Sweet Stuff (7 page)

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Authors: Donna Kauffman

BOOK: Sweet Stuff
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“Brutus!”
Quinn felt more dock vibrations and turned to see the star of his cupcake fantasies running down the pier, blond curls bouncing. Well, more than just the blond curls, if he were honest. And it might have been the other bouncing things that distracted him momentarily from responding.
Yeah. Definitely need to get a life.
Of course, if he knew how, wouldn’t he already have one? Perhaps he should tell Finch to put it on the schedule. If anyone could figure it out, it would be his PA—Who was, for all practical purposes, more like his manager David’s PA—since Quinn didn’t work well with people actually underfoot. All he knew was, between the two of them, they expertly handled all the career and business stuff that didn’t involve actually writing the books. Maybe they could arrange a social life for him while they were at it.
“I’m so sorry!” Riley called out, huffing a little as she also skidded to a stop a few feet from his damp form. “I was putting my bags on the pier back there, only took my eyes off him for one second. He usually doesn’t go after anyone like that. I’m not even sure how he knew it was you, all the way down here.” She framed her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun, so she could smile up at him. “He likes you.”
She had dimples. How had he missed that the other day? Of course she had dimples. They suited her completely. They also made his body stir, which was nuts. Sunny freckles, apple cheeks, ringlets and now, dimples. Not remotely his speed. At the very least, she was definitely not the type of woman who might actually follow through on that fantasy he’d had in the shower. Much less the one he’d had later that night. Or the following morning in the shower. Again. Not because he wanted to have them, they just kept ... appearing. It was the other part of having a very vivid imagination. Sometimes it handed him things he didn’t ask for.
With this added detail, he had a strong suspicion his vivid imagination wasn’t done toying with his subconscious quite yet.
Yeah. Really bad idea, remembering the cupcake fantasies. The way that delectable dab of chocolate had clung to those ridiculously earthy lips she had, smack in the middle of that girl-next-door face. And there was the matter of that body. That body could fulfill dreams he hadn’t even thought up yet. As long as they didn’t try anything particularly acrobatic, he amended, recalling her less than graceful treadmill dismount and general banging about in the kitchen.
He shifted his stance and looked out across the water, to where Brutus was presently paddling around. “Is he going to be okay out there? Do we need some kind of doggie life preserver?”
“He’ll be fine. He’ll come back over and I’ll haul him up. The floating docks are good that way.”
Quinn slanted her a look. “You
pull
him up? How many times do you end up in the water with him?”
The dimples deepened when she laughed. “Pretty much as often as you think I do. But he doesn’t dive in often.” She glanced up at him. “What brings you down here? Did you get the notes I sent to your personal assistant? Mr. Fincher? He’s very nice, by the way. Super ... efficient.”
Quinn smiled. “Yes, Finch is definitely that.” He might have phrased it as anal-retentive perfectionist, but, as he directly benefited from Finch’s retentiveness, it didn’t much matter how it was described. “And yes, everything came through fine. I appreciate your getting the necessary approvals and whatnot, so that I could keep the contents of the house for the duration of my stay. And so quickly. I was able to move in day before yesterday, ahead of the weekend schedule.”
“Good. I’m glad it all went smoothly.”
“I also made sure Finch and my manager David mentioned to Lois how pleased I was with your work and your help. I didn’t realize you’d staged the house.”
She tilted her head slightly to one side, clearly bemused. “What did you think I did?”
He smiled. “You mean after I realized you were work-jogging?”
He watched her cheeks bloom, and thought she might be the first woman he’d met who couldn’t hide a single thing she was feeling. Her fair skin acted as a veritable bulletin board for her thoughts. She probably hated it. He found it rather tantalizing. And maybe a little adorable. She’d probably hate that last thought, too. Something about how she carried herself, the alertness that was always there in her eyes, and the bit of a shield she kept up, despite her sunny and outgoing nature, told him her waters ran a lot deeper than the dimples and freckles, curls and cleavage combination that what likely led most people to believe.
She cleared her throat. “Um, yes, after that part.”
“Well—and don’t take this as an insult—but initially I thought maybe the super-efficient Finch had set up a maid service for me.”
She frowned. “Really. Before you even got there?”
Quinn flashed a grin. “He is amazingly efficient.” She wasn’t smiling. “Not that you looked like a maid! Anything but,” he hurried to say.
“I’ve got nothing against maids,” she said.
“It’s just, Finch is also something of a ... uh ... caretaker, constantly nagging me to get more life in my life, if you know what I mean. So ... at the time, it didn’t entirely surprise me that perhaps he’d set up something like that because you’re ... uh—” He stopped, somewhat mortified to realize the hole he’d somehow dug for himself. He was usually the observer, watching other people chatter on. He was never the guy talking. Always the guy watching. The guy watching never got in trouble for opening his big, fat mouth, and inserting his foot.
“I think I get where you’re going.” Her tone was more acerbic than insulted. “And, clearly, I wasn’t that.”
“Right.” He was relieved that she seemed to be taking his unintended slight with grace. “No, that I knew, obviously. Don’t worry. I just wasn’t sure what it was you did do.”
That made her cheeks darken further, only he wasn’t sure it was due to embarrassment. Not if the quick flash he’d seen in her eyes was any indication.
“So, after you safely determined that your PA couldn’t have possibly hired me to see to your ... personal needs—and by the way, is that a service he performs often for you? Because I have a really hard time believing, even if you were stranded in the remotest part of the desert or at the ends of an arctic tundra, that somehow, someway, you wouldn’t find a willing partner, all on your own.”
“First, no, he never has. He’s just been more than typically concerned about me lately, and ... well, his skill set runs more to the logical, linear solution than to the more socially acceptable ones. And, secondly, thank you. I think.” Quinn had no idea how he’d arrived at this particular conversational juncture, but knew he had only himself to blame for the understandably wary concern still on her face. So maybe Finch wasn’t the appropriate go-to guy for Quinn’s Getting a Life campaign after all.
“So, when you ruled out the Julia Roberts
Pretty Woman
gig, and the J.Lo maid gig, what did you think I was doing there?”
“Working for Lois, I guess, in some capacity. Assistant? I wasn’t certain. But I wish I hadn’t brought any of this up, because clearly I’ve offended you and I sincerely didn’t mean to. All I wanted to tell you was how impressed I was with everything you’ve done. I hadn’t looked at the entire house while I was there—”
“Wait, back up.” She frowned as if something had just occurred to her. “You sort of fudged over it, but how could Finch have already reserved some kind of ‘maid service,’ ”—she used air quotes around that last part, and for the first time in pretty much as long as he could remember, his cheeks were the ones growing warm—“and had me already there before you’d even decided to lease the place? Didn’t you put that into motion while I was getting Jeffy and T-Bone to set up the baby grand?”
“Right. That. Well, actually, I’d already put David in touch with Scary Lois. He handles all the personal contracts, my regular agent only handles dealings that directly relate to the work itself.”
“You know, you really have to stop calling her that or somehow, someway, it will come back to bite me. I can’t believe I ever said that out loud. Only, of course I did.”
He smiled at that. She was such an unusual woman, this odd mix of someone with easily tweaked red cheeks but otherwise outspoken and pretty direct about most everything else.
“I’ll do my best. And if I screw up, I’ll take the blame. Just tell her I’m developing this amazing real estate character or something.”
“I don’t know that she’d be flattered to think you’d be making her some kind of intimidating villain—wait a minute, what am I saying? She’d be all over that.”
Quinn laughed. “Then we’re covered.”
“So, then, you’d just leased the place sight unseen?”
“Well, I’d seen the brochure photos and write up, but, to be honest, I would have taken any place available on Sugarberry where I’d have unlimited privacy. You can’t get that at a bed and breakfast, which was all that was available.”
“It’s true. Once folks come here, they tend to stick around. I can speak to that personally.”
“I was excited when I found out there was a place available. When you were with the movers, I confirmed with David and Finch that after seeing it, I hadn’t changed my mind. I told them to finish up the paperwork.”
“And to politely decline the maid service.” She didn’t use air quotes that time, and her self-deprecating smile had returned in full. “Thank you. For the good review to Lois. Your endorsement means a lot. Especially considering the ... uh, work-jogging.”
He grinned and her cheeks warmed a bit again. She felt it and purposefully turned around, ostensibly to keep track of Brutus, who had paddled around to the other side of the dock, but Quinn was pretty sure it was to hide her face from him.
Given his cloddish, ungentlemanly commentary, he could hardly blame her, but he wished she wasn’t self-conscious about the blushing. It wasn’t like she could help it. It was the contrast between the old-fashioned courtesan curves and straight-shooter personality that made her all the more interesting to him.
“The good review was sincere,” he said, shifting so he stood beside her. He noted she kept her face framed from the sun as she looked over the water, but switched to using her left hand, to block her face from him as well. It shouldn’t have bugged him. He shouldn’t have cared if she wanted to hide. From him, or anything else. But it did bug him—which meant he did care.
He should probably cut that out. Any time now.
“The thing I made sure David mentioned to Lois specifically was how much the house felt like a home, like someone had already been living in it. You did a wonderful job keeping it sophisticated enough to match all the over-the-top upgrades, but you did an even better job of keeping it comfortable. I’ve rented other places that looked great in a magazine layout, but I couldn’t sit anywhere, or touch anything for fear of leaving footprints or fingerprints. Those places leave me feeling like an intruder. But the bungalow ... I really like it.”
He hadn’t mentioned to Finch or David that perhaps he really liked it because he knew she’d had a hand in designing the décor. Or because his recollections of her being in the house made him smile. Mostly because he hadn’t been aware that was true until this very moment.
“Why do you lease places that leave you cold?” she asked, still without turning to him. “At the very least, why not refurnish it to your own taste?”
He laughed at that.
“What’s funny? I mean, I don’t want to be rude or indelicate, but I’m guessing it’s not a financial worry for you. Is it that you don’t stick around long enough, so it’s not worth the effort?”
“Sometimes, but it wouldn’t matter. Because I haven’t the first clue what my style is. Other than I know it—”
“When I see it,” she finished, nodding. “It always amazes me how many people are like that. I mean, I guess I understand it doesn’t matter to everyone, but, speaking for me personally, I can’t imagine not being influenced by my surroundings. As a writer, I’d think it would be imperative to be comfortable, or to set a certain tone or vibe. Or whatever it is you need to get your head in the space it has to be in.”
“I don’t know if that’s so much a thing for me. All I really need is quiet. When I sink into the work, the world around me goes away. All I see is whatever I’m writing. The rest of the time ... yes, I guess I do notice. And I want to be relaxed, comfortable. But I don’t know that I’ve put any real energy into figuring out what works best or why. All I can say is, I knew I liked the cottage the moment I saw it.”
She glanced up at him, then back at the water again. “Even the baby grand?” she asked. “You don’t strike me as a baby grand guy.”
“Why not?”
“No particular reason. I guess it’s that comfortable, lived-in vibe you spoke of. If that draws you, then I’d think the baby grand would be a little over the top. I worried about putting it in there, but Lois was adamant about having a few big statement showpieces. I was going for something more like a pool table or even foosball, but she—”
“Foosball,” he repeated, with fond reminiscence. “Haven’t seen one of those, or played on one since college. That would have been classic.”
“I could have the piano removed. Put the foosball in, or the pool table, or maybe some more workout equipment. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two, to—”

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