A Guy for Christmas - K.C. Wells Page 0,8

nearby. “Twenty-six pounds,” he mused. “Yeah, that’s light.”

“Yes, but it’s stable enough to handle breezy days out on the lake.” Robin pointed to the canoes stacked against the wall. “We do five colors, but we can also do a custom job for whatever you want. When the canoe is made, we get you in to pick out the seat, and you go for a test paddle in the pond out back. That way, we can also choose the best paddle combination for you.”

Mr. Quentin took a step toward the canoes. “What color is this one?” He pointed to one.

“That’s amethyst.” It was also Robin’s favorite.

“It’s gorgeous.” Mr. Quentin’s smile widened. “Okay, you’ve sold me. You obviously know your stuff.”

The office door opened, and Dad came back in. “Sorry about that. I hope Robin was helpful?”

“Extremely helpful. It’s good to see such enthusiasm for a product, not to mention a thorough knowledge of it.”

Dad’s approving glance sent warmth through Robin.

Mr. Quentin raised his chin and looked Dad in the eye. “Okay. How do I go about ordering a RapidFire?”

Robin beamed. Hey, I got one. Yay me.

Dad gestured to the door. “Let’s go into the office and we’ll get the paperwork started. You’re ordering it for the spring?”

“Yes. I want to be ready by Labor Day for the Classic.”

Dad gave a broad smile. “Then you’ve made a good choice.” He opened the door and stepped into the office.

Mr. Quentin followed him but paused at the threshold. He turned back and gave Robin a warm smile. “Thanks, Robin.”

Robin couldn’t help but return that smile. “Any time, Mr. Quentin.” He knew Mr. Quentin’s first name, of course—most kids knew their teachers’ first names—and he really wanted to use it. After all, he was out of school, and it wasn’t as if Mr. Quentin had ever been his teacher, but all the same, it felt… wrong.

That’s the kind of thing you wait to be invited to do.

Then he gave himself a mental kick in the butt. For fuck’s sake. Forget about his name and get back to work.

Robin stretched in his bed, his phone in his hand. It had been a good day, and his dad was clearly proud of the job Robin had done in recommending a canoe for Mr. Quentin. He’d mentioned it when they got home that evening, and Mom had given him a hug.

Working with his dad was going to be just fine.

Robin closed his eyes, focusing on the way Mr. Quentin had looked. The only reason he’d volunteered to help with the set—well, reasons—were that Mr. Quentin had asked for any students who would be willing to give up their time, and that had meant spending a few hours after school with Mr. Quentin on a regular basis.

Robin could still recall the whispered conversations among the girls in his class whenever Mr. Quentin strolled down the hallway. He was a gorgeous guy, and Robin knew from working with him that the leather jacket he always wore in school hid tattoos over his shoulder and muscled upper left arm. Thank God for the occasional hot summer day when Mr. Quentin had worn a tank top and jeans after school. Robin had tried not to drool at the sight of tanned flesh and dark blue ink as Mr. Quentin had rehearsed with his actors, while Robin pretended to work on the set and not stare at the guy’s firm ass and thick calves in those tight jeans.

Except Robin knew it was more than the way Mr. Quentin looked. Most kids got a feel for who the good teachers were, and it wasn’t necessarily about whether they’d let the kids get away with shit. I think you know who the good guys are. And Mr. Quentin was one of the good guys. The kind of guy you knew deep down was a good person.

His phone buzzed, and a glance at the screen told him Ryan wanted to FaceTime. “Hey. You okay?”

Judging by the background noise, Ryan was in his dorm. “Yeah. We okay to talk?”

“Sure. They’re watching TV.” He could hear the faint noise from the living room. “What’s up?”

“Something I wanted to ask you when I was home, but I never got the chance. Plus, it was kinda awkward with Mom and Dad around.”

Robin smirked. “Now I’m curious.”

Ryan lay on his side on his bed, his head propped up in his hand. “I know you said you haven’t got a boyfriend, but… do you have a ‘special friend’?” He hooked his fingers