He lifted a brow, his expression amused, but he said nothing. Silence stretched, and Charity stirred on the bench, feeling the frantic flutter of butterflies in her middle.
“Are you ready for another confession?” she asked after a moment.
“I think I can handle the shock.”
She glanced at him swiftly and he was grinning, and she smiled crookedly, unable to resist him when he smiled at her.
“Go on,” he said. “I’ve braced myself.”
“I’m wildly attracted to you.”
“Wildly?” he repeated.
She nodded. “Like… yes.” She drew another swift, sharp breath, determined to get through this and just lay all her cards on the table. “My feelings aren’t easy to manage anymore, either. I thought if we kept things… platonic… I’d be okay around you. But my feelings just keep getting stronger, and I’m beginning to realize they’re not going to go away.”
“I’m just glad you’re figuring out what I already know.”
“And what is that?”
“That you’re meant to be mine.”
“How can you know that when we’ve had so little actual romance?”
“Every minute I spend with you is romantic.”
Heat rushed through her, and her pulse drummed. “And yet we only had that one little kiss in Wyoming.”
His broad shoulders shifted. “But it was a good one.”
She felt a funny little flutter in her middle and just talking about kissing made her lips tingle. “It was a good kiss. So good that sometimes all I can think about is kissing you again—”
The rest of her words were cut off by his mouth covering hers. His hand cupped her nape, and his thumb stroked her cheek and his lips felt even more amazing than she remembered.
Quinn didn’t hurry the kiss either. He took his time, deepening the kiss, parting her lips, and Charity was gone, lost in the pleasure, lost in him.
When he finally lifted his head, her heart pounded and her skin prickled and Charity gazed into his eyes thinking yes, yes, this was the one she’d been waiting for.
Chapter Nine
Charity was at her desk early Monday morning, a little nervous about the text Sam had sent her late last night, asking her to meet with him early in the morning.
Charity didn’t mind coming in early as she’d hoped she’d be able to leave early, too. The ping-pong balls were painted, but Mandy’s gown was still just a bolt of shimmering emerald-green satin. She also wanted to make something for herself if she could only figure out what she should wear.
The front door opened and Sam entered the office in a flurry of snow.
“It’s a cold one,” Sam said, removing his coat.
“The office was freezing this morning. You should be grateful I arrived first, otherwise your teeth would still be chattering.”
“Let me pour some coffee and then can you meet me in my office?” he asked.
“I’ll be right in.”
“Do you know what this is about?” he asked when she took a seat across from his desk.
She shook her head.
“I wish you’d told me things were escalating,” he said, picking up a pen and tapping it on his desk. “I don’t condone Greg’s behavior.”
Charity’s confusion cleared. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Bother me? Charity, I’m lucky to have you. I’d rather lose him than you.”
“Greg is an agent. He makes you money. I don’t.”
“People love you, though. Greg… not so much.” He leaned back in his chair. “I talked to him over the weekend. He understands that he’s on thin ice. I don’t expect you’ll have any more trouble from him.”
“That’s good.” She hesitated. “What did he say when you talked to him?”
“Oh, the usual bluster, but I’m not interested in his excuses. You’ve been here longer than he has. You have seniority. And I’d be a fool to let you go. Real estate is all about relationships, and customers love you. You make them feel good. That’s a gift.”
It was one of the nicest things Sam had ever said to her. “Thank you, Sam.”
“Which makes me wonder, do you want to do more here? Would you like to become a real estate agent? I’d be happy to cover the cost of classes and exam fees if that’s holding you back.”
She was touched, but at the same time, his generosity made her feel guilty because she had no desire to become a realtor. She knew the long hours it involved, and how competitive it could be and in all fairness, it just didn’t interest her that much. “It’s been a tough few weeks, and knowing I have you in my corner helps, but Sam, real estate as a career, isn’t for me. I hope you don’t mind that I’m content as I am—provided Greg gives me space.”
“He will.”
“How do you know that?”
“Let’s just say if I was Greg, I wouldn’t mess with Montana diplomacy.”
*
After work, Charity forced herself to stay home and focus on Amanda’s dress even though she was dying to head out to the Gallaghers to see Noel and Quinn. But she’d promised Amanda a dress and she would deliver. The floor-length dress would be made from a stunning emerald-green charmeuse, and she’d designed it with an hourglass shape. The sleeveless gown featured a draped cowl neckline that was just off the shoulder to better frame Mandy’s gorgeous face. The slim sheath silhouette gently flared below the hips to puddle at Mandy’s feet. The design wasn’t vintage but inspired by the 1940s clothing Amanda loved. With her hair pinned up and some pearl drop earrings—or even something sparkly—she’d be the belle of the ball.
Charity began sewing in sixth grade in an effort to make the dreadful hand-me-downs she and Amanda wore more appealing. It took her a couple of years, but she became an expert seamstress, learning to play with hems and seams, shoulders and necklines. She didn’t have money to go to a fabric store, and so she haunted the yard sales, picking up garments to remake in one of her own designs.
Charity loved experimenting with patterns, too, testing fabrics and how they’d hold up over time. By the time she was a sophomore in high school, she could sew anything. She made all of Mandy’s party and prom dresses at Marietta High, as well as anything else her sister needed, because Charity was determined Amanda should never feel inferior to anyone, for any reason.
Adjusting the lamp over her sewing table, Charity sat down at her sewing machine. As she eased the fabric under the needle she wondered again what she’d wear Saturday. The gown would have to be dramatic and elegant and wildly romantic. She pictured soft. No sequins. Nothing shiny. Nothing overly revealing either.
She could almost see it in her mind’s eye—delicate, an overlay of lace, bare shoulders, gleaming skin—but the rest of the details were still vague. Hopefully with a little bit of time the design would come to her as she wanted to look beautiful at Mistletoe and Montana for Quinn.
*
“I miss Rusty Noel,” she texted Quinn from her desk Tuesday afternoon.
He must have been in the middle of something as it took him a little bit to respond. “I knew you only liked me for my dog.”
She grinned, heart tumbling. She’d fallen hard for him. So hard. “It’s my dog,” she replied, before adding, “If it’s any consolation, I miss you, too.”
“Come work at my house tonight. That way you can spend the evening with Rusty Noel.”
That actually was a great idea. She’d love to be able to spread out her different tree projects, something she couldn’t do at her house on Chance Avenue. “What if I brought something for an early dinner? Could you sneak away for a half hour?”
“I’ll meet you at the house to let you in, but Sawyer warned me that this week is going to be busy so I won’t be able to stay long.”
“My plan is to be there by four, so I can get there before dark. Also, need your address.”
He sent her the address before adding, “Text me when you take the first turn off. I’ll leave the Gallaghers and meet you t
here.”
*
In the five years he’d owned his Paradise Valley house, Quinn had never invited his family to dinner. Of course they’d come over at different times, but he’d never thrown a party, or hosted a barbecue. He didn’t celebrate holidays here and there had never been guests taking advantage of the many guestrooms. Over the years, Alice had asked about his house, hinting she wanted to see it, but he’d never flown her out for a visit, reluctant to let her see what he’d built for his family one day, certain she’d find fault in decisions he’d made.
Quinn wasn’t sure what Charity would think of his house. Would she find it was too big, too imposing? Would she wonder who he was trying to impress?