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He’d felt protective of her at Little Teton, and he’d been drawn to her a little more every day until that last night when he kissed her, and knew that she was why he was there.
It wasn’t the struggling resort that needed him. It was this beautiful woman who called herself the queen of bad decisions.
Kissing her, he’d felt hope, but also conviction. The kind of knowledge he’d felt growing up playing ball. He knew he was supposed to play. He knew what he was supposed to do. He felt that now.
If they weren’t standing in the middle of Sam Melk’s office Quinn would kiss her again. Being near her made everything seem possible. “No,” he said with a wry smile, “not a sportswriter, but weirdly, we’re both from the same small town. It’s too coincidental, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I don’t like it.”
Quinn glanced from her to Sam Melk who was rapidly approaching. “Hello, Sam.”
The realtor extended his hand. “Quinn, good to see you. What can I do for you?”
“Just stopped by to see Charity.”
“I didn’t know you’d stayed in touch with Charity.”
Quinn shot a warm smile in her direction. “Thanks for giving her time off so we could catch up in Wyoming.”
“Uh, that’s—” Charity started to protest.
Quinn continued, ignoring her interruption. “We had a fantastic time. Great steaks at the Grizzly Den. Amazing fondue at the Ice Shack. A sleigh ride around the lake. I highly recommend Little Teton Resort.” He glanced from Sam to the dark-haired guy hovering in the background. “I don’t think I’ve met you,” he said to the other man. “Quinn Douglas,” he added, extending his hand.
“Greg Bartlett,” the realtor answered, coming forward. “I’m newer to Marietta, but of course I’ve heard all about you. The Mariners aren’t my team but you’re a legend around here.”
“Let me guess? Cubs fan?” Quinn asked, giving Greg’s hand a firm squeeze and was pleased to see the other man wince slightly.
“Yes. How did you know?”
Quinn hated having to be civilized. “Lucky guess.” He released Greg’s hand and glanced over at Charity who was pressing her hands together and looking wildly uncomfortable.
“Did you tell them about the little chocolate place at the Aspen Lodge, Charity?” he added cheerfully. “Didn’t you say it was as good as Copper Mountain chocolates?”
“I said it was almost as good. I didn’t say it was as good.” Charity’s cheeks had turned pink. She cleared her throat. “Want to step outside? I’m sure Sam wouldn’t mind. You probably want a coffee before you get on the road.”
“Oh, I’m not heading anywhere tonight,” Quinn answered. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“We have coffee here,” Sam interjected. “Charity wouldn’t mind making a fresh pot. She makes great coffee.”
“I’m not surprised, but as Charity knows, I’m more of a mocha guy,” Quinn answered. “I’d love to get a large mocha with whip from Java Café if you can spare Charity for ten minutes.”
“But, of course,” Sam answered, walking with them to the door. “And if you ever feel like talking about your big spread down on the river, I’m your man. I heard through the grapevine that you’ve been toying with the idea of selling it. I specialize in handling the more exclusive Paradise Valley properties. Affluent people on the East and West Coasts all seem to want a piece of Montana these days.”
“All the better reason to keep them out of our valley.” Quinn smiled and tipped his head. “Let’s go get that mocha, Charity.”
*
Charity was still in shock as she stepped out of the office with Douglas—Quinn.
She shot him a bewildered glance as they reached the curb. “I don’t know what to say,” she said huskily, bundling her arms across her chest as they crossed the street, heading for Java Café.
Quinn took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“That’s not necessary,” she protested.
“You were cold.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a man.”
She snorted on muffled laughter and then gave her head a shake. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what friends do. They stay in touch.” Quinn’s voice was even, almost careless as he asked, “Is that the Greg you dated?”
She shot him another, equally uneasy side glance. “Yes.”
“He’s even worse than you said.”
She fought a slightly hysterical bubble of laughter, as she tugged the coat closer. “You were never supposed to meet him. I was never supposed to see you again. I confided in Douglas Quincy, not Quinn Douglas, so Quinn Douglas should be very careful about commenting on my personal life.”
“You have a little bit of fire in you.”
“Listen, I know you’re a big deal to a lot of people here, but I’m uncomfortable you know so much about me, and I’m sorry I told you so much about myself at Little Teton. It was a mistake—”
“I’m still your friend, Charity.”
“No, you were Tricia’s friend. Not mine.”
He reached past her to open the door to Java Café. “Tricia doesn’t have two sisters named Jenny and Mandy. Tricia didn’t date a guy named Greg that loves the Cubs. Tricia doesn’t love to sketch—”
“Okay, I did tell you about me,” she said quietly, urgently, aware that others were looking at them and people were beginning to recognize Quinn. “We hung out for five days, four nights and we talked about everything, but that’s because neither of us had anything to lose. It was confessional. Good for the soul.”
“So why are you upset then?” He asked, steering her toward the Christmas tree in the corner, and then turning his back on the café.
“Because you’re not this writer from the Pacific Northwest. You’re Quinn Douglas from Marietta. You’re someone famous. You’re that guy that everyone wants.” Her voice cracked. “You’re some superstar and I’m just… me. And let’s face it, I’m in a not-so-great place, having to work daily with a horrible guy, while my sister wants me to come work for her, and I can’t do it because, even though I love her, I would hate having to stand at the front desk of her pink hair salon answering the phone and greeting everyone. It sounds awful. Smiling, smiling, smiling… being cheerful and friendly to every person that walks in the door.” She shuddered. “It’s one thing to do that at an insurance office, and then at Melk, but at your little sister’s hair salon? No, thank you.”
“So don’t work for your sister. And don’t work for Melk. Do what you want to do.”
“I can’t make a living as a fashion designer.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly tried.”
Her jaw tightened, temper stirred. “Now that’s not fair.”
“I’m simply saying if being a designer is what you really want, you would have taken steps to make your dream a reality.”
“This is why I regret sharing. I told you things thinking I would never have to see you again, but you are here, and you know my worst darkest secrets, and to add insult to injury, you’re flinging them at me.”
“I wouldn’t say flinging.”
She nearly stomped her foot. “What happened to you? Where did Douglas Quincy go? I liked him a lot better.”
“I’m one and the same.”
“That’s what Tricia said, but you’re not a sportswriter.”
“I used to have a sports blog, but I’ve recently switched to a podcast.”
“What can’t you do?”
“Sew. Sketch. Design.”
She turned her head away, frustrated. “I’m not mad at you,” she said after a long, tense moment. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Everyone in this town knows who you are but me.”
“I like that you didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because I like that you
liked me for me. That means a lot to me.” He gave her a crooked smile. “So a mocha?”
She nodded, feeling forlorn.
“With whip?” he asked.
She nodded again, and then watched him walk to the counter, all gorgeous male swagger.
Her heart thumped and her chest squeezed tight, aware that almost everyone in Java Café was watching him, too.
Quinn Douglas wasn’t just any handsome man, nor was he just any professional athlete. He was Marietta’s own. He mattered to so many.
Quinn returned a few minutes later with their coffees. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
Her pulse was hammering and everything in her wanted to run. “You can read me pretty well.”
“What’s going on in your head?”
What was going on? She liked him. A lot. But he was so out of her league, and the fact that he was so out of her league made her want to throw up. “Too much. I’m pretty overwhelmed.”
“You’re just having coffee with a friend.”
She glanced out the window, toward her office building on the other side of the street. She could have sworn someone was at the window of her office—Sam? Greg? It didn’t really matter. Sam didn’t care if she took a half hour off for coffee. In fact, he wouldn’t care if she took the rest of the day off if he thought that would help him get Quinn’s business. “Let’s sit,” she said.
“Good idea. These cups are hot.”
The corner booth near the window was free and she slid into the narrow wooden seat, and then he sat down on the wooden bench adjacent to hers. The table was so small Quinn’s knees brushed hers before he shifted his legs away, but that one brief touch was enough to make her insides flip and her pulse hum. She hadn’t stopped thinking about their kiss since it happened. It was without a doubt, the best kiss of her life.
Driving back from Wyoming, she’d told herself to savor it because it was special. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kiss. And yet now Mr. Once-in-a-Lifetime was sitting here, across from her, at Java Café. Mr. Once-in-a-Lifetime was Marietta’s favorite hero.
“How is your mocha?” Quinn asked politely.
“Delicious,” she answered, taking another sip from her mocha and waiting to see what he’d say next, determined to leave conversation to him. At Little Teton, they’d sat with each other plenty of times without speaking, and Charity had never been uncomfortable then. It was different now. They were different now.
Seconds went by. A minute. And still he said nothing. The silence was maddening.
“What are you thinking?” she finally blurted.
“I’m trying to figure out what has you so scared.”
“I just feel… naked.”
