Daughters Of The Bride (16 page)

“It was,” Quinn agreed.

“Leigh was stunning.” Tadeo sniffed. “I’m going to call her and see how she’s doing.”

“Probably for the best. Tell her you’re sorry.”

Tadeo held up his left hand, middle finger extended, but what Quinn heard before Tadeo closed the bedroom door behind him was “I’m sorry, baby. You still mad at me?”

“Have they always been like that?” Courtney asked.

“They have a passionate relationship that defies description.” He took a step toward her. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I know. It’s been crazy. But soon?”

He took another step and was about to pull her close when he heard Wayne and Zealand approaching outside the door.

“Soon,” he told her. “Make that very soon.”

* * *

Courtney worked the room service shift for two days. The pace was different than she was used to. There would be periods of inactivity when she would help out in the kitchen, then a flurry of orders would come in and she would be running all over.

The hotel was already ramping up for the busy summer season. July Fourth was less than a month away, which meant lots of vacationers coming to Los Lobos. The extra staff had been hired. Courtney was scheduled to train the temporary maids the following week. Servers would be added in the restaurant and bar. Her friend Kelly had been promoted to lead server.

Courtney dropped off a bottle of Drama Queen pinot grigio to room 312, then went downstairs and out into the cool evening. It was barely eight, so the sun was a few minutes from setting. She admired the reds and oranges staining the western horizon. The air smelled of ocean and barbecue. A seagull flew overhead. She let the calm wash over her.

These were the parts of her day she always enjoyed, those few minutes of peace between bouts of crazy. Although it was late enough that she would probably have only another half dozen room service deliveries for the night.

She found herself heading toward Quinn’s bungalow. Not that she was going to knock or anything, but if the man happened to see her and invite her in...well, it would be rude to say no. She was still smiling at her slightly twisted logic when she rounded the corner of the hotel and saw him sitting in one of the patio chairs. He pulled the side table up close. As she watched, he played a couple of chords on the guitar he held, then made some notes.

He wore jeans and a ratty T-shirt. He was barefoot, slightly mussed and totally hot.

As she got closer, he looked up and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” she said. “The guitar really works for you. But you already knew that.”

“I’ve been told.” He motioned to the chair next to his. “You can keep me company until your next delivery, if you want.”

She sat down. “Thanks. It was a busy dinner service tonight.” She touched the guitar. “What are you working on?”

“A couple of songs Tadeo brought me. He has good ideas but can’t finish a song to save his life. I clean them up and flesh them out.”

They’d talked about this before. How he did more than simply discover talent and push buttons in a recording studio. But she still had a hard time grasping the extent of his involvement with his artists.

“I didn’t realize you played guitar.”

“Piano, too. You can thank Joyce for that. She insisted. Music lessons started when I was about five. At first I hated them, but then I got good enough to do more than practice scales. When things were difficult with my mom, the lessons and practice gave me a place to escape.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “Joyce put a piano in one of the small rooms on the ground floor. I would go practice there every day. I’m sure the guests in the nearby rooms loved that.”

“It could be worse,” she said with a laugh. “You could have been a drummer.”

He chuckled. “I never had that great a sense of rhythm.”

“I don’t know about that.”

He looked at her. “Don’t tempt me. You’re still working.”

Tension crackled between them. She wondered how tacky it would be if she was seen kissing a guest. Or they could slip into his bungalow and—

Her phone chirped. She hung her head.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s my mother. I gave her a special tone so I would know it’s her texting me, what with the wedding and all, but now I’m thinking that wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it’s better if I don’t brace myself.”

“Are you arguing?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. It’s more the constant flood of ideas.” She glanced at the screen. “‘Confetti drop with pom-poms,’” she read.

He frowned. “Like cheerleader pom-poms? Wouldn’t someone get hurt?”

She laughed and held out her phone so he could see the picture. “No. The little fuzzy ones. Instead of dropping confetti, we would drop little pom-poms. I can’t decide if they would be easier or harder to clean. Probably easier. We could use the leaf vacuum to suck them all up.”

She texted a quick
Great idea!
then put her phone back in her pocket. “I had no clue she was so creative. I think she’s spending a little too much time on Pinterest. Did I tell you the colors of the wedding are basically shades of pink, with a little vanilla thrown in for contrast? So it’s pink everything. Even pink champagne.”

Quinn strummed a chord. “You mean rosé champagne.”

“Oh, please. Don’t start with me.”

“There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is,” she said sarcastically. “Enlighten me.”

He smiled and began to strum a tune she recognized as one of Tadeo’s hits.

“Cheap pink sparkling wine gets its color from food coloring. Rosé champagne, true champagne, gets its color from the skin of the grapes. Pinot noir grapes, to be exact.”

Holy crap
, she thought. How did he know that? Probably from dating some supermodel slash winemaker. “I am so out of my league with you.”

He chuckled. “Not really, but I do have a talent for picking up odd facts. Never bet against me at trivia.”

“I’ll make a note. And tell my mother we need rosé champagne for sure.”

“That will make her happy.”

He continued to play the song.

“Did you write that?” she asked.

“Most of it. Tadeo helped.” He grinned. “He would say it was the other way around.”

“You have an interesting group of guys you hang out with,” she said. “Zealand, Wayne, Tadeo.” Zealand and Tadeo were involved in the music business, so they made sense, but Wayne was kind of an odd choice. The former marine and the playboy music executive. “How did you and Wayne start working together?”

Quinn stopped playing. His smile faded. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh. You don’t have to tell me. I was just wondering, but it’s no big deal.”

He put down the guitar, and the quiet of the night crept in to surround them.

“It’s all public. You can find out online.” He leaned back in his chair. “Wayne’s son, Casey, was also a marine. He was injured in a bomb blast. Badly injured. Stuck in a wheelchair and living with a brain injury. The doctors did the best they could, but there wasn’t much hope. Wayne took care of him, but it’s a hard job and he was doing it all alone. The only thing Casey still responded to was music. Specifically Tadeo’s music.”

Courtney thought about what she knew about the artist. He’d had multiple hits and was known for very loud, slightly crazy concerts.

“Wayne got concert tickets, but when he tried to get the stadium to make special accommodations for Casey, no one would help. He showed up during setup and made a fuss.”

“What does that mean?”

“He punched one of the roadies.” Quinn lifted a shoulder. “I happened to be there. He was brought to me, and the tour manager wanted to call the police. I asked what was going on and it all came out. Wayne was emotionally and physically at the end of his rope. He just wanted to get his son into the concert before he died. That was it. An easy enough request to fulfill.”

“You made it happen,” she said.

“Sure. Casey came to all three concerts. He met Tadeo. We made some calls and got Wayne help with his son and then we moved on to the next venue.” He stared past her, as if seeing things she couldn’t. “Two months later Casey died. Six months or so after that Wayne showed up in my office. He looked like hell. He said he wanted to thank me for what I’d done. We talked for a while and then I hired him to be my assistant. That was about seven years ago.”

Courtney’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t much of a crier, so they were kind of a shock. She sniffed, blinked them away, then glared at Quinn.

“You’re really pissing me off,” she told him.

“What did I do?”

Everything. Nothing. Before she could figure out what to say, her pager went off.

She stood. “I have to get back to the kitchen. There’s a delivery. I’ll see you later.”

“Courtney. What’s wrong?”

She waved off the question. Because what was she going to say? She already liked him. After the amazing sex, she was in danger of getting more involved. Now, hearing the story of how and why he’d hired Wayne, she could feel herself sinking in deeper.

She knew the danger. Love hurt. Always. Every kind. If you loved someone, you were going to get hurt. It was a given. She didn’t want that. Not ever. The guys she’d been involved with before had all been borderline losers. Her heart had never been at risk. But Quinn was different. Something she would have to remember. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed, she was going to have to be a lot more careful.

16

SATURDAYS AT THE
salon were always long. Rachel’s new walking program had given her a little more energy, but by six o’clock, she was still dragging.

As she drove the few miles home after work, she went over the mental list of what had to get done on her two days off. There was laundry, grocery shopping, planning meals for the upcoming week—a chore that should probably come before grocery shopping—an afternoon of Crock-Pot cooking, salad making and the like to give her a jump start on the week.

Both bathrooms were desperately dirty, as was the kitchen. And the yard. She sighed. She didn’t want to think about how horrible the lawn looked, not to mention the weeds.

She turned onto her street and saw Greg’s truck parked in front of her house. For a second she felt almost giddy anticipation—reminiscent to what she’d felt at seventeen—then firmly squashed the ridiculous emotion. He’d had Josh all day. Of course he’d come by to drop off his son. He must have stayed because he wanted to talk about something. Fine. They would talk, then he would leave and she and her son would have a perfectly wonderful evening together.

But as she pulled into the driveway, she saw something even more unexpected than her ex-husband’s truck. Her lawn had been mowed and the majority of the weeds were gone. As she got out of her SUV, Greg came around the side of the house, pushing the lawn mower. He waved when he saw her.

“You’re home,” he called. “Great timing. I just finished in back.”

“You mowed my lawn?”

“Yup. Josh helped. Another year or so and he’ll be able to handle it all himself. He’s finishing up the weeding in back right now.”

She wasn’t sure her blood pressure could handle her preteen son using something as dangerous as a lawn mower, but she would deal with that later.

“Thank you,” she told him. “Really. I don’t like having to deal with the yard. I appreciate the help.”

He grinned. “Then you’ll be even happier to know you had a broken sprinkler head in the backyard. We fixed it.”

“Thank you.”

She felt as if she was repeating herself but didn’t know what else to say.

“Let me get this cleaned up and in the garage,” he told her. “I’ll let Josh know you’re home and we’ll meet you inside. We stopped for Chinese. It’s in the refrigerator.”

Those last three sentences pretty much left her speechless. She had no idea which to tackle first. That he’d bought them dinner? That he was expecting to join them for said dinner? As if they did this all the time?

What was he doing and what did it all mean?

“You okay?” he asked.

“Um, sure. I’ll meet you inside.”

She might as well be confused indoors, she thought as she collected her purse and her work tote, then headed into the house.

She changed into jeans and a T-shirt. For a second she’d had the ridiculous notion that she should touch up her makeup and wear something nice. She squashed that notion. She’d had a long week. She was hungry and tired and she wasn’t trying to impress Greg.

She went into the kitchen and pulled the large bag of Chinese food out of the refrigerator. He’d brought all her favorites, which meant her job was going to be portion control. Oh, and she would have to remember not to weigh herself for at least three days, not to mention drink extra water tomorrow and add a mile to her walk. But aside from that, she was going to eat what she wanted without feeling guilty.

She was about to close the refrigerator door when she noticed Greg had also brought a bottle of her favorite chardonnay. What on earth?

“Hey, Mom.”

She smiled at her son. “Hi. You worked hard today.”

“I know, but the yard looks great.” Josh grinned. “Dad says a man has to take pride in his house.”

“Does he?”

Her eleven-year-old nodded with self-importance. “I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

“Sure.” She turned back to the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of wine just as Greg walked into the kitchen.

“Let me wash up,” he said, “then I’ll set the table while you heat the food. I can open the wine, too.” He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it onto the counter.

She would have protested that he was taking charge and that wasn’t necessary, but she found herself unable to speak.

Oh. My. God.

She’d forgotten. Genuinely forgotten that was what he did. After working in the yard or on the car, he would come into the house, pull off his shirt, then wash his hands and face. He would feel around for one of her perfectly clean dish towels and dry his face before wiping the towel across his chest and down his arms.

She remembered yelling at him about it. How he should learn to clean up in the bathroom. And what was with using her matching set of dish towels? Only, they’d been married then and she was used to seeing him half-dressed or undressed or naked.

But they weren’t married now.

She found herself mesmerized by the sight of her ex-husband wearing soft, worn jeans, work boots and nothing else. His chest and back were broad and tanned. She could see the muscles his job required. He hadn’t shaved in nearly a week, she would guess, and the dark, scruffy beard looked good on him.

As he turned off the water, she forced herself to look away. Serving dishes, she told herself. She needed to get out serving dishes.

As she crossed to the cupboards, she was aware of a strange pressure in her stomach. What on earth? She couldn’t be getting her period. So why was she feeling heavy and—

Rachel wasn’t one to swear, but several colorful options occurred to her as she realized she wasn’t
cramping
, for heaven’s sake. She was aroused. Talk about unfair!

It took only a few minutes to heat up the food. Greg pulled his T-shirt back on, then set the table and opened the wine. Josh appeared and sniffed the air.

“My favorites,” he announced, then glanced longingly toward the family room. “So there’s a really important Dodgers game on,” he began.

Greg rolled his eyes and looked at Rachel. She was still trying to ignore her state of sexual arousal. The last thing she needed was for Josh to announce she was acting weird.

“Sure,” she said brightly. “You can watch the game while you eat.”

Josh pumped his arm. “Sweet. And soda?”

She hesitated. “Just this once.”

“Woo-hoo!”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“We’re having wine. It only seems fair.”

She and her ex-husband sat across from each other—in the same chairs where they always had. She had an odd sense of past and present blurring until she wasn’t sure what to think or say.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as he passed her egg rolls.

“That technically you invited yourself to dinner.”

“Uh-huh. I also mowed the lawn without asking you.”

“And why is that?”

“Remember that talk we had a few weeks ago at the baseball field?”

She willed herself not to blush. “I’m not sure I would call it a conversation, but sure.”

He smiled. “After that, I made a decision. I always ask if I can help and you always tell me no. From now on, I’m going to simply step in and do whatever needs doing.”

“Even if I don’t want you to? That could get you into trouble.”

“Sure, but I figure you’ll be mad at me less than you have been and that’s a win.” He scooped up some kung pao shrimp. “Sienna still engaged to David?”

She elected to go with the change in topic. Probably safer for both of them. “As far as I know. That was the craziest thing. She wasn’t happy about him proposing, but I don’t know how much of that was the shock and how much was him asking in the first place.”

“What number engagement is this? Four?”

“Three. Jimmy, then Hugh, then David.”

“I didn’t meet Hugh, but Jimmy’s a good guy.”

“What about David?” she asked, curious about his opinion.

“I guess he’s okay. I just don’t see them together. There’s no chemistry. Maybe she’s pregnant.”

Rachel choked on her wine. “I’m fine,” she gasped, holding up a hand. “Pregnant? No. She would have said something by now.”

“It was just a thought.”

Sienna pregnant. Rachel couldn’t imagine it. Not with David. But of course they were having sex, and once you were doing it, there was always a risk.

She had learned that the hard way. Not that she regretted having Josh.

“You’re right,” she said slowly. “They could have an unexpected pregnancy.”

“Dammit, Rachel.” His voice was low, but forceful.

She looked at him. “What?”

“It’s not your fault we had Josh before we’d planned. We were both in the bed, making love.”

She glanced toward the family room, then back at him. “I know. But if I hadn’t forgotten my birth control pills, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Would you give up Josh if you could?”

“Of course not.” She sipped her wine. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“I know you.”

Something that was both a blessing and a curse, she thought.

“Speaking of Josh,” he said. “He’s getting to the age where he needs to have chores and start earning an allowance.”

“Probably a good idea,” she admitted. “What do you think he should do around the house?”

Greg gave her an easy smile that, had she been standing, would have made her knees go weak. “You’re the one who’s taking care of him on a day-to-day basis. What drives you crazy the most?”

That was easy. “His bathroom. It’s always a mess. He leaves towels everywhere. He doesn’t wipe out the sink. I bought him some of that spray you use after every shower to keep the tiles clean, but he won’t do it.”

Greg got up and opened the junk drawer. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and returned to the table. “All right. Bathroom it is. What does he need to do on a daily basis versus a weekly basis?”

Thirty minutes later dinner was done, they were on their second glass of wine and they had a chore list for their son. From the family room came sounds of the baseball game.

“I’ll put together a chart,” Greg offered. “One we can put on the refrigerator. If he does everything he’s supposed to for the entire week, he gets a bonus.”

“I like that idea and I’m thrilled at the thought of not nagging him to pick up his towels every day.”

“He’s a capable kid. He can help.”

She supposed that was true—it was just she’d never thought to ask. She’d always done everything.

“What about his summer camp?” Greg asked. “When does that start?”

“The Monday after school’s out. He’s signed up for science mornings and sports afternoons.”

He typed the information into his phone. “Great. I’ll get you my schedule and we’ll figure out when I’m off and can take him there and back.” He grinned. “Hell, I’ll even make him lunch.”

“Do you know how?”

He laughed. “I can figure it out. If I have any questions, Josh will talk me through it.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He leaned across the table and lightly touched her hand. “He’s my son, too. I should have been doing this all along.”

His touch was distracting. She’d always liked the feel of Greg’s body next to hers. She’d enjoyed everything they did together. She’d heard other women talk about how they hated their exes or were indifferent to them. She couldn’t imagine being indifferent to Greg. No matter what. Probably the reason she hadn’t dated since the divorce. What was the point? No man could do to her what he did.

“I wish you’d expected more of me.”

His statement brought her back to the conversation. “I did expect more. You weren’t willing to do it.”

He straightened and dropped his hand to his lap. “You mean you asked once, I didn’t bother and that was it.”

She pressed her lips together. “I can’t tell if you’re blaming me or yourself.”

“I’m blaming both of us, but mostly me. I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was willing to marry you but I wasn’t willing to be a good husband. I loved you, Rachel, and I wanted us to be together, but I wasn’t ready for the responsibilities of being married.” He frowned. “I didn’t want other women, just a little freedom. Which put the burden of everything on you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. “Okay,” she murmured.

“What I can’t figure out,” he continued, “is how much of what went wrong was because of me not being willing to be a grown-up and how much of it was you needing to be a martyr?” He looked at her. “Don’t worry. I’m not expecting an answer.”

He didn’t sound mad. More curious, which was better than angry, but also confusing.

“I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” she said.

“Probably not.” He stood. “Let me help you clear the table, then I’ll get out of here. I’m sure you have things to do.”

She’d had a plan for the evening, but she was a whole lot less interested in it than she’d been. She wanted Greg to stay. She wanted to curl up next to him on the sofa and watch a movie. Or talk. She wanted him to kiss her and hold her, then take her upstairs and make love to her.

Because she missed him, she thought sadly. What a tragic revelation over cartons of kung pao shrimp and egg rolls. Two years after the divorce, she was still in love with her ex-husband.

They worked in silence, then he went and said goodbye to Josh. She waited for him by the front door.

“Thanks for dinner,” she told him. “And doing my lawn. I appreciate both.”

“I’m glad. I like the plan we have for Josh.”

“Me, too.”

The door was open and the porch light on. The evening was still. Cool, but clear, and she could smell the salt air of the ocean only a few blocks away.

She wanted to say something clever or funny or interesting. Something that would make him laugh or wish they were still together. Something that would make him want to stay. But her mind was totally blank, so she could only cross her arms over her chest and smile tightly.

“Have a good rest of your evening.”

“You, too.”

He leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. The act was so unexpected, so quick, she didn’t have time to respond. Before she realized what had happened, he had straightened and was walking down the porch steps.

She closed the door and told herself it had been a friendly kiss. It had meant nothing at all. But that didn’t stop the tiny bubble of hope that settled deep in her chest. She wasn’t going to overthink the situation, she promised herself. She was simply going to go on with her life and wait to see what happened next.