One Little Thing (2 page)

Marion sipped at her coffee and stared at him. The silence dragged out until he couldn't stand it any longer.

“She was popular. I was a big ol' dork, so we weren't friends.”

Marion's eyes widened and she stifled a laugh. “You were a dork? I don't see it.”

He nodded. “Shy, glasses, bad skin, poor fashion sense, overly interested in computer games and anime, the chess club and the school paper. I was an awkward, angsty dork. The longest conversation I ever had with Sophie Cooper was when I interviewed her for the write-up I did on the junior play.”

Marion's mouth curved up slightly. “Did you have a crush on her?”

He wanted to say no, but he knew Marion wouldn't believe it, and there was really no shame in the truth, either. “I was a teenage boy. She was a pretty girl. Of course I had a little crush. Half the boys at school had a crush on her.”

“I guess you were just a late bloomer.” She smiled conspiratorially. “Bet you can't wait for her to see you now.”

She already has.
And while he wasn't vain or up to stroking his own ego, he knew he was a far cry from that teenage dork
and
that Sophie did like what she saw. “It's been nearly ten years. I don't
still
have a crush on her.”

Marion waved that off. “That doesn't matter. The only reason a lot of folks go to their high school reunions is so they can show off how much they've changed for the better. You've lived here basically your whole life, so that chance doesn't get to come for you very often. You should take it.” Her head tipped to one side. “In fact, maybe
you
should do the write-up on Miss Cooper and her new B&B.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, deliberately putting a confused look on his face. “Which one of us is owner, publisher, and editor-in-chief of this fine periodical? Oh, that's right. I am.” He went to his desk. “Your idea. You write it up.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling there's more to this story than prom queen and teenage dork?”

Because your talents at investigative journalism are wasted in Magnolia Beach.
“Because you're always looking for a story.”

Marion smiled. “Because there always
is
a story.”

Quinn just didn't know how this one would play out.

By mid-afternoon, Sophie had interviewed three really great young women who wanted to work as housekeepers. One would start tomorrow, but she didn't need the other two until the contractor was finished. She followed the sounds of power tools to what would become room six and found Ryan Tanner up a ladder installing a ceiling fan.

Ryan Tanner was the current mayor of Magnolia Beach, but he was also the best contractor in the county. And while he was a popular mayor, according to everything she'd heard, his construction skills were his primary attraction for Sophie at the moment. She'd worry about his politics later. “How's it going?” she asked.

Ryan grinned at her. “You mean, ‘When am I going to be done?'”

No sense denying it. Ryan knew she had a to-do list a mile long waiting for her. “Pretty much.”

“I've got to finish up this fan and install the one next door. Tucker's already started buffing the floors.”

“Oh, that's excellent.” That meant they were on the home stretch. Once the floors were done, she could start cleaning, hanging curtains . . . “So tomorrow, probably?”

“Maybe even today.”

That was even better. “You rock, Ryan.”

“I try.”

“Then press on with pride, my friend. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything—like a final check.”

Ryan nodded at her, but Sophie was already moving on, wondering if she could get all three of her new employees in tomorrow . . .

The aroma of fresh bread hit her nose as she pushed through the swinging doors—which was a nice, if quite surprising, change from the smell of fresh paint that permeated the entire building. Alyse stood at the stainless steel counter unwrapping loaves so fresh that steam rose off them.

“Hey, Alyse. I didn't know you were here.”

“I just walked in the door. I tried a couple of those recipes we talked about and wanted to let you sample.” Alyse had been an academic superstar back in high school, so finding out she'd taken a turn to the domestic in the intervening years
had been a surprise—but a welcome one, as she'd already accepted a job as Sophie's assistant manager. They hadn't been close friends or anything back then, but Alyse had been one of the first to welcome her back to Magnolia Beach and Sophie was glad to reconnect with an old friend—who was rapidly becoming a good friend this time around.

“They certainly smell great.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement as she set the kettle back on to boil for another cup of tea and Alyse searched the drawers for a knife.

“I also brought some of Darcy Martin's jams for you to try. I'm sure if you let her set up a little shelf to sell to your guests on consignment, she'd give you a discount on what you buy to serve.”

Serving local products was something Sophie wanted to do, and she opened a jar of strawberry-jalapeño jelly to taste. “If you give me her number, I'll give her a call to talk about it.”

“She'll have a booth set up tomorrow night, so I could introduce you and you could see the whole array of her stuff.”

The jelly was delicious, and Sophie was thinking she could serve it with a nice soft Brie and water crackers . . . “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow's Friday,” Alyse offered helpfully. “It's Fridays on Front, remember? You really need to come.”

According to Alyse, Fridays on Front had been an idea of Ryan's implemented shortly after he was elected. Part craft fair, part farmers' market, and part street festival, Fridays on Front ran from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and, if Alyse was to be believed, it was both a huge success and a lot of fun—even for the locals. “I know I should check it out, but I've been so busy . . .”

“From a purely business standpoint, you need to go. You'll be able to meet people, start establishing yourself in the community, and all that jazz. You've been here nearly three weeks already and you've talked to maybe ten people. It's time to get out there and join the rest of the world.”

“You're right,” Sophie admitted, causing Alyse to grin smugly. “I need to go.”

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Not tomorrow. The guys should be done today or tomorrow, and I'll have so much to do.”

“
Tomorrow
,” Alyse insisted. “It will all get done in time. I'll round up extra volunteers myself to come in and help you if it doesn't.”

“But—”

“You're not in Boston anymore. Slow down, take a breath.”

Slow down? Relax? That seemed so counterproductive when there was so much to do. She sighed. It was going to take her a while to get used to the small-town life, but wasn't that part of the reason she'd moved back here in the first place? The laid-back, barefoot attitude, the slower pace, the sense of community? It was a different set of rules.

Alyse was right. She had to get out there. Mix, mingle, meet people, and get involved. Her success here hinged, at least partially, on the acceptance and goodwill of the locals. She needed to be part of the community in order to reap the benefits. She could tell the workaholic side of her brain that it would be good for her business in the long run to make the effort.

“What time should I meet you there?”

*  *  *

Front Street didn't really “front” anything—in fact, it ran perpendicular to Heron Bay, ending at the seawall on what the locals called the “Shore” to differentiate it from the “Beach” on Mobile Bay—yet no one could tell Sophie how it got its odd name.

But then, Magnolia Beach was an odd little place. Surrounded on three sides by water—Mobile Bay to the east, Heron Bay to the south, and Heron Bayou to the west—most of the town was pressed into a relatively small space. The geography worked to its advantage, though. Tourists loved the wide variety of water activities
and
the fact that they could walk pretty much anywhere. The compressed location had also kept Magnolia Beach from sprawling out over the years, making it a genuine small town in population, size,
and
spirit.

And this Fridays on Front thing really showcased that. Tents and tables laden with everything from baked goods to fishing supplies lined the sidewalks, and picnic tables had been dragged into the street under strings of lights stretched between streetlights and buildings. A band was set up in front of City Hall, and the smells of barbeque, shrimp boils, and fried pies hung heavy in the air, making Sophie's stomach growl. Returning to the South was going to be hell on her waistline.

It was crowded, but not crushingly so. Couples had room to walk hand-in-hand while small children darted through the crowd like minnows. It was still quite warm, and would be until after the sun set completely, but Sophie was fine in a cotton skirt and T-shirt.

Alyse was waiting for her on the lawn of Grace Baptist Church, as promised. “I'm so glad you're here. I'm starving.”

“Me, too. Do I want the shrimp or barbeque?”

“Barbeque,” she said and steered Sophie into the flow of traffic.

A lifelong resident, Alyse was a font of information on both the town and the people in it. Everything and everyone had
a story, it seemed, and Alyse was happy to tell it. As they made their way down the street, Alyse stopped to introduce her to many of the vendors—including Darcy Martin and her jars of deliciousness. It was networking, but it was also fun, and Sophie was glad she'd agreed to come. She was still a little taken aback at the fact that everyone seemed to know who she was and what she was doing to the B&B.

When she mentioned this to Alyse, though, as they waited for their sandwiches, Alyse just laughed. “It's a small town and you're front page news.”

“Funny you say that. I got a call from the
Clarion
this afternoon, and they're going to do a write-up on the place.”

“That's great. And Quinn will do a great job with it.”

“Quinn? I talked to a Marion.”

“Marion's great, too. You'll like her.”

“Then who's Quinn? I can't imagine the
Clarion
is large enough to warrant a big set of staff writers.”

“You know Quinn Haslett. He's our age. He used to work on the school paper?”

She wracked her brain and came up with a vague picture of a tall, dark-haired lanky boy with thick glasses and lots of black T-shirts. “Glasses? Kinda bookish, and real quiet and shy?”

Alyse nodded. “That's Quinn. He owns the
Clarion
now.”

“That's good to know. I remember he interviewed me about the play we did junior year. I guess I shouldn't be surprised he's running the local paper.”

“Oh, Quinn's full of surprises.” Alyse was biting back a smile, but Sophie didn't have a chance to ask her about it as Alyse was already waving at a group seated at a picnic table. “Come on,” she said, taking their food and walking toward them.

Not having much of a choice if she wanted to eat, Sophie followed.

“Most of y'all know Sophie,” Alyse began, and Sophie realized she recognized most of the faces. “Let's see, you probably remember Adam Tanner . . .”

Adam had been a football player, like most of the Tanner boys, and he still had a killer smile she remembered very well when he flashed it at her. “Of course.”

“Adam's a lawyer now,” Alyse supplied.

“Hopefully, I won't require your services,” Sophie said, “but that's good to know.”

“And that's Lacey James, who's now Lacey Phillips because she married Howie over there.”

That was not a pairing she'd have ever envisioned, but they looked happy enough. Lacey waved and Howie handed her a red cup like the others held. “Have some Firefly Tea. Welcome home,” he said, lifting his cup in a small toast.

“Thanks.” She took a sip and tasted the bite of alcohol, but it was lightly sweet and refreshing and would go wonderfully with her sandwich—if she ever got to eat it.

“Let's see . . . That's Heidi and Colette.” She nodded toward a petite brunette and a statuesque redhead. “Heidi owns the yoga studio and Colette owns the day spa.”

“Two of my soon-to-be favorite places.”

“And this is Jennifer. She teaches English and Drama.”

“I heard you were a great Audrey,” Jennifer said.

“A passable one. Thankfully, I have other talents and didn't have to try to pay my bills on my acting skills.”

“Well, Alyse says you're a great cook,” Adam said.

“I like to think so. I certainly enjoy it. What kind of law do you practice?”

Adam started to answer but was interrupted by Howie. “We already know and don't care, and if he thinks for one second that you do, he'll drone on for
hours
.” That remark sparked a good-natured scuffle between Howie and Adam and a scolding by Lacey, and by the time it was settled, Sophie felt like part of the crowd.
The first step to really making this place home again
. Alyse had been right to make her come.

An hour later, she was only halfway through her sandwich but deep in a conversation with Colette about the possibility of a special “sleep and spa” package deal. From beside her, she heard Adam shout, “Quinn! Over here.”

“Quinn Haslett owns the
Clarion
,” Colette provided.

“That's what I heard.”

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched up. “You haven't met him?”

“Not since I got back. I knew him from before, of course.”

“He's a nice guy. Damn adorable, too.”

There was such a sigh in Colette's voice that Sophie had to bite back a laugh. “It's good to know puberty was kind to
him.”

She took one last bite of her sandwich as she heard people greeting Quinn and swallowed as she heard Alyse say, “Quinn, you remember Sophie, don't you?”

She looked up, a smile already in place, and froze.

Studly
.

She hadn't had a good look at his face before, and the light here wasn't great now that the sun was completely down, but she'd spent three weeks memorizing that profile, those shoulders . . .

And he was even better up close.

Mercy.

“Hi, Sophie. Welcome back.”

Be cool.
“Quinn. It's good to see you.”

“You haven't changed a bit.”

“Well you certainly have.” That was an understatement. He was a far cry from the boy she remembered, and he definitely knew it. From the way the corner of his mouth was twitching, he was probably enjoying her shock.

“The Palmer place is really looking great,” he said. “I'm glad someone's fixing it up again.”

“You've been by?”

“Quinn lives not too far from your place,” Alyse offered. “I'm surprised you haven't seen him out walking Scoop.”

“I am, too,” he said, a touch of surprise in his voice. “I'm down on the beach with Scoop pretty much every morning.”

“Really?” She tried to convey mild surprise and minor interest, but there was something niggling at her . . .

“In fact, you could probably stand on your balcony and see us.”

He knew.
The realization hit her with a jolt. He'd seen her watching him.
Damn.
Thank God it was dark, because her face felt like it went up in flames. His mouth twitched again. Not only did he know, he knew she knew he knew, and damn it, he was enjoying her embarrassment. “I like to sit out on my balcony in the mornings, so I've probably seen you. There is a man who brings a brown dog to the beach sometimes, but honestly, I'm either barely awake or trying to meditate, so I can't say for sure.” She tried to downplay it so she didn't look so much like a stalker.

“That's us.”

“Well, once I'm open, please feel free to stop in and grab some coffee to take with you.”
There. That sounded very mature and not at all stalkerish or crazy.

“Will do.” With that, Quinn accepted a cup from Howie, who then refilled hers, and sat on the opposite end of the picnic table. Sophie wanted to go crawl in a hole and whimper in embarrassment, but she stayed where she was. Quinn seemed happy with her private mortification and didn't act like he wanted to press the issue further in front of people, thank goodness.