint was. I kind of felt bad snooping around your house.” He looked at me and grinned guiltily. “I mean obviously, I snooped some,” he said gesturing to the apron and then dinner simmering on the stove. “But I didn’t want to go through all of your things. I thought maybe we could paint it after dinner, though.”

  “Sure,” I said, running my hand across the smooth wood around the new opening. “I really can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”

  “It’s the little things, right?”

  I smiled and sighed contentedly. “Yeah, it really is.” I was already picturing the assembly line of pie building I would put in the new open space.

  It had been a long time since someone had done something for no other reason than to put a smile on my face. Ryan was great, but I usually had to beg and bribe him to get him to do anything for me. I also had to be really explicit with my instructions. He would never do anything like this without discussing it with me first. Quinn had done this on his own simply because he knew it would make me happy. From the vibes he projected and the smile on his face, making me happy gave him pleasure. That gave me pleasure.

  He slid his glass onto the table and untied the apron from around his back. He pulled it off over his head, tossed it onto the counter, and turned to face me. “Little things are good, but sometimes it’s the big things, too. Dinner’s ready, but I want to take care of something first.”

  “Something big?” I teased.

  “I hope so.” In three long strides, he’d closed the space between us. “Drink,” he said, nodding to the glass in my hand. I took a sip but didn’t take my eyes off him. By anyone’s standards, he was acting strangely. When I pulled the glass away from my lips, he took it from me. With his other hand, he grabbed my hand and pulled me across the room until we were standing next to the open space of the counter. He set the glass down and pushed it away from us. Then in a move taking me completely by surprise, he put his hands on my waist and lifted me to set me on the counter, too.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my heart racing in anticipation.

  “I want to get this out of the way right now. Otherwise, it will distract me all night.” He put his hands on my jean-covered thighs and gently nudged them apart. A surge of electricity shot through my body, leaving me humming. I watched him curiously as he stepped closer and, in a bold move, settled himself between my legs.

  Everything about this was weird. There was an air of intimate familiarity between us that wasn’t warranted. As if I might find him cooking dinner for me every night. As if it was no big deal he was nestled between my legs, his hips pressing so purposely on the inside of my thighs. Yet, the truth was, we barely knew each other. I knew who I thought he might be based on the boy I’d longed for years ago, but he wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a man and a complicated man at that. There were times he seemed so broken and lost that he could barely function, and times when he seemed perfectly fine.

  This Quinn—the one who’d positioned himself between my legs—was functioning fine. Warm green eyes looked back at me with lustful determination. ‘Trust me,’ they seemed to say. A blanket of calm confidence fell over me. I didn’t know whether it belonged to him or me, but I didn’t care.

  Without another word, he took my face in his hands. I barely had time to think, he’s actually going to kiss me this time, before his lips brushed across mine. They were soft and gentle, but there was nothing timid about his kiss. It was tender but deliberate. My eyelids fluttered closed, and I memorized the moment. A first kiss could never be recreated. You only got one shot at it, and Quinn’s lips felt like they belonged on mine. I sighed against his mouth.

  He pulled away slightly, and I peeked to find him intently watching my mouth with a slight smile on his face. I hoped he wasn’t done because I wanted more. Lots more. Hungry for him, I licked my lips.

  Kiss me again. Kiss me more.

  He exhaled heavily and his lips parted. A hand slipped around the back of my head and pulled me closer. He ran his tongue across the seam of my lips and I opened for him. His tongue slipped inside and mine welcomed his. He tasted of spaghetti sauce and wine and something else delicious I knew was inherently Quinn.

  The electric hum that had been buzzing through my body since he’d first touched me grew more insistent, settling between my legs. I needed to touch more of him. I slid my hands up his chest, more than vaguely aware I liked what they found there. I wanted to linger and explore, but I forced my hands up
to his shoulders and around to the back of his neck. I threaded my fingers through his hair; a safer, more appropriate spot for them for a first kiss. His tongue tangled with mine, and I became a broken electrical wire, the end sparking with every whip in the wind. There was nothing safe about it.

  It no longer felt like a first kiss. It felt like the kiss. The one that grabs on to your heart and shoves you firmly into life-altering, all-consuming infatuation. Quinn’s mouth made me dizzy. His touch made me crazy. I never wanted it to end.

  But it had to. He pulled away, leaving me needy and breathless. I opened my eyes to find the room bathed in the same crimson desire that had burned behind my closed lids, which confirmed he felt it too.

  “Well, that was certainly worth the fifteen year wait, wasn’t it?” he said, chuckling.

  “Let’s do it again.” I smiled hopefully.

  He laughed. “Oh, we will. I have a feeling it’s all I’m going to want to do from now on.”

  “Mmm.” I agreed. I ran my fingers up the back of his head. The short hair bristled against them, and I realized the beard wasn’t the only thing he’d trimmed. “You got a haircut today?”

  “Another attempt to impress. How’d I do?”

  “Done, done, and done,” I murmured, still slightly breathless.

  “Speaking of done, the garlic bread is probably more than done.” He offered me a hand and helped me off the counter. He led me to the table and handed me my glass of wine again.

  A few minutes later, he slid a plate in front of me loaded with spaghetti and what appeared to be homemade sauce. A slice of only marginally burned garlic bread topped it off. “Sorry about the bread,” he said.

  “It was worth it.”

  “Indeed.”

  My heart hummed. “Quinn,” I said, as he sat down beside me with his plate. “This is truly wonderful. The dinner, the haircut … it’s all … wonderful … but I want you to know you didn’t have to do it. I wanted to kiss you last night and the night before that. You look amazing, but I liked you the way you were, too.”