The Good Girl's Second Chance (The Bravos Of Justice Creek 2) Page 4

  This was all news to Quinn. But not bad news. He asked cautiously, “And this is a problem somehow?”

  “Well, after Manny and Annabelle left, I started wondering if you even knew that he was planning to hire me. I thought I should, you know, check with you, make certain you’re on board with Manny’s plan...” Her voice trailed off.

  He watched her try not to fidget. And the longer he sat there looking at her, the more he came to grips with the fact that the one night he’d had with her wasn’t enough. Luckily for him, her signal came through loud and clear: she felt the same way.

  No, he had no time for romance.

  But for a woman like Chloe, he might just have to make time.

  Should he be pissed off at Manny for taking the situation into his battered old hands? Probably. Manny had no business butting in.

  But Quinn had just spent a week keeping himself from climbing the hill to get to her. Manny’s bold move had brought her right to him. Pissed off? Hardly. Downright grateful was more like it.

  Not that he’d ever admit that to Manny.

  A small, embarrassed sound escaped her. “Oh, God. You didn’t know, did you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Manny’s in charge of the house and we agreed when we bought the place that it would need major upgrades. It’s his call who he hires to make that happen.”

  “So you’re okay with it—with me, working in your house?”

  He was more than just okay with it. “Sounds like a good idea to me—I mean, if you’re willing.”

  She gave him one of those glowing smiles that could light up the blackest night. “Well, then. Yes. I’m willing, definitely.” She got up. “So, then, I guess I should be...”

  He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. He pushed back his chair. “Now that you’re here, how ’bout I show you around?”

  “The gym, you mean?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yes. Yes, I would like that.”

  “Well, okay, then. This way...”

  * * *

  Chloe followed Quinn past the reception area, into a series of wood-floored classrooms with mirrored walls and different kinds of equipment stacked in the corners. In one, a fitness ball class was in progress. In another, the participants were paired up for intense stretching. They went upstairs to the second floor and the giant cardio room as well as a room with all kinds of weight machines and one with boxing equipment and two rings.

  He explained that Prime Fitness tried to offer something for everyone. “We have martial arts for all ages, boxing, kickboxing, general fitness and yoga classes...”

  She listened and nodded, just glad to be walking along beside him, glad that he seemed to want to keep her there longer, to be drawing the moments out before she left.

  On the top floor there was a beginning women’s self-defense class in progress. They watched through the observation window as a big guy in a padded suit tried to take down a woman about Chloe’s size. The woman shouted and fought him off violently, kicking and slugging at him, spinning away and sprinting off as soon as she got the guy to let go of her.

  Watching that made Chloe’s mouth go dry and her palms feel clammy. It made her think of Ted and how she ought to be better prepared if anyone ever hit her or threatened her again.

  “What do you think?” Quinn asked.

  She turned to him, met those wonderful, watchful eyes. “I think I might want to take a class like this.”

  There was a bench a few feet away. He backed up and sat down. She left the viewing window and sat beside him.

  He said, “This class is wrapping up. A new one will start next week, and there’s an evening class, too. Starts in two weeks. It’s an eight-week course, one two-hour class per week.”

  “I’ll be fighting off guys in padded suits for eight weeks?”

  He shook his head. “No. Initially there are sessions on staying out of violent confrontations in the first place.”

  “How?”

  He chuckled. “What? You want an outline of the course?”

  “Can you give me one?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am, yes.”

  He watched her for a long moment. And then he shrugged. “Well, all right. The class starts with a section on the nature of predators. Basically there are two types. Resource and process. Resource predators want your stuff. Process predators are in it for the power and the thrill. They want to mess you over. They actually enjoy committing crimes. The class shows you how to identify what kind of scumbag you’re faced with and how to deal with him. Next comes a study of avoidance, because the best option is always steering clear of any situation where you could get hurt. After avoidance, there’s a section on deescalating conflict. If you can’t escape trouble before it happens, the second-best option is to diffuse it. And finally you’ll learn how to fight off an attack.”

  “Wow,” she said, and wondered if any guy ever looked as good in shorts and a T-shirt as Quinn did. And he smelled so good, too. Clean. Just sweaty enough to be exciting...

  He grunted. “See? More information than you needed or wanted.”

  She shook her head. “That was exactly what I wanted to know. And how do you know all that? Do you teach this kind of class yourself?”

  “No. But I’ve been through every class that we offer here. I run the place. It’s my job to know what I’m selling. I want to franchise this operation. This location will be the model for Prime Sports and Fitness gyms all over the country.”

  “You dream big.”

  “Hey. Balls to the wall. It’s the only way to go.”

  She made a decision. “I’m taking the next evening class.”

  “Am I a salesman, or what?” He got up. “Come on.” He put his big hand at the small of her back. Such a light touch to wreak such total havoc through every quivering cell in her body. “We’ll sign you up.”

  At the front desk, Quinn tried to comp her the class. She shook her head and whipped out her checkbook. Once she’d paid for the course, he walked her out the door.

  He caught her arm as the door eased shut behind them. “So, Chloe...”

  She was achingly aware of him, so close, his big, warm fingers wrapped lightly around her upper arm. He walked her forward several feet along the sidewalk and then pulled her gently around to face him.

  “Yeah?” she asked low, her voice barely a whisper.

  He stepped in closer and spoke for her ears alone. “The other night...?”

  Her breath tangled in her throat. “Yeah?”

  “You said just for that night, just that once. But you’re here and I’m looking in those fine blue eyes and I’m wondering, did you really mean that?”

  Her stupid throat had clutched up tight. She swallowed convulsively, and then shook her head hard.

  His brow rumpled in a frown, but the hint of a smile seemed to tug on his mouth. “I’m still not sure what you’re telling me here.”

  And somehow she found her voice again. “Sorry...”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. You just say it right out loud, whatever your answer is. I can take it, I promise you.”

  She cleared her throat to get her going. “Ahem. That night, I needed to find a way to give myself permission to do something I wanted to do but had never done before. That night, I needed to think of it as just that one time and never again. But since then...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, Quinn. I wish I hadn’t said what I said. Because I’ve been thinking about you a lot. And it’s really good to see you again.”

  Those fine eyes were gleaming. “Yeah?”

  And she was eagerly nodding, her head bouncing up and down like a bobblehead doll’s.

  “So, then...” He started walking backward toward the doors.

  She resisted the urge to reach out and stop him—and also the one that demanded she follow him. Instead, she held her ground and asked hopefully, “So, then, what?”

  He stopped at the doors. “How ’bout Friday night?
You and me. Dinner.”

  “Dinner...” How could one simple word hold so much promise?

  “Yeah.” He was definitely smiling now. “You know, like people do.”

  “I would like that.” She knew she wore a giant, silly grin. And somehow she had gone on tiptoe. Her body felt lighter than air.

  “Pick you up at seven?”

  She settled back onto her heels and nodded. “Seven is great.”

  A trim, fortyish woman in workout clothes approached the doors. Quinn opened one and ushered her in. Then, with a final nod in Chloe’s direction, he went in, too.

  That lighter-than-air feeling? It stayed with her. Her feet barely touched the ground the whole way back to the showroom.

  Strange how everything could change for the better in the course of one afternoon.

  All at once, the world, so cruel to her in recent years, was a good and hopeful place again. Suddenly everything looked brighter.

  Yeah, okay. It was just a date. But it was a date with a man who thrilled her—and made her feel safe and protected and cherished and capable, all at the same time.

  * * *

  That night, Chloe made chocolate chip cookies. Once they’d cooled, she packed them up into two bright decorator tins. She took them to the showroom the next morning. One she offered at the coffee table.

  The other she carried with her when she went to meet with Manny at Quinn’s house after lunch.

  “Cookies!” Annabelle nodded her approval. “I like cookies.” She sent Manny a regretful glance. “Manny’s cookies are not very good.”

  Manny told Chloe, “Never was a baker—or that much of a cook, when you come right down to it. I enjoy cooking, though. Too bad nobody appreciates my efforts.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at Annabelle. “And what do you say when someone brings you really good cookies?”

  “Thank you, Chloe.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She turned those sweet brown eyes on Manny again. “Can I have one now?”

  “That could be arranged.” Manny led them to the kitchen, which had appliances that had been state-of-the-art back in the late eighties, a fruit-patterned wallpaper border up near the ceiling and acres of white ceramic tile. Annabelle made short work of two cookies and a glass of milk, after which she wanted to take Chloe up to her room.

  Chloe looked to Manny. The old guy shrugged. “Don’t keep her up there all day,” he said to the little girl.

  “Manny, I want all the princesses, but it won’t take that long.” She reached right up and grabbed Chloe’s hand, at which point Chloe’s heart pretty much melted. “Okay, Chloe. Let’s go.”

  After half an hour with Quinn’s daughter, Chloe knew exactly which princesses Annabelle wanted represented in her new room, as well as her favorite colors. They went back downstairs, and Chloe spent a couple of hours with Manny, going through the house, bottom to top, talking hard and soft surfaces, color choices, style preferences and the benefits of knocking out a wall or two. Chloe jotted notes and took pictures of existing furniture and fixtures that would be included in the new design.

  Before she left at four-thirty, she promised to crunch the numbers. The contract would be ready for his and Quinn’s approval early next week.

  “Give me a call,” said Manny. “We can decide then whether to meet here or at your showroom.”

  “That’ll work.”

  Annabelle urged her to “Come back and see me soon, Chloe. And bring cookies.”

  Chloe promised that she would. She drove to the showroom, let Tai go home and got to work on the contract, planning out the estimated costs, room by room. At six, she closed up and headed for her house, a big, fat smile on her face and a thousand ideas for the redesign swirling in her brain.

  She parked in her detached garage and was halfway along the short breezeway to the front door when she caught sight of the gorgeous bouquet of orchids and roses waiting in a clear, square vase on the porch. It must be from Quinn. The arrangement was so simple and lovely and the gesture so thoughtful, she let out a happy cry just at the sight of it.

  Okay, it was a little silly to be so giddy at his thoughtfulness. But she hadn’t had flowers in so long. Ted used to buy them for her, and since the divorce, well, she had no desire to buy them for herself. To her, a gorgeous bouquet of flowers just reminded her of Ted and all the ways she’d messed up her life. But if Quinn gave her flowers, she could start to see a beautiful arrangement in a whole new light.

  She disarmed her alarm and unlocked the door—and then scooped up the vase and carried it in.

  Dropping her purse on the entry bench, she took the vase straight to the kitchen peninsula, where she set it carefully down. The card had a red amaryllis on the front and the single word, Bloom. Bloom was the shop that belonged to Quinn’s sister, Jody.

  Whipping the little card off its plastic holder, she flipped it open and read Beautiful flowers always remind me of you. I hate that it went so wrong for us. I miss you.

  Ted

  Chapter Four

  “No!” Chloe shouted right out loud, not even caring that she sounded like some crazy person, yelling at thin air. “No, you do not get to do that. You do not.” She tore the note in half and then in half again and she dropped it on the floor and stomped on it for good measure. They were divorced, for God’s sake. He had a new wife. And all she wanted from him for now and forever was never to see or hear from him again.

  Her heart racing with a sick kind of fury that he’d dared to encroach on her new life where he had no business being, Chloe whipped the beautiful flowers from the vase. Dripping water across the counter and onto the floor, too, she dropped them in the trash compactor, shoved it shut and turned the motor on. The compactor rumbled. She felt way too much satisfaction as the machine crushed the bright blooms to a pulp.

  Once the flowers were toast, she poured the water from the vase into the sink, whipped the compactor open again and dropped the vase on top of the mashed flowers. She ran the motor a second time, grinning like a madwoman when she heard that loud, scary pop that meant the vase was nothing but shards of broken glass. After that, she picked up the little bits of card, every one, threw them in with the shattered vase and the pulped flowers, took the plastic bag out of the compactor, lugged it out to the trash bin and threw it in.

  Good riddance to bad trash.

  She spent a while stewing, considering calling Ted and giving him a large piece of her mind.

  But no. She wanted nothing to do with him and she certainly didn’t want to make contact with him again. That might just encourage him.

  She wondered if the flowers and the creepy note could be considered the act of a stalker.

  But then she reminded herself that Ted and his bride, Larissa, lived more than a thousand miles away in San Diego. It was one thing for Ted to have his assistant send her flowers just to freak her out, but something else again for him to show up on her doorstep in person.

  Wasn’t going to happen. He was just being a jerk, an activity at which he excelled.

  God. She had married him. How could she have been such an utter, complete fool?

  Back in the house, she changed into jeans and a tank top. Then she took her time cooking an excellent dinner of fresh broiled trout with lemon butter, green beans and slivered almonds and her favorite salad of field greens, blueberries, Gorgonzola cheese and toasted walnuts, with a balsamic vinaigrette.

  When it was ready, she set the table with her best dishes, lit a candle, poured herself a glass of really nice sauvignon blanc and sat down. She ate slowly, savoring every delicious bite.

  A little later, she took a long scented bath and put on a comfy sleep shirt and shorts. Even after the bath, she was still buzzing with anger at the loser she’d once had the bad judgment to marry. Streaming a movie or reading a book was not going to settle her down. She needed a serious distraction.

  So she went to the cozy room on the lower floor that she used as a home office and lost herself in the plan
s for Quinn’s house. Within a few minutes of sitting down at her desk, the only thing on her mind was the rooms taking shape in her imagination—and on her sketch pad. And the numbers coming together for each room, for the project as a whole. She worked for hours and hardly noticed the time passing.

  When she finally went back upstairs to the main floor, it was almost midnight. Time for bed.

  But she didn’t go to bed. It was cool out that evening. So she put on a big sweater over her sleep shirt, pulled on a pair of fluffy pink booties and went out onto her deck. It was something she had not done after dark since the night Quinn spent in her bed.

  But she was doing it tonight.

  She padded to the deck railing and stared down at Quinn’s house.

  Was she actually expecting him to be watching, waiting for the moment when she wandered out under the stars?

  Not really. It just felt...reassuring somehow. To gaze down at his house, to know that she would see him again, would share dinner with him on Friday night.

  When the French doors opened and he emerged, she let out a laugh of pure delight and waved to signal him up.

  He didn’t even hesitate, just went on down the steps at the side of his deck and forged up the hill. She went to meet him at the top of her stairs, feeling breathless and wonderful.

  Tonight, he wore ripped old jeans, a white T-shirt that seemed to glow in the dark and the same moccasins he’d been wearing that other night. He said, “Love those furry boots.” When she laughed, he added, “I was getting worried you might never come outside.”

  “And I was absolutely certain there was no way you might be glancing up to see if I was looking down for you.” She held out her hand. He took it. His skin was warm, his palm callous. Just his touch made her body sing. “Come sit with me?”

  He looked at her as though she were the only other person in the world. “Whatever you want, Chloe.”

  She tugged him over to the two chairs they’d sat in that other night and pulled him down beside her.