One Little Thing (6 page)

Patience and temperance and self-control were for people who weren't currently kissing Quinn Haslett. Or
being
kissed by Quinn Haslett, for that matter.

The stern talking-to she'd given herself yesterday had been a giant waste of time. She was ready to jump his bones, right here, right now, damn the consequences. If it weren't for the fact she knew sex and sand were a bad combination, she'd probably be naked already.

There wasn't even a good reason to assume there
would
be consequences, so why deny herself—or him, either?

Jeez, the trek back up to her place seemed to take forever.

Quinn stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning the knob to the outdoor shower and stepping under it to rinse off. In the time it took her to think
I bet that water is cold
, Quinn had pulled her under the spout with him, and while the water
was
cold, it was no contest against the heat radiating off him in waves.

She closed her eyes long enough to let the water wash the salt from her face, and when she opened them again, Quinn's shirt was off and hanging from the banister, and he was pulling her to him with clear intent.

Hot damn. This is happening.

That knowledge was enough to scramble her brain—which Quinn's kisses were already doing a pretty good job of already—so how they made it to the porch and into the house, she didn't quite know. Nor did she know exactly how or when her shirt came off. But she did register the feel of the carpet against her back and the delicious weight of Quinn's body on top of hers.

And it was better than she hoped.

Quinn was lean and solid, and his skin was softer than expected, letting her hands slide easily over his back and shoulders, exploring the planes and ridges of the muscles she'd appreciated from afar for so long.

He sat up, pulling her into his lap so her legs wrapped around his waist, and she groaned at the contact. Her bra was gone with a few twists of Quinn's hands and his mouth blazed a hot path down her neck and across the tops of her breasts.

Caught in the rush, it took her a minute to realize Quinn wasn't kissing her now, and, in fact, had asked her something. “What?” she managed to wheeze, trying to bring his face into focus.

“Condoms. Please tell me you have some.”

The naked desire on his face nearly took her breath away again. “Upstairs. My room.”

“That is about the only thing that could convince me to climb those stairs again today.” Untangling himself from her arms and legs—which, she discovered as she tried to stand, weren't working entirely properly right now—he prodded her toward the stairs.

Anticipation gave her a rush of energy, and she took the stairs two at a time with Quinn hot on her heels.

She left Quinn in her bedroom as she went into the tiny attached bath, opening drawers and rifling through them, trying to remember where she would have stored something she didn't think she'd be needing for a while. About the time panic was setting in, she finally found them. “Oh, thank goodness,” she whispered.

She was a little disappointed to find Quinn seated on the edge of her bed—instead of naked and
in
it—but standing between his thighs, held firmly by the hips as he took his sweet damn time kissing his way across her chest, over her breasts and ribs, belly and hips, she got over that disappointment pretty quickly. Her death-grip on his shoulders was the only thing keeping her upright by the time he flipped the clasp of her shorts open and let them drop to the floor.

And then—
finally
—she was on the bed beside Quinn, and he was—
finally
—naked, his knee wedged between her thighs. The sensation of crisp hair against that overly sensitive skin was topping the Ten Best Feelings Ever List, only to be displaced a second later by . . .
Oh. My. God.

She might not survive this.

She grabbed the sheets, trying to anchor herself.

Mercy.
She was going to die happy.

*  *  *

And just like that, they were a couple.

Quinn was still a little confused by this, but he also didn't want to question his luck too closely for fear he'd jinx it.

Sophie was smart and beautiful, funny and sexy. She was independent and determined, yet laid-back and even goofy at times. She even liked his dog, keeping treats in a jar and a water bowl for Scoop on the deck. Wet, sandy dogs were still banned from coming inside, but Sophie got Scoop a blanket and some toys to occupy her in the evenings when she was clean and dry.

They'd settled into a routine almost immediately. He'd take Scoop to the beach in the morning for her run, then stop at Sophie's for a cup of coffee—and sometimes breakfast. Then he went to work and so did she. Sophie wasn't one for random texts or phone calls during the day, but she always finished up by six or so, leaving her evening free. Sometimes she'd cook—he was a happy guinea pig for her recipe experiments, even if they were mostly breakfast foods—or they'd go out, letting him reintroduce her to the people and places of Magnolia Beach. Hell, they'd made a point of christening every room of the inn already—except for the kitchen, because Sophie insisted that wouldn't be appropriate or hygienic.

It was damn near perfect, more than he really could have asked for, and almost enough to make him slightly smug about his good fortune.

A little over two weeks later, three days before Sophie's “soft opening,” they sat on the back deck, feet propped up on the railing, as the sun set. Scoop lay stretched out between their chairs, happily shredding a stuffed animal. Sophie was debating hors d'oeuvres choices for her open house, now only four days away.

“Mini-quiches are just so easy that it's tempting just to be lazy, but
everyone
serves mini-quiches for just that reason that it's clichéd and so tired now.” Scowling at the cookbook in her lap, she flipped to a different page. “But they also keep well, so any leftovers wouldn't go to waste. Hmm . . .”

“You are very calm for someone just a few days from opening.”

Sophie shrugged. “I'm ready. If someone walked through that door now, I'd be fine. Hell, I'd be
ecstatic
. I built in too much of a buffer zone for contingencies and disasters, and now I'm dying to just be open already.”

“Your ad ran in yesterday's paper.”

She grinned. “I know. I've already had a bunch of calls. It's very heartening.”

“Well, people want to get a look inside and see what you've done with the place. Small-town nosiness, if nothing else.”

“They'll get their chance Sunday. Fingers crossed it'll be a good crowd. Would it be tacky for me to take flyers to the party at the school Friday night?”

“I don't know about tacky, but it's probably unnecessary.” He'd made some phone calls to ensure that she'd have a good crowd. “Everyone there will know who you are already.”

“Mrs. Kenna was a popular teacher. I figured some of her former students who live out of town now might be there to thank her and wish her a happy retirement.” She shook her head. “Oh, just ignore me and forget I even said that. Mrs. Kenna's party is a social event and no place to do business. I know better than that. I'm just—”

“Excited,” he finished for her. “I know.” He squeezed her hand. “But take some business cards. Just in case.” If he didn't have to cover the party for the
Clarion
, he'd just make a brief appearance, and while Sophie had agreed to go with him, he didn't know if she really wanted to. “You know, if you've got stuff you need to do, you don't have to go.”

“I want to go,” she said quickly. “I always liked Mrs. Kenna.”

He'd liked Mrs. Kenna well enough, too, but biology had never been his favorite subject or anything. “I didn't know you liked science so much.”

Sophie shook her head. “It wasn't the class. I mean, I didn't hate it or anything, but Mrs. Kenna was really good to me when . . . well, when all the shit hit the fan.”

All the guilt he'd been conveniently forgetting and ignoring slammed into him. He'd gotten good enough at it to not have even thought about it recently.

And God knew, he had something pretty awesome here with Sophie and he didn't want to screw that up unnecessarily. The past was past. It was done, and nothing he could say or do now would change what had happened. It certainly wouldn't make anything better. There was little chance Sophie would ever learn the truth, and he had nothing to gain by unburdening his soul. Aside from a little bitterness that night she'd been tipsy, Sophie didn't seem to be holding grudges or harboring any resentment. She seemed fine. Over it. Why dig up a long-buried past just to appease his conscience?

And it seemed a little too late anyway. The right time to confess would have been earlier—ten years ago, ideally, but at the very least before they started sleeping together. What if Sophie felt betrayed or lied to? What if she got angry at him for the part he played?

This would not go down as his proudest moment in life, but he wasn't willing to risk messing this up with Sophie. If that meant he was a coward at heart, so be it.

“Quinn? Are you okay?” Sophie's face was in the shadows, but he could see her eyebrows pulled together in concern.

His poker face must suck. “I'm fine. I just remembered something I was supposed to do.”

Her eyes widened, and she laughed. “Well, based on the look on your face, you should probably go do it.”

“No, no, it's fine. It's not that big a deal.”
At least I hope it's not.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Sophie closed the cookbook with a snap, then turned toward him, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Want to go
inside, then?”

Yeah, this was just too good to risk screwing up.

The Magnolia Beach High School gym looked almost exactly the same as it had ten years ago—meaning it looked exactly like every other high school gym in America.

Sophie hadn't expected a rush of memories to greet her, so she was a little surprised by the fact that they did. She'd made out with Bobby Sorkinson behind the bleachers over there during a pep rally, cheered her heart out during home games from the “Girlfriend Section” during that brief time she'd dated one of the basketball players, and sat through endless assemblies urging her to be a better citizen, say no to drugs, and respect the school dress code. Typical stuff.

With so many
good
memories to look back on, why, then, did being here have her feeling on edge? That sinking-rock feeling in her stomach, the one she'd lived with during the weeks that followed the outing of her father, seemed stronger than the normal, harmless nostalgia. She'd forgotten the feeling, but she'd recognized it immediately. She could almost feel the tension creeping into her shoulders. It was creepy and weird and hard to shake, and it left her feeling jumpy.

The crowd for Mrs. Kenna's retirement party, though, was pretty impressive, and that made Sophie smile. Mrs. Kenna had been teaching the teenagers of Magnolia Beach for nearly thirty years, and it looked like most of them had shown up tonight.

Amazingly, Mrs. Kenna both remembered
and
recognized her—which was a nice stroke to her ego to think she was aging well. “It's so good to see you back in town, Sophie. And so successful, too! I can't wait to see what you've done with the old Palmer place.”

“Come by anytime, and I'll give you a personal tour.”

“I'll do that.” Mrs. Kenna beamed at her. “I've thought about you so often over the years. How are you doing? You look so beautiful and happy.”

“I'm good.” The genuine caring in Mrs. Kenna's voice warmed Sophie's heart. “I've thought about you, too. I should have kept in touch.”

Mrs. Kenna waved that away. “You were busy growing up. I understand. And how are your parents?”

From anyone else, that question would feel prying, but Mrs. Kenna had been her ally, the one adult she had been able to talk to about the whole mess. “Good. Divorced now, but good. We're all good.”

“Excellent. I told you it would all work out, didn't I?” she said quietly.

“You did. And you were right. It was tough for a while, but it got better.”

“And you're stronger for it.”

“I like to think so. I also want to thank you. For everything. I don't know what I would have done without—” She was surprised to hear her voice break.

Mrs. Kenna stopped her with a squeeze of her hand. “Oh, Sophie, don't thank me. I just shored up the walls a little when you needed it. You did all the heavy lifting.”

“And it meant a lot to me.” Sophie was holding up the line and in danger of blubbering, so she left it at that, giving Mrs. Kenna a quick hug and a promise to take her to lunch to catch up before moving on.

Spying Alyse across the room, Sophie headed in that direction. The woman Alyse was speaking to had her back to Sophie, but from this angle it didn't look like a private conversation.

When Alyse looked up and saw her, a strange look of worry, concern, and shock crossed her face. A second later the other woman turned around and Sophie understood.

Amy Lee Huggins. The condescending, judgmental Queen Bitch extraordinaire who'd taken great pleasure in condemning her “immoral” and “unnatural” family to the fiery pits of hell using quotes from her daddy, the then-pastor of Grace Baptist, to explain the deep ugly sin of her entire bloodline.

And the look on her face told Sophie that Amy Lee's opinions hadn't changed much in the intervening years.

Good. That means I don't have to like her now.
While she was a little shaky from all the other emotions buffeting her right now, the anger that welled up in her chest felt not only justified, but fortifying, as well.

It still shocked her enough, though, to know that she couldn't trust what might come out of her mouth if she got drawn into a conversation. But she wasn't going to run away, either. Prudence wasn't the same thing as cowardice.

Sophie managed to nod in Amy Lee's direction before turning to Alyse. “I just wanted to let you know that the package we were waiting on finally arrived today.” As far as cover stories went, that one was a little lame, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Alyse, bless her, was quick on the uptake. “Oh, good. That's a relief. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.” She forced herself to smile. “I'll let y'all get back to your conversation now. Sorry for interrupting.” It took a lot of self-control to even squeeze out a short “Amy Lee” acknowledgement in her general direction before she left.

She made a beeline to the refreshment table, accepted a cup of unnaturally pink punch from a teenage girl in a “MBHS
Hospitality Team” polo shirt, and took it over near the bleachers to take deep breaths and pull herself together.

She hadn't been quite ready to actually face someone like Amy Lee. She definitely hadn't been prepared for the anger that boiled up in her throat, making her want to lash out at narrow-minded, small-town bigots who'd gone after not only her father and David, but her and her mother, too, when they were the innocent and wronged parties. Her contact with the residents of Magnolia Beach had been pretty contained to the unwitting and not-responsible bystanders—until today.

At least she'd handled it well—or well enough. She hadn't made a scene, at least. And she now knew she wasn't
quite
as over it as she'd been telling herself and everyone else. She needed to be better prepared for next time. Because there
would
be a next time, and how she handled it would set a standard going forward.

Looking around, she saw Quinn under the basketball net, his camera held casually by his side. He was officially working this event on behalf of the
Clarion
, so she wasn't going to go hang on his coattails while he tried to do his job.

Hell, everyone in town knew they were seeing each other. She didn't need to prove it or feed the rumor mill by attaching herself to his side like an emotionally needy—or worse, possessive—burr.

It was tempting, though. Quinn was quite the catch, and she couldn't help but notice the attention he seemed to garner from the unmarried female population of Magnolia Beach. She might not want to
act
all possessive and clingy, but the desire to mark Quinn as taken was strong. That came as a surprise to her, as she'd never considered herself the jealous type before, but the feeling was easily identifiable. She wasn't proud of it, but there it was. And it was weird; even as shaky and edgy as she'd felt tonight, looking over to see Quinn made her feel better.

Rising up on her tiptoes, she looked over the crowd for a face she knew, not just faces she recognized, but it seemed no one she would want to talk to right now was here—barring Alyse, but she still seemed to be with Amy Lee.

She couldn't bring herself to drink that nasty-looking punch, either, even just to kill time, so she went looking for a place to throw it away. She'd come to see Mrs. Kenna, and with that mission accomplished, she could head home and text Quinn to meet her there later when he was done.

Spying a trash can over near the visitors' locker room, she made her way along the side of the crowd to it. Placing it carefully in the can so it didn't splash back up on her, she backed up, treading heavily on the foot of someone behind her.

“So sorry,” she said, turning around quickly. Then she froze.

Mr. Shipp.

All the air felt sucked out of her.

It had only been ten years, but Mr. Shipp had aged greatly in that time. He'd seemed so formidable when she was seventeen and full of impotent rage and hate for this man who was destroying her life. Now, though, the salt-and-pepper hair was fully white, and he seemed smaller and more frail.

Normally, the mere thought of Mr. Shipp brought a rise of righteous and indignant anger, but seeing him now . . . She didn't know what she felt.

“Careful there, dear.” Mr. Shipp gave her a friendly smile that left her blinking in shock. It must have shown on her face, because a moment later, he was asking, “Is everything all right?”

He has no idea who I am.
That one thought rattled around her head like dried seeds in a gourd. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Mr. Shipp began looking around a little desperately. “Are you here with someone? Should I—”

His hand landed on her arm at that point, snapping her out of her shock, and a moment later, all that righteous indignation roared back, lighting up her veins like kerosene on fire. “Don't touch me, you bigot,” she snapped, jerking her arm away.

White eyebrows flew to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You're a hateful, homophobic bigot, and you should be deeply ashamed of yourself.”

“My dear, I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. I don't even know you.” The genuine look of confusion on his face only fed the flames of her ire.

Flitting right outside that red haze of anger was the sure knowledge that her very proper mother was keeling over right now from a heart attack at her behavior, but that wasn't enough to stop her words. “Wow. You've destroyed so many people's lives that you can't even remember them all. My name is Sophie. Sophie Cooper.”

Recognition dawned on Mr. Shipp's face. “Miss Cooper. Of course. I'd heard you'd come back to Magnolia Beach.”

His coolness only fanned the flames. She felt as if she were vibrating in anger, but her voice, she was pleased to hear, stayed even. “Surprised?”

“Why would I be surprised?”

“After the witch hunt you led against my father? You wanted us the hell
out
of this town. It wasn't enough that you got David fired from a job he loved, or that you forced both of them out of the closet in a small town, or that you humiliated my mother and destroyed my life—”

Quinn suddenly appeared by her side, taking hold of her arm. “Sophie,” he said quietly, his tone somewhere between placating and warning. A quick glance showed her that the party had come to a complete halt, and every eye in the place was on her. A rush of embarrassment hit her, but it was easily swamped by her anger.

She shook off Quinn's restraining hand. “What did any of us ever do to you to deserve that? Why did you have to go digging into people's private lives? And why would you make such a big public fuss over something that was
none of your damn business
?” She shouted the last part of that sentence, nearly blowing Mr. Shipp's white hair back from his forehead.

His eyes flashed, letting her know she'd finally broken through. He lifted his chin. “I regret that you were harmed or embarrassed in any way, Miss Cooper. The sins of the parents should not revenged upon their children.” The sanctimonious tone completely belied his words. “I, however, had an ethical and moral obligation to report the
im
moral activities of a teacher at this school in order to protect the children and the community at large.”

“That's ridiculous.” She was furious that this man had no shame, no regret, for what he did. She'd have been satisfied to see him show even the slightest remorse, or even a sign that he might have used the last decade to rethink his attitude and self-righteousness.

Mr. Shipp took a breath. “As for your other question, you'll have to ask Mr. Haslett.”

She felt Quinn stiffen beside her, then heard him curse under his breath. That didn't make any sense. She cut her eyes in his direction, just long enough to register that he looked miserable.

Then Mr. Shipp continued. “Young Quinn was the one who ‘went digging,' as you put it. He uncovered and complied all the evidence. I only ensured that the information made it into the appropriate people's hands.”

There was an audible gasp from the crowd, and Sophie's stomach clenched.
Quinn?
That didn't make sense. And Mr. Shipp looked too pleased with himself for that to be true. “Don't pass the buck. If you want the credit, you've got to take the blame, too. But here's the thing—you failed. Ultimately, whatever your hope was, you failed. My mom's happy, my dad's happy, my step-dad”—she saw Mr. Shipp flinch at the term—“is happy, and I'm happy. We're healthy, successful, and
happy
. The only thing you managed to accomplish was running off a good teacher and convincing my family to leave town. But now I'm back, so you failed at that, too. That's C-minus work, at best, Mr. Shipp.”

She didn't give him a chance to respond, letting her anger carry her out of there with as much dignity as she could manage. He was a horrible, small-minded little man. But what had she hoped for, really? An apology? An awakening? A promise to donate to PFLAG? Mr. Shipp was an aging good ol' boy in a small Southern town; the chances of him having some kind of cultural revelation at this point were slim to none. And if he hadn't been publicly shamed or called out by the citizens of Magnolia Beach by now, her one voice wasn't going to . . .

Oh dear God.

All the hot anger drained out of her, leaving a chill in its wake, and her feet froze to the asphalt of the parking lot.

What have I done?

Unfortunately, the answer was all too clear. She'd just made a complete spectacle of herself in front of half the town, ranting at an old man—an old man who'd been a part of this community longer than she'd been alive, and was probably well-liked by the majority of the people there.

One of her first “public” appearances in Magnolia Beach and she turned into a screaming harpy with a grudge and a bone to pick.
Hell of a way to win friends and influence people
. She didn't even have her doors officially open yet, and she'd probably made several enemies who could make or break her business. At the very least, she'd painted herself as mentally unstable. How was she supposed to establish herself as a business owner and make any kind of success for herself when
that
was one of the first impressions she'd given everyone?