The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,83
walked over. Quinn’s Audi and her Volvo were the only two vehicles in the lot, and it was getting late. If someone noticed, it could stir up gossip.
But sneaking around seemed so juvenile. She was too old for that. Besides, she wanted to feel as though she wasn’t doing anything wrong, that it’d been long enough since Nick went missing that no one would fault her for seeing Quinn. Since there was no roadmap for what she was going through—and very few other people had ever gone through it—she was tempted to rely on public opinion even though that was probably the last thing she should do. Why would it be up to anyone else to decide when she was in the clear?
She heard the door and turned as Quinn poked his head out, gave her a sexy smile and stepped aside to let her past him.
The aroma that hit her as she walked in tempted her to stop and just stand there, breathing it in. “Wow, smells incredible in here,” she said. “What are you making?”
“Dinner,” he replied.
“What’s on the menu?”
Dressed in a pair of jeans that fit him far too well not to be a distraction and a red polo, he flourished the hand towel he’d thrown over his shoulder, settled it on his forearm and bent toward her like a waiter. “Butternut squash soup along with a balsamic roasted beet salad and fresh sourdough bread for starters. Plank wood grilled salmon topped with avocado salsa, garlic-roasted broccoli and almond asparagus spears for the main course.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“And I’ve got whatever you want for dessert,” he added.
She told herself he was referring to the carrot cake she liked so well, but it was a testament to what he did to her that her mind would venture elsewhere.
“I never planned on becoming a chef,” he said. “But after being raised by parents who own a restaurant—” he tossed the towel back over his shoulder “—I’ve learned a few things. I hope you’re hungry.”
She was, but for all the wrong things. “I don’t think I realized just how hungry until I walked through that door.”
Quinn led her to a table in the middle of the restaurant set with a white tablecloth and a bouquet of matching hydrangeas.
“This looks like something out of a magazine,” she said.
He pulled out her chair. “It’s a special occasion, so I decided to break out the good stuff.”
“What’s the special occasion?”
“You,” he replied without hesitation.
Had there been the slightest insincerity in that statement, it would’ve sounded ridiculous. Instead, she felt the same powerful magnetism she had on the beach.
“White okay?” he asked, holding out a bottle of wine.
“Definitely.”
He poured them each a glass of chardonnay but didn’t sit down with her. “You look beautiful.”
Autumn had worn a simple black sheath dress, black sandals and gold hoop earrings, and she’d pulled her hair into a low ponytail. She’d gotten some sun since coming to town, and with the dark circles now gone beneath her eyes, she hadn’t bothered to put on a lot of makeup.
She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words were lost as she met his gaze. They were going to make love again. She could see it in his face, feel it in the rapid beat of her heart. But she’d been hoping for that, hadn’t she?
“I’ll go get the first course.” He went to the kitchen and returned with the soups, the salads and the bread, so she put the linen napkin that had been folded next to her silverware in her lap.
“Your parents don’t mind that you’re using the restaurant tonight?”
“Not at all.”
“What’d you tell them you were going to do?” she asked while he arranged the plates.
“I said I was going to make a meal for someone.”
She gazed at the little swirl of sour cream and sprig of cilantro he’d used to garnish the soup. “They didn’t ask who?”
He left the empty tray on another table and sat across from her. “They didn’t have to.”
She felt her eyebrows slide up. “They knew it would be me? How?”
A sheepish expression claimed his face. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”
She’d been about to taste the soup, but at this she held her spoon in midair. “Are people already gossiping about us? Is Mrs. Vizii trying to stir things up?”
“If so, not with my parents. She knows better than to bother them. They never liked Sarah to begin with.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say my ex wasn’t very supportive of our relationship.”