to be joining you?”
Quinn sighed. “Zealand isn’t mute. He just doesn’t talk much.”
“I’ve never heard him speak at all. Are you sure he can?”
“Yes. He’s said words at least twice.”
Zealand might not have much to say, but he was the best soundman in the business. He would be the one deciding if the space Quinn was interested in could be converted into a killer studio. One where they could work and turn sound into magic.
Movement caught his attention. He looked up and saw a tall blonde walk to the bar. She had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt.
It wasn’t her face that caused him to keep looking, although she was pretty enough. It was more the way she walked—partially hunched, with her shoulders rounded—as if she didn’t want to be noticed.
When she reached the bar, she and Kelly spoke. They both laughed. The blonde said something else, then turned to leave. As she took a step, she somehow got tangled in a bar stool and stumbled. She righted herself, glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, then hurried away.
“That was Courtney,” Joyce told him. “You’ve met her before.”
Quinn knew his grandmother well enough to say, “No,” in a firm voice.
“I’m only—”
“No. Whatever you have in mind, no.”
“There’s more to her than meets the eye.”
Kelly delivered their wine and the cheese plate. Pearl and Sarge immediately sat up. Quinn saw there were two dog biscuits on the tray. Kelly handed one to each dog, then smiled and left.
“You’re not too old for her,” his grandmother added, dashing his hope that the arrival of their drinks had been a distraction. On the bright side, there was obviously nothing wrong with her mind. On the not-so-bright side...damn.
“She’s what? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-seven. That’s only a fourteen-year difference.”
“It’s not the years, it’s the miles.”
“You’re still a handsome man.”
He paused in the act of raising his glass. “Okay, that’s creepy.”
She laughed. “You know what I mean.”
They touched glasses. Quinn sipped the crisp, buttery chardonnay. “Nice.”
“I like it. Now, about Courtney—”
He held up his free hand. “Not happening. I love you like my grandmother, but I’m not going there.”
“You have to at some point. Don’t you want to fall in love?”
A familiar question. The answer to which had always been hell, no. But lately...he’d started to wonder. A year ago there’d been someone in his life who had made him think there were possibilities. Before he could figure out what, she’d fallen in love with someone else. While he’d gotten over her, the fact that he’d been considering more than his usual no-strings we’re-in-it-for-the-sex had surprised him. And gotten him to thinking. Did he want more?
He hadn’t reached the point of defining the question as did he want to fall in love? He wasn’t sure there was a guy on the planet who thought that way. But having someone around on a permanent basis—that might work.
“I need to figure it out,” he admitted.
“Figure fast. You’re not getting any younger.”
He laughed. “What happened to I’m a good-looking man?”
“Beauty fades.”
He raised his glass to her. “Not yours.”
Joyce rolled her eyes. “Your charm is lost on me. I’m old.”
“You are perfection.”
She didn’t smile back. Instead, she looked at him intently. “I mean it, Quinn. I want you to find someone. Settle down. Have children. I worry about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, dear, but sometimes it’s nice if you don’t have to.”
* * *
Actually writing a marketing plan wasn’t that big a deal. It was getting to the point where it could be written that was the tough part. Courtney decided to reward her three hours of tedious research and number crunching with some ice cream and maybe a cookie chaser.
She stood and stretched as she weighed the sugar high against having to leave her room. In truth, the trip from the fourth floor to the kitchen was no big deal. Still, it was late and she should probably just go to bed.
But the thought of ice cream could not be denied. She saved her work on her laptop, then walked to the door.
Her room in the hotel was at the end of the hall, by the stairs. It was tucked next to the linen closet and right by one of the HVAC units, not to mention several water pipes. There was also a large tree that had grown tall enough to completely block any hope of a view beyond leaves. In short, a complete disaster to rent to guests.
Joyce had tried remodeling it several times and even offering it at a discount, but there were always complaints. A couple of years back, she’d come to Courtney with a trade. Free room and board in exchange for a certain number of hours of maid labor. For the time Courtney worked beyond that, she got a paycheck.
The deal gave them both what they wanted. Courtney had taken possession of an old twin bed Joyce had been ready to toss, along with a battered desk and a dresser. She was a sound enough sleeper not to care about the HVAC or pipe noise and the lack of view was totally fine with her. Free rent, meals and utilities meant she only had to work enough to pay for her car, cell phone and books. The money she’d saved for college wasn’t quite enough to cover tuition, but she’d been lucky enough to land a few scholarships and grants. Every semester she managed to squeak by. Now she was only a year away from graduating, and with luck she would do so without a loan.
“Yet another reason to celebrate with ice cream,” she told herself.
She took the stairs to the main floor and crossed the quiet lobby. Her sneakers were silent on the hardwood floor. While her threadbare jeans and secondhand USC sweatshirt weren’t exactly haute couture, she knew the odds of running into a guest at this hour were slim.
She didn’t bother with overhead lights in the kitchen. She knew her way in the twilight produced by the soft glow from under-the-counter illumination and exit signs. She collected a bowl and a spoon, then crossed to the walk-in freezer to pick her flavor.
She walked out with a three-gallon container of vanilla chocolate chip and found herself in the brightly lit kitchen, facing a tall, broad-shouldered man.
She shrieked and jumped. The ice cream slipped from her hands. She grabbed, he grabbed and they both ended up with their arms wrapped around a very cold, very large container.
They were close enough for her to see the various shades of blue in his irises and inhale the scent of clean fabric and man. His jaw was strong, his beard about two days old and his gaze piercing. Her heart thundered in her chest, but it had very little to do with shock and everything to do with attraction.
“One of us should let go,” he said.
“What?” Oh, right. She immediately released the container and straightened. “Um, sorry. You startled me.”
“I got that.” He put the ice cream on the counter. “Late-night snack?”
“Something like that.”
They continued to watch each other. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.
“I’m Quinn.”