Hope on the Rocks (Rainbow Cove)

Outside the SUV, the coastline sped by, gorgeous green and blue scenery I barely noticed, head trapped somewhere between the past and present.

“You’re pretty amazing. A lot of people would come through that bitter and angry, justifiably so.”

“I have my moments,” I admitted. I didn’t know why Quinn was so easy to talk to about this stuff. I hadn’t dredged up a lot of these memories in years because most people were aware of them and knew to avoid the topic with me. “But I can’t help Mom and Ramona if I get myself busted over a petty bar fight or something like that. And life’s too short to stew over all the bad crap.”

“Excellent advice.” Quinn went all thoughtful, likely thinking about his bad breakup again. He tended to go all bristly at the idea of moving on, so I let him have his thoughts and focused on the view outside the car until we reached the home store. It was large, but it was a local operation and tended to be a bit more unpredictable about what they stocked than a typical big-box store.

Like the huge bin of pillows right inside the door. The throw pillows were covered in various colors of fake fur and soft nubbly material, garish and probably discounted for a reason. But Quinn immediately headed for them.

“Oh! I didn’t know they carried things other than hardware.” He petted one of the softest pillows in a way that made me want to swap places with it. My opinion of the pillow, which was done in shades of blue, shifted with each pass of his hand.

“They gotta have some pretty stuff to pull the tourists in.” Reaching down, I tried to see the tag for the pillow without interrupting his petting.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if the cover zips off and is washable. It is. Get it,” I ordered, pointing to our empty cart.

“Oh no. I couldn’t.” A red stain crept steadily up his neck, and he dropped the pillow like it was a barbecue briquette.

“But you want it.” I said it like the fact it was. I was already looking forward to the sensation-play possibilities.

“It is nice, but…”

“It’s even blue. If you don’t buy it, I’m gonna get it, and it can live at your place. Help you sleep.”

“Okay, okay.” Quinn added it to the cart, mumbling something under his breath about bossy men.

I took advantage of him leaning over the cart to whisper in his ear, “Don’t tempt me to turn all mean Daddy on your ass.”

“Thought you were a nice one.” He looked more turned-on than alarmed, eyes going hot and a little wild.

“Didn’t say I couldn’t deliver a spanking if you earn one.” I kept my volume down but my voice firm, loving how his eyes went even brighter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Quinn quickly escaped, pushing the cart toward the paint section, and I let him. I’d get my chance to prove my point soon enough.

Twelve

Quinn

“Maybe this blue is too blue.” I was taking too long, dithering over paint choices. Adam was being kind, but I could tell that he was running out of patience. My first inclination was to choose a blue that was closer to gray. The truer blues seemed too bright.

“There’s such a thing?” Adam held up two of the paint cards I’d selected.

“Well, the article wasn’t entirely specific as to exactly which shades were best for sleep.” Not for the first time, I wished articles in popular magazines used peer-reviewed journal research standards. I wanted to know precisely how to duplicate their results.

“How about you trust your own taste instead of the research?” Adam handed the color cards back to me. “Which one do you like most?”

I held up one that I kept coming back to, a muted bluish purple that would look nice on the rare occasions I let light in, and it would also be pretty late at night with lamps too. “Well, this one is nice, but it’s more purple. It’s sure pretty though.”

“Sold.” Adam plucked the other choices from my hand and replaced them in the display, leaving me holding the lilac one. “I bet you sleep like a baby on Sunday after it dries. Spring for the low-odor eco formula, unless you want to sleep at my place Sunday, let it air out.”

“That’s an option?” I raised an eyebrow at how easily he could discuss things like spending the night that, in my experience, were more emotionally charged for most people. Or maybe only me. My limited sample size was not doing me any favors when it came to navigating whatever this arrangement with Adam was.

“Sleeping over? Yeah, sure. I’m not looking to punch a clock here. If we’re having a good time and we’re both tired, sleeping makes sense wherever it occurs.”