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She stared at him, completely taken aback by his offer.
“I…look like hell.”
Oh, for— She couldn’t believe that came out of her mouth.
Was she about to turn forty or fourteen?
He grinned. “You look fine to me. No dress code at Joe’s last time I checked.”
“No, I know.” She tried to laugh off her embarrassment.
“I’d love to come, thanks. Let me just put the shovel away.”
“Sure
thing.”
She strode down the driveway, trying to compose herself.
What did he want? To find out if she had younger sisters?
Younger friends? Or was he an extreme extrovert who couldn’t stand alone time? Her introvert sister Carrie’s first-born was like that. Every second of every waking hour he had to be interacting with someone or he’d fall apart. Marie already felt sorry for Quinn’s mother.
The garage door rattled up; she ducked inside and hung the shovel on the rusted hook where it belonged, then gave in to temptation and did a quick check in her car’s side mirror to see how bad she looked.
Surprisingly okay. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, hair not too bad for having been slept on, and her eyes, while smaller and indistinct without their usual mascara and liner, were bright and clear.
Not that she was interested in Quinn, but a woman didn’t want to be seen with one of the Seven Male Wonders of the World looking like a refugee.
She headed back down the driveway to where Quinn stood waiting, a tall, relaxed, solid-pack male, Dante sniffing the ground around him. Marie could use this lunch as an opportunity to feel him out on whether he’d be willing to meet Darcy. Maybe Marie could lure him to Gladiolas on some pretense, then call Darcy out to say hello. Or, much simpler, lure Darcy to Roots.
Marie cackled inwardly. Oh, Mr. Peters. If anyone can shove you out of your manly comfort zone, Darcy can.
They walked the blocks to Joe’s Java, a great neighborhood hole-in-the-wall with fabulous coffee and oversize sandwiches, chatting about uninspiring topics like the recent snowstorm and Dante’s penchant for finding smelly, often dead things and bringing them in to hide in his house. Outside the restaurant, Quinn went on to take Dante home, saying he’d meet her back in five minutes. Apparently he lived close by.
Inside Joe’s, she took down her parka hood, reveling in the warmth, inhaling the rich coffee smell. A couple had just vacated a tiny table by the counter where Joe’s sold take-out and bakery items, so by the time Quinn returned, Marie had 132
relaxed and regrouped. She even admitted to a little cave-woman pride when he crossed directly to her table with a wide smile. Female friends having coffee glanced up, did a comical double take and bent their heads together to discuss the eye-candy addition to their Saturday. Either that or they were wondering what a hunk of beefcake was doing keeping company with a meatball.
A young man with black hair hanging over his forehead and a nose stud that looked like a metal wart came by with a pad and poised pen. Marie ordered a grilled chicken panini with balsamic onions and a side salad, Quinn a roasted vegetable sandwich with fresh mozzarella and pesto, with a side of waffle fries.
“Are you vegetarian?”
He shrugged. “I find myself eating that way pretty often, but by taste, not conviction.”
She was relieved. Darcy was a disciple of the “everything in moderation” school, and would probably prefer a guy who ate the same way. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
He looked startled, then recovered quickly. “Always the matchmaker, huh?”
“It’s my job.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. Who is she?”
Marie bit her lip. She’d expected more of a fight and didn’t understand why she felt disappointed. “She runs a restaurant on the east side. Beautiful woman, the kind who can walk down the street and make men trip and bump into things.”
“But…”
She raised her eyebrows. “But what?”
“If she attracts that much male attention, why are you having to shop for her?”
The waiter brought coffee in bright, thick, mismatched mugs, which gave Marie a minute to find a reason other than She thinks men suck. “The restaurant keeps her pretty busy.”
