Daughters Of The Bride (5 page)

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.”

Seriously? “We all know who you are. There are all kinds of pictures of you in Joyce’s bungalow. Plus, she talks about you all the time.”

He groaned. “I don’t want to know what she says.”

“Most of it is good.”

His brows rose. “Most?”

Courtney grinned. “You said you didn’t want to know. I’m Courtney, by the way. We’ve met a few times before.”

“I remember.”

She doubted that. A man like Quinn would remember meeting Rihanna and Taylor Swift, but not someone like her. She would have been nothing but staff, and who remembered the woman who cleaned his room?

She pointed at the container. “It’s vanilla chocolate chip—our flavor of the month. You want some?”

“Sure.”

She grabbed a second bowl and spoon, then scooped out ice cream for both of them. She returned the container to the freezer. When she walked back into the kitchen, she half expected to find Quinn had gone. But he’d pulled up one of the stools by the counter as if he planned to stay. She did the same, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them.

“Oh, there are cookies, too,” she said. “If you want some.”

“No, thanks. This is enough.”

Not a philosophy she could get behind, but now she wasn’t comfortable adding a couple of crushed cookies to her bowl. Later, she promised herself. She would take them up to her room.

“You’re up late,” he commented.

“I like the hotel at night. It’s quiet. All the guests are asleep. Or at least not wandering around, making trouble.”

“Is that how you see them?”

“You’ve never cleaned up a hotel room after a rowdy party.”

“That’s true.”

They ate in silence for a few seconds. Courtney found the moment surreal. Quinn might not be an actual rock star, but he was famous for discovering musical talent of all kinds and taking those talents to the top of the charts.

“A fan?” he asked, nodding toward her.

It took her a second to realize he meant her sweatshirt. She glanced down at the USC college logo. “Not really. One of the guests left it behind and it was way too nice to throw out.”

She remembered the pretty but tearful coed who’d tossed the sweatshirt at her, demanding it be burned.

“It had been her fiancé’s, and it turned out he’d slept with one of the strippers hired for his bachelor party.” She licked her spoon. “I’ll never understand the whole concept of inviting trouble a few days before you commit yourself to someone for the rest of your life. But weddings are all about drama.” She eyed him. “Are you really moving back to Los Lobos?”

He nodded.

“But you live in LA.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“Isn’t your business there?”

“It’s mobile. I’m ready for a change.”

She wondered if any part of his decision was about his grandmother. “She’s doing fine, you know. Mentally and physically.”

“Thanks for the update. She’s not the only reason, but she’s one of them.” He paused.

Courtney took a bite of ice cream. As if he’d been waiting for her to be in that delicate act of swallowing, he then said, “She’s trying to fix us up.”

Courtney began to choke.

He waited until she’d regained control to add, “Or have me take you on as a project. Which makes me wonder why you need fixing.”

The door was so far away, Courtney thought longingly as she glanced toward the exit. She ignored the heat burning her cheeks. There was no pretending that wasn’t happening, not with the overhead lights blaring down. In a matter of seconds, she knew her face was as brightly colored as her sweatshirt.

“You’re imagining things, I’m sure,” she managed, thinking that as much as she loved her boss, she was going to have to kill her. There was no other response that was appropriate.

He waited.

She sucked in a breath. “I don’t need fixing. I’m doing great. I’m only two semesters from graduating with my bachelor’s in hotel management. I have a good job and lots of friends.”

“You’re twenty-seven.”

She was torn between wondering how he knew that and the relevancy of the statement.

“So?”

“You waited a while to go to college.”

A statement, not a question. Yet she was somehow compelled to explain. Maybe it was the way his dark blue gaze settled on her face. Maybe it was the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. Maybe it was a latent babbling gene choosing this inopportune moment to surface. Regardless, she started speaking and then couldn’t seem to stop.

“Not everyone makes it to college out of high school,” she began. “Did you know that returning female students are the most successful demographic in college?”

“I did not.”

“It’s true. My theory is they’ve tasted fear. They know what it’s like to try to survive without a good education and it’s not easy.”

“Because you’ve done it?”

“Uh-huh. I left high school when I turned eighteen. I was only in eleventh grade because I got held back a couple of times. I didn’t wait for the semester to end or anything. I legally became an adult and I was gone.” She licked her spoon. “It wasn’t so much about everything happening at home, although that was a part of it. Mostly I couldn’t stand being two years older and labeled as dumb.” She glanced at him, then back at her ice cream. “I had a learning disability that didn’t get diagnosed until I was nearly ten.”

She didn’t bother with the whys of that. No reason to go over that material.

“After I left high school, I got a job at Happy Burger.”

“I love Happy Burger,” he told her.

“Everyone does. I rented a room in a house on the edge of town and supported myself.” Which was mostly true. She’d been forced into a series of second jobs to make ends meet, had cut off ties with her family for nearly a year because she was eighteen and angry and needed to grow up, and had taken up with a series of really bad-for-her guys.

“I was going nowhere. Around the time I turned twenty, two things happened. I got a job here as a maid, and the manager of Happy Burger told me that if I earned my GED, he would recommend me for a management position. He told me that I had a real future at Happy Burger.”

“Was that good news or bad news?”

“It was the worst. I didn’t want to spend my life at Happy Burger. But it was the wake-up call I needed. I got my GED and started at community college. Along the way, I quit the burger job.”

“And now you’re two semesters away from your bachelor’s.”

She waved her spoon. “You know it.”

“Impressive.”

“The info dump?”

He flashed her a sexy smile. She was sure he didn’t mean it to be sexy, but he probably couldn’t help it. Quinn was just that kind of guy. It wasn’t in the way he moved, because right now he was sitting still. But whatever it was still existed. Maybe it was a confidence thing, or a pheromone thing. Either way, she found herself wanting to lean closer and sigh.

“You’re impressive,” he clarified. “Look at where you started and where you ended up. I respect that. I work with a lot of talented people. Most of them don’t follow traditional paths to success. Good for you for doing the work.” He smiled again. “You’re right. You don’t need fixing.”

His words made her beam as a warm glow filled her. A glow that lasted all of eight seconds, right until ice cream dripped off her spoon and onto her sweatshirt. She held in a groan and wiped at it with her finger.

Couldn’t she just once be sophisticated and elegant? Or even casual and coordinated? Did she always have to be spilling, bumping and dropping?

This was what her sister Sienna would call “pulling a Courtney”—a phrase Courtney had always hated but had to admit existed for a reason. And speaking of her family—

“You can’t tell anyone what I told you,” she said quickly. “About the college stuff.”

Quinn frowned. His eyebrows drew together and little lines formed. It was even sexier than the smile had been.

“What do you mean?”

“Joyce knows, but no one in my family does. About me going to college. I don’t think they know I have a GED. If you run into them, it would be great if you didn’t, you know, say anything.”

“Okay. Interesting. Why?”

She raised a shoulder. “It’s a long story.”

“Right. And you’re not one to overshare.” He stood. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.”

He studied her for a second. She had no idea what he was thinking but figured that was probably for the best.

“Good night, Courtney.”

“’Night, Quinn.”

He put his bowl in the dishwasher, then walked out of the kitchen. She watched him go, allowing herself the pleasure of admiring his butt and the way he moved. The man had grace and style. He was sophisticated and unexpectedly nice. If she were someone other than herself, she would so want to start something with him. But she wasn’t. Besides, she was focused on school and working and getting through her last year of college.
Then
she would land her dream job and find someone to date. A smart, kind man who thought she was exactly what he was looking for. Assuming that man existed.

She put her bowl next to Quinn’s before hunting down the cookies and grabbing a handful. As she walked back to her room, she imagined what would have happened if Quinn had reached across the table and pulled her close. No doubt she would have dropped her spoon and spilled all over him. Or burped during their kiss. Because that was how her life went. Even in her dreams.

5

RACHEL WAS CONFIDENT
that laundry multiplied in the night. What had been a single load a couple of days ago was now four. Five if she did Josh’s sheets. He would tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she thought differently.

She glanced at the clock and held in a groan. It was five on Sunday afternoon. She’d worked late the previous day with the idea that on a weekend when Josh was with his dad, she could earn a little extra money. Which was great, but by the end of her workweek, she was always exhausted. That had turned into sleeping late, which she probably needed, but it didn’t get any of her chores done.

She’d done grocery shopping, paid some bills and spent the past two hours weeding in the yard. In between, she’d baked cookies, put a stew in the Crock-Pot and made her son’s lunch for the following day. Now she faced laundry and cleaning the kitchen. Once Josh got home—which should be any second now—they would go over his homework, assuming his father had remembered to make him do it, review his schedule for the week and then watch a show for an hour before bed. And starting tomorrow, she would do it all over again.

She put the whites in the washer, added detergent and bleach, then hit the start button. She already had the baseball uniforms in the sink in the laundry room. Between the grass stains and the ground-in dirt, those had to be pretreated or they would never get clean. Honestly, she didn’t know how professional sports organizations kept their uniforms so nice. Maybe they didn’t bother. Maybe every player wore new ones for each game.

She heard footsteps in the front of the house followed by a familiar “Mom! I’m home!”

There were a million things to do and she was still tired and maybe a little cranky, but none of that mattered. Josh’s voice was the best sound in the world, and knowing he was back made everything a little easier.

She walked toward the living room and smiled when she saw her son.

He was tall for his age. All gangling with too-long arms and legs. At eleven, he was on the verge of adolescence. His voice hadn’t changed yet and he’d yet to get a single chin hair, but she knew that was coming.

He’d inherited his father’s dark hair and eyes, but her smile. He was a good kid. Smart, caring, generous. Easygoing. Now he dropped his duffel on the floor and hurried to greet her.

“Dad bought me a new glove,” he said, holding it out in one hand while he reached for her with the other. He gave her a quick hug, then he stepped back and offered the glove.

“It’s exactly what I wanted. Dad and I played catch yesterday, to break it in, then he hit balls and I caught them. Try it on.”

She slid her hand into the glove and was surprised when it wasn’t too small for her.

“Is this an adult size?” she asked.

Josh grinned. His too-long hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back with a gesture that reminded her too much of his father. “Uh-huh. The guy at the store said I was in between, so we decided it made sense to get the bigger one.”

She held up her right hand and he held up his left. They both spread their fingers. Rachel was stunned to discover her eleven-year-old son’s hand was nearly as big as hers.

“When did that happen?” she asked.

Josh laughed. “I’m going to be as tall as you soon, Mom. Then taller.”

“I can’t decide if that’s good or bad,” she admitted.

“Me, either.”

The voice came from behind her. She took a second to brace herself against the inevitable reaction to seeing her ex-husband, then turned.

“Hello, Greg.”

“Rachel.”

He looked good, but wasn’t that always the way? Every time she saw him, she looked for some sign that he was aging. Decaying would be better. But there was only the ever-present handsome face, perfect hair and sex-god-like body.

“I thought I’d go get pizza for dinner,” he told her. “The usual for you?”

She wanted to say no. That she wasn’t interested in eating with him. That pizza was the last thing she needed. That her constant exhaustion, and the feeling that no matter how hard she worked the best she could hope for was to not lose ground, had led to a horrible snacking habit that was taking its toll on her body. That or elves were shrinking her clothes while she slept.

She felt fat and old and tired, while he got to be handsome and toned and in his prime. Of course, if she had every other day off, she would have time to do things like eat right and exercise. If she lived with someone who cooked the meals and cleaned the house and took care of every other chore, she wouldn’t be so rushed or exhausted. If she wasn’t the custodial parent, then...

She drew in a breath. The mental litany wasn’t new, nor was her frustration. But there was much she couldn’t change and more she didn’t want to. Being Josh’s mother, having him most of the time, was important to her. The price of that was one she was willing to pay. The same with the house. She needed to be here. The rest of it would take care of itself.

“Pizza would be fine,” she said, thinking the Crock-Pot dinner would keep for tomorrow.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Doing laundry, getting meals ready for the week. The usual.”

“How can I help?”

The unexpected question stumped her. Help? Greg didn’t help. He played. He surfed with his best friend, Jimmy. He hung out with the other firefighters. He tinkered with his truck.

“I’m fine,” she told him. “Did Josh do his homework?”

“Uh-huh, and I checked it. The essay needed some work, but he did great on the math.”

“Good. Only another month until summer vacation. I’m going to have to look into the park camp for him.”

An expense that would eat into her budget. Greg would pay for half of it, but she would have to cough up the rest.

“I’ll get you my work schedule for the next two months this week,” Greg told her. “Once I have it, let’s sit down and plan out the summer as best we can. I can be responsible for him on my days off. If he’s in camp, I can take him and pick him up so it’s one less thing for you to deal with.”

She told herself not to be surprised. While Greg hadn’t been that great a husband, he’d always cared about Josh. Although he wasn’t into the details, no one could doubt his love for his son.

“It would be nice if he could spend more time with you,” she said cautiously.

“Then it’s a plan.”

She nodded.

He flashed her a smile. “I’m going to get the pizza. You didn’t say if you wanted your usual.”

“Yes, please.”

“Then we’ll be right back.”

Josh returned from taking his things to his room. “Can I have soda, Mom?” he asked.

“No.”

He laughed. “One day you’re going to say yes.”

“One day you’re not going to ask.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“I did make cookies.”

He gave her a quick hug. “You’re the best.”

“Put that in writing.”

“I could paint it on the garage door.”

“That would be nice.”

Greg held open the front door. “You say that now, but if he really did it, you’d be pissed.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” she told him. Because helping Josh paint phrases on the garage door was exactly something Greg would do. He would think it was funny.

Rachel set the table. She got a beer for Greg, a glass of wine for herself and juice for Josh. In the distance, the washer chugged away. She checked the Crock-Pot, then went to change the sheets on Josh’s bed.

Her son’s room was big and bright, with a large window and an oversize closet. Sports equipment was strewn everywhere, along with clothes and sports magazines. About once a quarter she got on him to clean up the space, but most of the time she simply let him be or picked up herself.

Now she put away the clothes he’d taken to his dad’s, putting still-clean shirts on hangers and throwing the dirty clothes into the hamper in his closet. She pulled back the comforter and blanket before tugging off the sheets.

She retreated to the hallway linen closet to collect clean bedding. The smooth cotton fabric was a solid color now. Gone were the cars and trucks Josh had once loved. He was growing up so fast.

She remembered when he’d been born—so small and helpless. She and Greg had been overwhelmed. They were the first of their friends to get married, get pregnant and have a baby. Lena had followed six months later and by then Rachel had considered herself an expert. But those first few weeks had been terrifying.

It wasn’t supposed to have happened that way, she thought as she pulled the fitted sheet over the corners of the mattress. She and Greg had wanted to travel for the first five years of their marriage,
then
start a family. But she’d forgotten her birth control pills at home on their honeymoon and he hadn’t wanted to wear a condom. One thing had led to another.

It had always been that way with them. Too much, too fast. Back in high school, he’d been the most popular guy around. Two years older, he’d been a senior while she’d been a lowly sophomore. She hadn’t realized he’d known her name until he stopped her in the hall outside her English class. He’d smiled at her and asked her out. Just like that. In front of God and everyone.

She’d said yes because he was Greg, and even then she’d been unable to resist him. As she smoothed the top sheet into place, she recalled how nervous she’d been. About everything. She’d never been on a date before. She hadn’t even been sure her mother would let her go. But Maggie had had a meeting with one of her accounting clients and hadn’t made it home until late. By then, Rachel was out with Greg and nothing would ever be the same again.

She finished making the bed and carried the dirty sheets to the laundry room. By the time she’d transferred the clean clothes to the dryer and put in a second load, Greg and Josh were back.

“The Dodgers are tied,” her son informed her when she walked into the kitchen. His tone was pleading. “It’s a really important game.”

Which should have impressed her. Only, in Josh’s opinion, they were all important.

“Are you saying you’d rather watch TV than eat dinner with your parents?” she asked, pretending to be shocked at the notion.

“Please, Mom.”

How much longer would he ask rather than simply do? How many more years until the hormones kicked in and she became nothing but an irritation in his life?

When it was just the two of them, she generally agreed. Often she joined him in the living room to watch whatever game was on TV. But if she said yes tonight, she would be dining alone with Greg. Did either of them want that?

She risked a glance at her ex. Greg shrugged. “He loves the Dodgers. It’s fine with me.”

Josh whooped, as if all was now decided, then hurried into the living room to set up a TV tray. Seconds later the sounds of the baseball game were audible. He returned to the kitchen, put two giant slices on a plate, grabbed his glass of juice and disappeared again.

“We’ll miss you,” Greg called after him.

A mumbled response came in reply.

“Kids,” he said with a grin as he took the seat across from hers. “What are you gonna do?”

He held open the smaller of the two boxes of pizza. She saw the veggie with extra cheese she liked but rarely got. Because when it was just her and Josh, it didn’t make sense to pay for an extra pizza or toppings.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she took a slice.

He set a couple of the all-meat slices on his plate.

“What did you two—”

“How was your—”

They spoke at the same time. Rachel looked away, then back at him. “What did you and Josh do this weekend?”

“We spent a lot of yesterday shopping for his glove. We went to three different stores before finding the right one.”

Which meant they’d gone way out of Los Lobos. Something that would make her crazy—mostly because of the time. But Greg wouldn’t mind. He’d always been more adventurous than her. There was a reason he’d chosen a job that put his life on the line.

As he talked about the different gloves they’d looked at, she remembered what he’d been like that first night they’d gone out. She’d been beyond scared. Barely sixteen and she’d been kissed only one other time.

After dinner, they’d gone to the park. The night had been warm—too warm. The unseasonable temperature had meant lying in the grass was comfortable. They’d found a secluded spot and settled down. He’d kissed her. She still recalled how magical his mouth had felt on hers. He hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t taken too much, and they’d kissed for what felt like hours. Then he’d touched her breasts.

No one had ever done that, and she’d been unprepared for the tingles that had swept through her. Her head had warned her to stop him, but her heart had whispered that this was Greg, and anything he wanted to do had to be right. Her body had loved the heat and excitement his touch had generated. She hadn’t known she could feel such things. One thing had led to another, and before she’d realized what was happening, she was naked and he was inside her.

The feeling of being swept away had ended the second he’d taken her virginity. Pain was a quick road to reality. She’d thought about telling him to stop, but it was really too late. So she’d waited the three or four seconds until he’d finished, then had gotten dressed.

Neither of them had spoken on the drive home. She’d jumped out of his car and raced inside—not sure what to think. She’d done something wrong, she knew that much. A slut. If her mother ever found out...

The next morning Rachel had thought about faking being sick. Only, she didn’t want anyone asking about her. Speculation was death. Better to simply pretend to be fine and get through the day.

She’d been shocked to find Greg waiting for her as she left the house. He’d told her they had to talk. Reluctantly, she’d gotten into his car, even though she had no idea what they were going to say. They’d done
it
. Now they had to deal with having done
it
. What was there to say?

Apparently, a lot.

“Are you okay?”

Not the question she’d expected. She’d nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he told her earnestly, his dark gaze locked on her face. “Not that we had sex, but because it happened so fast. It should have been after we’d been going out for like six months, and been a lot more romantic.” His concern turned sheepish. “I kept waiting for you to tell me no, and when you didn’t—” He shrugged. “I couldn’t believe you were going to let me do that.”