“Since I was a kid. Mom got me started. It was one way to keep me distracted so I didn’t drive her crazy.” He smoothly caught the limes and flashed Sarah another grin. “Ask her sometime. I was a handful. She used to drop me off at the rink for hours at a time. She was trying to wear me out so she could deal with me.”
“Like Michael Phelps, but on ice? Turned out well for MP.”
“Yeah, I guess it turned out well for me too.” His expression suddenly morphed into something akin to sadness. In that moment, his eyes reminded her of hot fudge sauce. Warm, dark, deep.
She gave herself anotherinner shake. “Was it a bad thing that it turned out well for you?”
“It was for my dad and my brother, Ronan.” He stared at her for a beat, as if he had something else he wanted to say. Instead, he seemed to snap back from wherever he’d gone. “Welp, if I’m gonna get another workout in, I’d better hop to it and let you get back to your trashy novels.” His teasing tone was back, and he winked at her. It should have annoyed the hell out of her, but something—she had no idea what—had temporarily dulled her desire to fire back an insult.
“I thought you were done working out?”
“I’m a little restless.”
“Any luck with the TP?”
“No.” He suddenly looked stricken. “Oh shit! I totally forgot about the flour.”
“I’ll go tomorrow.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have laundry to wrangle? I’ll go. It was my screw-up.” He turned and trotted away.
What? Somewhere in her addled brain, it occurred to her that the last few sentences of their conversation made up a rare civilized exchange between them since she’d moved to Denver.
They were cleaning up after dinner while Liz was engrossed in a romcom and petting Archer, who was, as usual, by her side in the family room.
Quinn stacked plates beside the sink for Sarah to rinse. “So. Wolf. Is that short for Wolfgang? Like the composer or Eddie Van Halen’s kid?”
She whipped her head toward him but didn’t see a telltale smirk. Still, her stomach clenched. “No. Just Wolf.”
“That should’ve been your first clue the guy was a piece of work.” He laughed out loud, and her clench turned to flaring white heat.
“Meaning what?” She shoved the rinsed plates at him and barked, “Dishwasher,” not bothering to hold back her irritation.
Quinn flinched but managed to take the stack from her. “Meaning he’s a tweeze because he was raised by parents who named him after a shaggy animal that howls. And if they’re not the ones guilty of giving him the lame name, it means he named himself, which makes him an even bigger tweeze.”
This brought her to an abrupt stop. She turned and faced him, fist on her hip. “As usual, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. I think the name is incredibly strong and sexy.”
“Yeah, well, you would.” As he arranged the dishes in the dishwasher, he calmly added, “Jar, Sunshine.”
“For what?” she whisper-screeched.
“You said ‘no fucking clue.’ That’s a fiver.”
A laugh from the family room startled them both. They peeked from the kitchen and spied Liz rubbing her hands together. She did that a lot whenever one of them tossed out a blue word. “This is by far the easiest job I’ve ever had! And the best paying!”
Shit! What else did Liz hear? A flush crept up Sarah’s neck, and she tiptoed back to the sink, out of sight, stifling a groan.
Quinn retreated too. “Who says the money in the jar is for you, Mom?” He stabbed his finger toward the family room and whispered to Sarah, “Mom radar.” Then he pointed to the back of his head, then at his eyes.
“She might be worse than my mom,” Sarah mouthed back. They shared a snicker, which surprised her because she felt as though she’d just landed in the Quinn camp. Oddly nice.
“Well, then, what are you going to do with it all? There’s a small fortune in those jars,” his mother called back.
Without missing a beat, he yelled, “Thought I’d donate it to help out folks who are losing their jobs because of COVID.”
Sarah’s eyes shot to his, but he wasn’t looking at her. Is he serious? A cursory sweep of his face told her he was. She could’ve been knocked over with a feather at this unexpected gesture.
“Oh, Quinnie, that’s a wonderful idea. You’re always so thoughtful like that.”
“It’s not that big a deal, Mom.” There was a trace of peevishness in his voice. His cheekbones were flushed bright pink, and he fidgeted, seeming to avoid Sarah’s stare. When he finally darted a glance at her, he tossed out an annoyed-sounding, “What? Don’t you need to finish cleaning up?”
She opened her mouth automatically to hurl a barb as yet unformed but stopped herself. Why wasn’t this egomaniac soaking up the compliment and growing even cockier? Instead, he seemed embarrassed, almost as if he’d been outed for a good deed.
Abruptly, he headed for his wing with a “’Night.”
Huh. What other surprises was Quinn Hadley hiding?
Restless and unsure why, Quinn retreated to the gym for one more session once dinner finally settled in his stomach. Two hours later, his jolting energy somewhat dissipated, he walked into a deserted kitchen. He pulled a cold bottle of water from the fridge and placed it against his sweaty forehead while he caught his breath. The kitchen was dim, lit only by the under-cabinet lighting. Where was everybody? Even Archer was MIA.
A faint noise tickled his ears, and he paused to listen. It sounded like … high-pitched voices? He wandered to the French doors that led outside and peered through. The deck was submerged in darkness. Then a motion caught his eye, and he lasered in on it. Two dark shapes hovered by the hot tub. He’d solved the mystery of the noise only to ponder a
