“Who would that be?” Tilda sounded frustrated.
Megan turned back to the group. “I can think of one or two people.”
“Who?” Ean sounded intrigued.
Megan shook her head. “Let me speak with them first.”
She suspected Ean wouldn’t support her idea, but she couldn’t allow that to dissuade her. The candidate to run against Ramona for mayor was about more than Ean. It was about the good of Trinity Falls—and, maybe, the good of the candidate.
Quincy adjusted his hold on the Trinity Falls Cuisine take-out bags and waited for Ramona to open her front door. When she did, Quincy had to remind himself to breathe. She always looked so beautiful. Like art. Just being near her disrupted his complex and noncomplex brain functions.
As usual, Ramona looked ready for a fashion photo session. Tonight she wore a long-sleeved bronze jersey, which flowed over her sensuous curves. Her black skinny pants showcased her dancer’s long legs. His eyes traced the limbs to her bare feet, accented with bronze toenail polish the exact color of her jersey.
“I asked, what are you doing here?” Ramona’s ebony eyes twinkled with humor.
She’d had to repeat herself. Quincy battled back a blush. Thirty-two-year-old men should never blush. “You offered to help me celebrate the possibility of my new job.”
Ramona’s smile broke free. She crossed her arms and cocked her right hip. “And you turned me down.”
Keep breathing. Start talking. Don’t stare. “I changed my mind.” He nodded toward the paper bags in his arms.
Ramona’s arched brows lifted. “You brought me takeout from the Trinity Falls Cuisine?”
“That depends. Are you going to invite me in?”
Her cheeks flushed beneath her perfect makeup. Ramona stepped back. “Of course.”
Quincy had never been to her home. He crossed the threshold and entered a world of perfect white. He hesitated, then toed off his shoes, using his feet to tuck them into a corner together. “Nice place.”
Ramona watched his movements with an approving expression. Quincy’s confidence increased. He peeked into the rooms they passed as he followed her down the hallway to her kitchen. It didn’t strike him as an accidental oversight that Ramona, the granddaughter of bookstore owners, didn’t have a single bookcase in her home.
“What made you change your mind about celebrating with me?” Ramona stood too close to him as he unpacked the bags, placing the covered to-go dishes and plastic ware on the dining-room table.
It was scary, feeling this vulnerable. It was worse than lining up against a defensive lineman on the football field; worse even than his first day of class as a university professor.
“I thought you deserved a second chance.” Quincy finished arranging the table, then held a chair for Ramona as she sat.
She uncovered her dish. The fragrant scents of lemon, herbs, fish and fresh vegetables escaped into the room. “Salmon. Thank you.”
Quincy settled into the seat across the table from her and uncovered his steak, potatoes and broccoli. The surprised pleasure in her voice was more gratifying than a touchdown. “And it’s fresh. I asked three times.”
Ramona’s startled laughter held a hint of embarrassment. Her elegant café au lait features grew pink.
They ate in silence for a time before Ramona spoke. “It took me a while to realize that your mean comments to me were the grown man’s version of a little boy tugging the pigtails of the girl he liked.”
He had to swallow his bite of steak twice. “Is that so?”
“You know it is.” Ramona sent him a coquettish look. “It’s been six years. Why haven’t you asked me out?”
“Would you have agreed if I had?”
“No.” Apparently, she didn’t have to consider the question.
Quincy’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Then you have your answer.” Being right wasn’t always a good feeling.
Ramona shrugged one sexy shoulder. “You still could have tried. That’s another thing. Why are you attracted to me? I mean, I know men find me attractive, but why do you find me attractive?”
He’d often wondered the same thing. “I don’t know.”