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Oh. George was holding a bottle of wine and a cone of flowers. That beat a can of Skoal or a paddleboard, anyway.
“Hi,” she said. “You must be George. I’m Quinn. And, wow, this is real-live grownup dating. Flowers and everything. That’s amazing.” Positive reinforcement, she figured. She’d have shaken hands, but his hands were full. Also, Martin and Terrell had said that shaking hands with Julio Vega had been all wrong. You were supposed to hug—“lightly”—and let the guy kiss you on the cheek if he went for that, Martin had told her.
What the heck? Some guy she’d justmet?She’d done that with Joel Leeming, or rather, she’d let him do it with her instead of sticking her hand out fast, and look how that had turned out! He’d kissed her in the car. What romance novels would call “deeply,” and she called “a guy sticking his tongue down your throat.” And had asked, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” No way she was doing the hugging thing again.
Fortunately, George was holding the wine and flowers, so she didn’t have to decide how to handle it this time. She said, “That’s really nice of you,” grabbed the things out of his hands, and chucked them onto the table. “Ready to go?”
He smiled. It was a nice smile, the kind that showed a man had a sense of humor.
Like Beckett’s.
No. Stop.
“Most times,” George said, “she puts the flowers in water. You know, so they don’t die? And possibly opens the wine.” He didn’t ask, “Aren’t you going to get your coat?” but she could tell he wanted to. It was almost Halloween, it was windy again tonight, and there’d be frost on the ground in the morning for sure. She contemplated doing without the coat, but she’d freeze, possibly literally, and she’d also look pretty stupid.
“Oh. Right.” She grabbed the wine and flowers again, tucked the wine under her arm, and reached for the doorknob into the house. “Come in.” Maybe Beckett had taken the kids upstairs.
He hadn’t. He’d taken them into the kitchen. Which, unfortunately, was rightthere.
She could hear George’s footsteps faltering behind her. She kept going, the heels of her boots ringing against the wood floor like an announcement, because what choice did she have, handed the flowers to Janey, and asked, “Could you reach down the big vase from over the stove, Beckett? And do you, uh … want a glass of wine? Oh. Corkscrew.” She opened the drawer.
Unfortunately, she was terrible at opening wine. She tended to buy it from countries that used twist-off caps, because otherwise, she ended up with the cork in the bottle half the time, or just plain breaking it. Sheshouldbe competent at opening wine. She just wasn’t. Same reason she wasn’t good at home maintenance, other than the most basic things like sanding and painting and mowing the lawn. Not enough patience. She was more the power-through type.
Who did you ask to open it in this circumstance? Wait. That would be George, because he’d bought it. Beckett had certainly had no problem last night, though, even though Australian wines didn’thave corks, and he’d looked great doing it. What was it about a man opening wine that was so … well, sexy? In a thoroughly unevolved kind of way, since it showed off his bicep, and especially if he looked at you with his dark-blue eyes and didn’t smile.
She did not have enough sophistication for this situation.
George said, “Martin did say you were unconventional,” with more of that humor. She glanced back at him—he wasn’t quiteinthe kitchen, because it was pretty crowded in here—and he said, “Not my usual thing, but—life is full of new experiences?”
Beckett wasn’t smiling. He pulled the vase down and handed it to her, then went back to what he’d been doing, which was dishing up chili. Quinn said, “This is Beckett. He and Janey and Troy are my tenants.”
“Ah,” George said. “All righty, then.”
“And this is George,” Quinn said.
“Hello,” Janey said. “I’m Janey. I’m very pleased to meet you.” She looked it, too. One guess why.
“Hi,” George said. “Then you must be Troy.”
“Yes,” Troy said. “I helped Quinn get ready for her date. I picked the earrings, is all, because she says she always wears the same clothes on dates.”
“The earrings look great,” George said. “You’ve got a good eye. What’s your accent?”
“Huh?” Troy asked.
“It’s Australian,” Janey said. Beckett still wasn’t saying anything.
“Ah,” George said. “Australian. You’re a long way from home.”
“Maybe a no, on the wine,” Quinn said. “Oh. Flowers.” She stuck them into the vase, paper and all, ran some water into it—she had to step around Beckett to do it—and set the vase on the counter. “I’ll arrange them later. Let me get my coat, and then I’m ready.”
“Bye!” Janey said. “Have a wonderful time!”
* * *
Five hours later,Quinn opened the door to the living room quietly, all but holding her breath. It was dark on the ground floor, but she’d seen that from outside. She switched on the light.
No Beckett on the couch, like she’d half-expected. She took off her coat and set down her purse, headed toward the kitchen, then stopped and pulled off her boots. They were loud, and if everybody was asleep …
