“Water.”
“Ice?”
“Don’t go to any trouble,” he said.
“No trouble. I have to add it to Tess’s, anyway.”
“You’re not having any wine?” Quinn asked Tess when Charlie had left the room.
“I rarely do. Long story.”
Tess led him into the kitchen. Charlie handed him a glass and then pulled the bruschetta from the oven. “I’ll be right back. Jack’s nearly finished at the grill.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Quinn asked.
“Got it under control, thanks.” Charlie stepped outside.
Tess rummaged through Charlie’s odds-and-ends drawer, looking for some scissors. “I hear you have a daughter,” she mentioned casually. The statement was a legitimate conversation starter. Not an interrogation.
“Yeah.”
“How old is she?”
“Ten.”
Tess waited for him to offer more information, but it wasn’t coming. She found a pair of shears and glanced around the room, wondering where Charlie kept her vases. No use spending too much time looking. Charlie probably didn’t own a vase.
Tess searched the cupboards, hoping for a pitcher or a jar. “What’s her name?”
“Rosie.”
“Rosie Quinn. I like it.” She discovered a fat ceramic mug and decided she could cut the stems shorter than usual for a compact bouquet. “Where is she tonight?” Tess asked in an offhand manner.
“With a friend.”
Tess wondered if the friend was a classmate of his daughter’s or a grown-up acquaintance of Quinn’s, and then she decided she didn’t really care. She didn’t need to know all the details of his personal life in order to work with him. And she didn’t like to snoop, not really. It wasn’t her style.
She filled the mug with water and picked up one of the stems, gauging the best spot to make the cut. She’d merely been making an attempt at a casual conversation, using one of the oldest tricks in the social manual: getting the man to talk about himself. If he wouldn’t cooperate, they wouldn’t have a conversation.
Or they could have a conversation of a different kind. They could talk about her. Or she could choose a topic he’d be in a big hurry to change.
She turned with the flower in her hand and an overly bright smile on her face. “It looks like all that’s left is the flower arranging. You can help with that…while we get to know each other better.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
QUINN SLICED through one of the stems the way Tess had shown him while she fussed over the cut flowers in the mug and babbled about Charlie’s upcoming wedding. He had a suspicion she was going on about flowers and cake and other girl-talk just to give him some grief, but he wasn’t sure why. Not this time.
She usually gave him grief because he wasn’t the one she’d wanted working with her on Tidewaters. That was too damn bad, because he wasn’t going away. He thought they’d make a good team, if she could ever manage to pull that length of rebar out of her butt.
Until then, he’d just have to shut up, wait her out and get his part of the job done.
“Are you from around here?” she asked in another sudden shift in topic.
“Yeah.”
She gave him a look that let him know there’d soon be more grief headed his way, but then her mouth curved again in that creepy smile, the one she’d been wearing since he walked in the door.
“Were you born here, then?” she asked.
God. More small talk. The from-the-beginning stuff. He stared out the window and took another gulp of water, hoping the steaks would be ready soon. “Yeah.”
“Fascinating.”
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t.” She crammed the flowers into the fat mug and leaned back against the counter, facing him. “I was born in a circus wagon somewhere on the road between Budapest and Paris.”
He glanced over at her, trying to ignore the witchy challenge in her eyes, wondering what had inspired that off-the-wall comment, while waiting to find out what crazy thing she’d say or do next. Hoping for a clue to her mood.
“Hell of a long stretch of road,” he said at last.
“Not for us traveling circus performers.”
He tried to remain motionless, but his mouth twitched at one corner. “This must be part of that long story you mentioned.”
“Yeah,” she said.
Jack entered with a platter held high, out of reach of the drooling black Lab at his heels. “Evenin’, Quinn. Good to see you.”
“Good to be here.”
And it was. It was pleasant, for a change, to visit with grown-ups in an informal social setting. He returned Charlie’s smile as she passed by with a bowl of potatoes, and he chatted with Jack about the day’s pour, and he chuckled at the dog’s attempts to beg without getting caught. And he ignored Tess while she made a fuss over placing the flowers precisely in the center of the big, round table.
The flowers did look good, though. Pretty, especially the way Tess had arranged them. Dinner looked good, too. Simple, mouthwatering food. Except for those fancy little tomatoey things on the snack-size pieces of bread. Those seemed like something Tess would come up with.
A few minutes later, with a steak on his plate and the conversation flowing comfortably around him, Quinn began to relax. The camaraderie of this group of old friends made it easy for him to fade into the background, where he preferred to be. And the fact that Charlie and Jack were keeping Tess on a short leash helped, too.
He glanced across the table at her, watching those long, lovely hands gesture and her expressive eyes darken as she argued with Jack about Little League snack-shack politics. Vibrant and passionate, she was the kind of woman who liked a lot of drama in her life. The kind of woman who could wear a man out, in bed and out of it. Quinn sure didn’t need any more drama in his life, but damn, a taste of Tess might be worth the exhaustion.
He wondered if he’d get a chance to ask her about her childhood circus experiences. He was looking forward to it.
“Here, Quinn.” Jack offered a second serving of salad and then helped himself to another scoop. “You know, I was surprised it took Geneva as long as it did to get the city council to grant her Tidewaters permit.”
“There’s been a history of opposition to any development along the waterfront.” Tess shrugged. “It’s a handy location to spotlight. An easy focal point for the anti-growth crowd to use to drum up support for their cause.”
“This particular project sure has people worked up.” Jack paused to sip some wine. “I can see why they’re concerned. It’s a pretty spot.”
“I may never be able to convince the people who prefer a patch of grass to a stretch of pavement that a new building can be a good thing.” Tess twisted the stem of her water glass. “But I happen to think my design is an improvement on that vacant, weed-filled lot.”
Jack nodded. “It is indeed.”
“And when it’s finished,” Tess continued, “it’ll generate plenty of tax revenue for the community.”
“You know I agreed with all your arguments,” Jack told her with one of his easy grins.
“I think the best thing about the design,” Charlie said, “is that it won’t compete with the surrounding buildings or setting. It’ll fit right in. Look like it was meant to be there, all along.”
“It’ll look better than that.” Quinn cleared his throat as the others at the table looked in his direction. “It’ll be the most beautiful building in Carnelian Cove. Tess is going to be buried with work once people see what she can do.”
He’d been staring at her as he spoke, so he’d seen her hands sink to her lap and her cheeks turn pink with a surprising and endearing blush. She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, and then she grabbed her water glass and took a deep sip.
“You’re right,” Jack said. “It’s a clever design, as Tess has reminded us plenty of times,” he added with a wink. “An asset to the waterfront.”
“Still,” Charlie said, frowning, “some people are pretty worked up about it. I thought once the construction started, the letters to the editor would stop appearing in
“Any more problems, anyway,” Jack said.
“I don’t want any.” Quinn waited for Tess’s eyes to meet his. “That’s why I’m taking precautions.”
“The fence?” she asked.
“It’s a start.” He picked up his fork and poked at his salad. “I don’t usually bother fencing in my sites.”
“You told me that was for insurance purposes.”
“There’s all kinds of insurance,” Quinn said as he glanced around the table. “And all kinds of trouble.”
TESS DROVE to the job site after dinner. The conversation at the table had worried her, and she wouldn’t be able to relax and fall asleep tonight unless she checked things out for herself.
A set of high-rise headlights settled behind her as she made the final turn toward the waterfront, and the deep rumble of a big truck’s engine closed in on her roadster as she pulled to the curb. Quinn. Of course.
She scooted out of her car and started toward the silvery fence, carefully picking her way over uneven ground outlined in moonlight and pockmarked with shadow. A few seconds later, the thin beam of a flashlight swept across her path.
“You’re going to twist your ankle,” Quinn said from behind her.
“I can see just fine in the dark,” Tess said, although the beam was a definite improvement.
“Like a cat.”
