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“So,” Martin said. “Crossing that one off the list. Let’s talk about your outfit for tonight with Beckett. And maybe another trip to the shop.”
“We’re doing outdoor things,” Quinn said. “I am not wearing boots and jeans and scratchy underwear to run around outdoors. No.”
“Of course,” Roxanne said, “you could sit out on the deck with Bram and me and have wine instead of, I don’t know, bouncing on the trampoline or whatever you’re thinking. Sit and chat. As adults tend to do.”
“No,” Quinn said. “I’d just be nervous. I do better with action. And alcohol in the daytime makes me stupid.”
“Which would be,” Terrell said, “the point. Have you ever heard of the concept of overcontrol? I’m just asking.”
“No,” she’d said. “No wine. No fancy underwear. Just … no.”
Which had sounded good at the time. When Beckett opened the door, though, and stood there with that amused glint in his eye and that relaxed confidence in his stance, and shedidget those tingles, and got a little breathless, too, she thought,Who am I kidding. I should have bought the underwear.
Oh, well. Too late now.
12
DONKEY KICKS
He hadn’t expected to be jumping on a trampoline today. He probably should have known better.
They weren’t exactly being social, either. When they’d got to the big, rambling frame house north of town and Quinn had hopped out—with the grocery bags—he’d shaken hands with Roxanne and Bram and followed them around the back to an expansive deck. So far, so normal. Kids appeared from various places in the house, and Roxanne said, “Micah and Violet, the twins, and this is Claire.”
Claire, a serious girl of about Troy’s age with big brown eyes, said, “Hi, Troy. I remember you from school. Do you want to come see our treehouse?” To which Troy answered enthusiastically, so that was sorted.
Micah and Violet were twelve. Micah was one of those kids with straight, white, American teeth and defined cheekbones. His straight hair flopped over his forehead, and unfortunately, after one look at him, Janey seemed to lose all her confidence. She goggled at him. That was the only word for it.
Surely eleven was too young to be interested in boys.
He was afraid he was wrong.
After a minute, Janey asked, “Aren’t you on the football team?” Whatever that meant.
“Yeah,” Micah said, a faint flush staining the cheekbones. “Wide receiver. But I’m mostly on the bench.”
Violet said, “Yes, he’s on the football team, and I’m on the volleyball team. Volleyball’s better. No concussions. You should do it, too. Talking about football is extremely dull, though, and talking about my brother is the most dull of all. Let’s go jump on the trampoline. Do you know any tricks?”
“Not really,” Janey said. “I haven’t done it very much.”
“We can show you some,” Violet said. “Do you want to come jump, too, Quinn?”
“You know I do,” Quinn said. “But I’ll wait until after you kids are done.”
“That’ll work out perfectly,” Roxanne said, “since I imagine you two want to have an adult beverage with us first. I’m ready, after that run this morning. She’s a taskmaster,” she told Beckett.
“Oh?” he said. “I thought she was a swimmer.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” she said. “Ha.”
“I hardly ever even race, though,” Quinn said, looking confused. “I’m just running for exercise. Stress relief. Endorphins. Relaxation. All that.”
“Yeah, well,” Roxanne said, “your idea of ‘relaxation’ could use some work.”
“But youliketo jump, Quinn,” Violet said, ignoring the frivolous part of the conversation. “You always say that sitting around drinking wine is for losers.”
“I don’t—” Quinn started to say. “I meant that I can sit around anytime. Not that you’re a loser,” she told Roxanne. “Or Bram. Or you,” she told Beckett. “I like wine fine. It’s just—”
Bram and Roxanne were laughing now. “Never mind,” Roxanne said. “You can’t help being goal-oriented. Maybe Beckett wants to have a glass of wine with us losers. What did you bring?” She looked in the bags. “Bottled water, fruit, and cheese cubes. What a surprise. We have lovely unhealthy adult snacks, Beckett. Also wine.”
