“Hi,” I say back, glad she’s not doing her routine of pretending I’m not here today. It would be too obvious, and Quinn is above that.
“Where’s Kara?” she asks Dean.
“Home, doing homework. I think she’s regretting going for her master’s degree now.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.” Quinn wrinkles her nose and dammit, she looks so adorable. “I’m so glad I’m done with school.”
“Me too.” Dean gives me a look. “How long have you been in school now?”
“I’ve lost count,” I say back with a smile.
Quinn shifts her gaze to me, and our eyes meet for half a second. “What are you doing here?”
“I have an interview at the county hospital.”
“The county hospital?” she repeats in disbelief. “I thought you—never mind.” She forces a smile. “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll do great.”
Ouch. The indifference hurts. I’d rather her be mad at me.
“I’m sure he will.” Mrs. Dawson brings Quinn a plate of eggs. She eats every last bite.
“Where’s Dad?” she asks.
“At a house trying to finish some last minute things for the inspection tomorrow,” Dean answers.
“Why aren’t you there?” Quinn asks pointedly. “You do still want to take over the family business, right?”
Dean motions to me. “Archer’s in town. I rarely get to see this guy.” He puts his hands on the counter, pushing his stool back. “But I should get going and go to bed. The inspector is coming early tomorrow, I want to get there before he does, which means getting up at the asscrack of dawn.”
“It’s weird seeing you act all responsible,” Quinn jokes.
“Hey,” Dean starts. “You and Wes aren’t the only ones who can have adult jobs.”
“Right. But we are the only ones who know the details on the Batmobile. I wish I could show you the new developments.” Quinn bites her lip like she’s thinking. “Well, maybe I can. I have a few seconds of footage I recorded on my phone. We have cell-scramblers all over the place, but I know the codes to get around it. Still, the footage is a little fuzzy.”
Quinn gets her phone from her purse. “I don’t know…I really shouldn’t.”
“Quinn,” Mrs. Dawson says sternly.
“I can show you too, Mom.”
“Better not risk getting in trouble with work,” Mrs. Dawson counters, but Dean’s already leaning in, eyes wide.
“Right.” Quinn puts her phone on the counter. “The cell-scramblers can encrypt footage taken and might be alerted when I press play anyway.”
She’s making it all up but sells it convincingly. I try not to laugh at Dean’s interest. Putting her fork on her plate, Quinn stands, only to grab onto the counter to steady herself.
“Are you all right, hun?” Mrs. Dawson asks.
“Yeah,” Quinn says, blinking rapidly. “Just got dizzy. It’s been happening lately from stress.” She shrugs. “It’s normal.”
“It’s actually not,” I counter. “You could be slightly dehydrated.”
Looking right past me, she nods. “I’ll drink some water.” She puts her plate in the dishwasher. Without a word to me, she goes into the living room with her mother to talk.
Before we slept together, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But now everything is painfully obvious. I can only hope it’s obvious to only us.
I wake up around two o’clock. After tossing and turning for a bit, I give up and get out of bed. I’m in a guest room upstairs, the one right next to Quinn’s room. Knowing she’s in bed alone just yards from me is part of the problem.
She’s so close yet so far and I can’t go to sleep knowing she’s right there. There’s so much I want to say—hell, so much I need to say—but don’t know how to start. My bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, which creaks slightly under my weight. The entire house has been restored top to bottom, but holds onto its century-old charm, including the original creaky floors.
Opening the bedroom door, I pause before going down the hall. Quinn’s door is cracked open to allow the dogs to come in and out. Moonlight streams through her open window, and I can see her dark silhouette lying in the bed. She rolls over, and my heart skips a beat.
Fuck, I miss her.
Rufus, who’s sleeping on the foot of her bed, looks up at me, lazily seeing who’s walking about before going back to sleep. I go downstairs to the kitchen, where I get myself a glass of milk and a few of the cookies Mrs. Dawson made earlier.
Looking out the windows at the dark yard, I eat and try not to think. Even on nights when I’m exhausted from being on my feet for hours on end, this happens. Random thoughts go through my mind, keeping me from sleep. Coming to the Dawson’s farm used to be my reprieve when I was in college, but now, I’m uneasy.
And it’s all my fault.
I’m finishing my last cookie when the stairs creak. At first, I think it’s one of the dogs, but the lack of jingling dog tags lets me know it’s a human.
“Oh,” Quinn’s voice comes from behind me. I turn, taking in the sight of her in her pajama shorts and tight tank top. She’s obviously not wearing a bra, and her long, lean legs are hardly covered by the shorts.
If she turns around and I see her sweet, supple ass, I’m screwed.
“I didn’t know you were down here,” she murmurs.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, brushing the crumbs from my hands. I’m only in my boxers, not expecting anyone to join me. Quinn lets her eyes linger on my body for a moment before looking away. She smooths out her shirt, pulling the collar up, trying to cover herself, and looks so uncomfortable.
“Neither could I,” she admits and opens the fridge, rooting around until she finds a can of ginger ale.
“Not feeling well?”
She pops the top and shrugs. “I’ve had an upset stomach off and on all week.”
“As well as feeling dizzy?”
“Don’t try to diagnose me, Archer,” she snaps and takes a sip. “I’m tired and stressed from a current work situation, that’s all.”
“I can relate to that. I’m glad you’re here then. You can rest and relax.”
“Really, Archer? You’re glad I’m here? Could have fooled me.” She starts to leave.
“Quinn, wait.”
“What do you want?” she snaps. Her hand flies to the space between her eyes, rubbing her forehead as if she has a headache. “Sorry. Wait, no. I’m not sorry.”
“Fair enough. I think we should talk.”
“Listen, Archer,” she says and takes another sip of ginger ale, looking a little green. Letting out a sigh, she pushes her hair over her shoulder. I swallow hard, wanting more than anything to trail my fingertips over her collarbone again. To taste her lips on mine, to feel her under me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
One of the dogs comes down the stairs and goes right to the back door, ringing the bell.
“Really?” Quinn sighs, setting down her drink. “You don’t have to go out, Boots.”
The little dog hits the bell again.
“Fine.” She disarms the alarm system before opening the back door. “Oh, shit.”
She disappears onto the deck. I stand and go out after her, shutting the door behind me.
“Quinn?” I call into the dark, catching a glimpse of her long hair in the wind as she runs toward the gate at the back of the fenced-in yard. The open gate.
Oh shit is right.
“Boots!” she calls. “Get back here!” She stops at the edge of the yard, hand over her mouth.
“Did you see where he went?”
“No,” she says, close to tears. “I didn’t know the gate was open. It’s dark and it’s late and there are coyotes out here.”
“Stay here and keep calling him. I’ll go get your shoes and a flashlight.”
I hurry back into the house, shove my bare feet into my running shoes, and grab Quinn’s sandals. Remembering the flashlights and candles Mrs. Dawson got ou
t from under the sink during the storm, I open the cabinet and find two.
The Dawsons own the farmland surrounding their house but lease it out to farmers. About half an acre of grass is fenced in, and that’s divided with another fence, keeping the pool locked up safely from the animals or any children.
“Here,” I say, giving Quinn her shoes and a flashlight. The night air is chilly, and she’s covered in goosebumps. Her pert nipples are obvious through her thin tank top, but now’s not the time to lust over how incredibly sexy Quinn is.