“Demands?” I arch a brow, amused by her choice of words. And… did she just say she’ll marry me? Holy shit.
She wobbles her head. “Well, the logistics. Rules. Andmaybesome demands,” she adds, letting an adorable smirk twist her lips.
I can’t help but meet her halfway and give her a partial smirk. A twitch of my lips and no more. “Well, okay then.”
She said yes, and as much as I want to pretend last night didn’t happen, the truth is, it did, I do need a wife, and somethin’ tells me a judge will buy that Quinn is my wife far more than they’d ever buy Mabel being mine.
“So lunch after church, just us?” she asks, worrying her hands together in front of her. I notice she doesn’t have that crossbody bag thing she keeps her camera in.
I nod. “Sure. I’ll see if Tate and Love can take Sadie with ’em and we’ll go to the diner.” Though I envision the diner after church and think better of it, raking a hand up the back of my head. “Second thought, maybe we go to my place, and Sadie goes to Tate’s.”
Quinn wrinkles her nose, and it’s only now I notice a light smattering of freckles along the bridge and over her cheeks. Fucking cute, that’s what she is.
“Good idea,” she agrees.
We both start walking toward the church, hip to hip. Feelsnatural, which doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, but it does. I peer down at her with one eye. “You didn’t come to service the first few weeks you were here. Why this Sunday?” I double-check that strappy bag isn’t with her. “And no camera. What gives?”
“Sunday is my day off from filming,” she says, and I keep to myself that I’m fully aware she doesn’t work on Sunday, because I find myself wishin’ it were Monday on late Saturday night. “So I thought I’d start to get a little Sunday routine here in Sable Sky, just so I don’t feel like a total nomad for the next few months.”
I nod my head, because I get that.
As we approach the doors, Quinn stops me, placing her hand on my forearm, over the cut I got this morning. “What happened?” She narrows her eyes, smoothing her fingertip over the jagged line, cleaned and cleared, but still ugly.
“Upped my trainin’ this mornin’,” I tell her. “Got on the mechanical rider.” It was an awful idea. I thought it’d shake the hangover right out of me, but instead I puked on a hay bale after being bucked off into a pile of tools.
Her breath hitches, and her eyes come to mine. The sun’s hot, but the sweat sliding down my back has nothing to do with the state of Texas. “Not without me next time.” Then she links her arm in mine, and surprises me when she says, “And man do I need a beer with lunch.” The sigh that follows is weighty.
“Everything all right over there?”
“Melvin,” she groans, shaking her head as she swats at an intrusive fly with her free hand. She’s only got one free hand because one of ’em is draped on my forearm. Because we’re touching. And she made the move.
My god, listen to me.
“I thought you said it was Devin.” I catch the fly in my fist and throw it away from us.
“It is, but I really liked it when you thought it was Melvin,” she says, watching me as we walk so slowly, I’m sure we’ll be late, but it’s worth it.
“All right, well, what’d Melvin do to ya?”
“He’s just asking for so many project updates, which he doesn’t normally do,” she says, adjusting her bra strap or purse strap, I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t care for the stress lining her voice. She’s out here, in a state completely new to her, living with strangers, making a film about a person she just met. Her boss ought to be supporting her, not adding stress to her already full and complex plate.
“What’s he after?” I prod, trying to picture this Melvin guy in my head. I like Melvin better. Sounds like someone whose ass I could kick. If I had to. Not that Devin doesn’t. I’ll kick his ass, too.
She lifts her shoulder, letting out a sigh that tosses her hair onto her lips. We stop abruptly as she disentangles long strands of hair from the paint on her lips, shimmery and… glossy. I look down at my boots, so aware of her arm wrapped around mine that I’m almost ashamed of myself. And if I stand there for too long, I’ll be embarrassed, too. “Ugh, finally.” She solves the hair-on-lips issue and we continue.
We’re walking slow, and I know I’m walking slow on purpose. Though if she called me out on it, I’d say it was her short legs.
They aren’t short, they’re lean, stretching and spanning forever, all smooth and glowing.
But in comparison to mine, I’d say they were short. She’s so small compared to me. Why do I find that sexy as hell, too?
“So?” I want to know, and I don’t mind shamelesslyasking twice. My pride won’t let me ask again, and I find myself praying on the way to church.
“He’s making sure I’m focused on making the best film I can, that I’m tuned into the story and that my—” She stops, unlinking her arms to mime air quotes. “—Fingers are on the pulse of Landry Vaughn.” She snorts, rolling her eyes, her exasperation with this guy evident, but I can’t help thinking she’s pretty cute when she’s irritated.
She slips her arm in mine again, and the heat that suddenly flutters in my chest is jarring. I clear my throat as we breach the doors, into the large foyer. Smells like paste and old plaster, and old people, too.Ah, church.
“I’ll shut up now,” she whispers, but turns to me, doing the exact opposite. “Screw him, acting like I’m so hung up on him and what he did to me that I’d be out hereunfocused.” Her nostrils flare and a little vein bulges on her temple. “I’m going to make a film better than he can wrap his little pea brain around,” she hisses, whispering, her eyes kind of bulgy at this point, too. Still sexy. “And he can take his condescending attitude, and his camel-toed girlfriend, andfuck off!”
