Just Desserts (6 page)

Had his brain frozen when he’d first walked into her kitchen? He clearly recalled the velvety touch of Sadie’s fingers.

Quinn abruptly sat up in the Jeep and hit his head on the visor shade. It dawned in his pea-sized brain that he’d lost himself in her lush sea green eyes. Of course, it was afterward that he hadn’t been able to get a grip on his mojo.

And the diner—did he really fool himself into thinking he had the upper hand?

But then he’d slid into her heat and like a teen, came inside her. It was clear that he’d derailed and got off track.

Quinn chuckled at his word choice, remembering Sadie’s fondness for transportation clichés.

He had acted like an arrogant son of a bitch, just like Sadie had said. He’d considered his catch and release valve a golden gauge, a source of pride--a lever that only he could control. No woman had ever been so spectacular that he wanted to share that infinite part of himself with her.

Up until now he’d managed to thrill and spill, nothing left under the…fuck…the hood. But Sadie? He’d gone in again. Quinn had wanted more and lost himself inside her.

What the hell happened?

He couldn’t face her and risk it, so he had bolted out of the Maxon home and fled. Quinn stared at his blood shot eyes in the visor mirror. “You’re a jackass, Laughton.”

Quinn slapped the visor shut and nearly missed Sadie when she sped by on her bike. He hopped out of the Jeep and ran around the corner to the diner. Jogging into the park across the street, he waited for Sadie to open the diner. He paced in front of a wrought iron bench, repeatedly glancing to see if the neon open sign had flickered on.

If Sadie would allow him, he’d dive back in and get lost inside her, all of her. He’d make love to her. Fuck the diner.

After ten minutes he strode over to the diner and knocked hard on the old wood door. A chip of faded red paint fell to the ground. He cupped his eyes and squinted to try and get a view beyond the thick beveled glass transom, but it was still dark inside. “I know you’re here, Sadie. What’s going on? Your sign’s not lit and it’s nearly seven.”

His heart pounded.

“Sadie, come on.”

She opened the door and fell into his arms. “Bastard.”

He got a lucky break.

“Prick.” She mumbled into his chest.

Really lucky.

He held her tight so that she wouldn’t fall and skin her knees. Scanning the place, only lit by the shadows of the breaking sun, the place looked desperately empty. He caught a faint whiff of sour mash. Had someone been pounding whiskey shots before dawn?

He spied a lumpy form under a checkered tablecloth in the corner booth. A large meaty hand hung off and beyond the edge of the table. Quinn spotted a splay of red hair poking out from under the vinyl cloth. It was Paul.

“What the hell’s going on?” He dragged Sadie to the closest chair and set her in it. Like a life-size rag doll, she flopped over and lay her head on the rickety parlor table. The wonky metal shifted and sent out a nerve-jarring screech.

“My dad’s passed out cold. It’s the worst I’ve seen him. I can’t wake him and I…I can’t do it by myself.” A drape of her red hair fell off the table.

Quinn marched into the kitchen and found that a fresh pot of coffee had finished brewing. The smell alone, wickedly strong, might be enough to bring Paul back from his liquor-induced coma. He poured a couple of mugs full, turned on the fluorescent overhead lights, and strode out the kitchen.

He set a cup down on the table, near Sadie’s tangled mass of hair. He kissed her cheek. “Drink some coffee. I’ll take care of everything.”

Quinn pulled off the tablecloth and calculated Paul’s unusual angle in the booth. He clutched Paul’s shoulder and thick muscular arm and wrenched him up and off the bench.

Paul moaned. “Shite.”

“Come along, Mr. Maxon.” Quinn sidled Paul next to him and draped the dead weight of the man’s arm across his shoulders. Quinn steadied himself after teetering back and almost losing his footing. Then, like a couple of drunken sailors, he half-dragged and half-carried Paul through the diner.

“I’ll be back.” Quinn said to Sadie.

She lifted her head off the table and glared at him. He thought he caught a glimpse of relief swimming in her venomous green eyes.

With all of Paul’s weight on his back, Quinn wondered if Sadie’s dad was truly Irish. The guy was a mass of muscle.

As though attached at the hips, they stumbled down the quiet early morning street toward Quinn’s Jeep.

Paul snorted and then slurred. “I miss my Kate.”

“I know.” Quinn eased Paul into the rear seat of his hatchback and then put on the Jeep’s bikini top so he wouldn’t wake up and be burnt to a crisp like Doug in the movie
Hangover.
“Sleep it off. We’ll get this deal done.”

Paul grunted and curled up on the seat.

The tiger tune from the
Hangover
popped into his mind as he jogged back to the diner. Before he went inside, he called Eddie. “Hey, need your help. Can you take over at the job site today?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, sounding half asleep.

“If you see Lindy can you send her to Ms. Katie’s?”

“She just left. I think she had to make a run into Chicago.”

“Damn. I’ll call you later, thanks. If you need anything, I’ll be at the diner for the day.”

When Quinn came back into the diner, the fluorescent lights in the kitchen cast an eerie yellow glow. Sadie was no longer sprawled out on the table. Quinn heard the bang and clatter of pots. He rushed to make sure she was all right and slammed open the stainless doors. Mixing bowls were strewn over the stainless island.

“What did you do with my dad?” Sadie asked as she stretched up and grabbed a sack of flour off the top shelf of the baker’s rack. “Damn. This is so old it’s filled with meal worms.” She tossed the bag into the garbage. “So much for making fresh quiche.”

“I dragged him to the Jeep where he can sleep it off.” He inspected her face. “Your dad’s a tough man. He’ll be okay.”

Sadie nodded and then crossed her arms tight around her chest.

“You look a little tired.” There weren’t any red streaks or blotches on her cheeks and she’d glossed her lips with pinky goo.

“I tossed and turned all night.” She mechanically twisted her hair and rolled it into the ball on top of her head. “I have to get this place open.”

Sadie was beautiful and too good for him.

“I’ll play chef for the day if you’ll trust my minor barbeque skills.” He lifted his hand in the Boy Scout pledge. “I promise to do my best for you.”

***

“Really? If last night is any reflection of
your best
can you give me an idea when you’ll be making your escape?” Sadie yanked her apron off the wall hook next to the bakers rack and slipped it over her head. She wished that she hadn’t willed herself out of bed that morning. “I should have known something was up with Pop. The house was too quiet after you took off.”

He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shifted his weight. “Yeah. About last night.”

“Never mind.” Sadie’s exhaustion left her no energy to have a discussion with the man about their one night stand. Romping on the floor with him hadn’t been the quick fix she’d wanted; instead, it nearly broke her. She marched through the stainless kitchen doors into the diner. “It still reeks in here. I don’t know how I’ll get the stench of stale liquor out before opening.”

Better than the smell of peanut butter.

After Quinn came over, she’d hoped a night of empty sex would erase the last trace of her deluded crush on Bryan. Even though Quinn treated her with delicious orgasms, one night stands weren’t her thing. The moment he had come inside her, Sadie felt her heart ache.

She strode to the booth where her dad had passed out, grabbed the empty bottle of Jameson, and threw it into the recycling bin behind the counter. Then she flipped on all the ceiling fans and cranked up the air conditioning. “I need to blast out the
aroma
of pure-pot green barley.”

Quinn was folding up the tablecloth that he had picked up off the floor. “Paul has good taste in whiskey.”

“Yes, considering he was born in the States. I have a detailed knowledge of Jameson Whiskey thanks to my father.” Sadie retrieved the U2 album cover that had been plastered against her dad’s face and cheek while he had lain, passed out, on the table. She wiped a spot of drool off it. “I’ve found him in this condition several times. But he usually comes to just in time to open and cook his way through the day. Still inebriated, his cooking never falters. This time, though, he was passed out cold. Like he was dead.”

Quinn lifted the red and white gingham tablecloth. “And this was for his wake?”

“I thought I could hide him before opening.” She tucked
Rattle and Hum
under the counter.

Quinn set the cloth on a table and stood beside her. So close, she knew he felt her shiver. He pressed the palm of his hand gently against her cheek. “Sadie, your father is a survivor. He’ll be okay. I’m sorry about ditching you last night.” With his knuckle, he lifted her chin up and kissed her lightly.

Sadie let Quinn’s warmth calm her and stepped away from him. “Don’t apologize. We had a quickie. It was fun.”

Liar.

He took in a deep breath and rubbed his jaw. She noticed he hadn’t shaven and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

“I have to fire up the stove top and grill.” She stumbled away and went into the kitchen.

She needed to work.

Quinn followed her. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything short of making beef burgers.”

She pulled out patties of veggie burgers from the freezer. The blast of cold air cooled her down. “Sure. Pour some canola oil into the hot oil vat and start it up.” She threw him a bag of frozen sweet potato fries.

He caught the bag. “Gotcha.”

“I still don’t know what to serve for breakfast,” she said, using her best-sounding
gourmet dictator
voice.

“Uh, how about eggs?”

She stopped pacing.

“I can make over-easy or scrambled. And I’ve ordered enough omelets from Ann Sathers to figure it out.”

She tried to contain it, but her lips betrayed her and she smiled.
Damn.

“Eggs will work.” She went to grab a couple cartons of organic brown eggs from the refrigerator. “The diner has never been closed. Even on holidays, my mom had insisted there needed to be a place for anyone to have a healthy home-cooked meal. On the day of her funeral, Lindy ran this place for her.” She set the eggs down next to the griddle.

“I won’t disappoint your mother.” He glanced at her. “Or you.”

“Thanks.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

Uncertainty threatened to suffocate her, but she wasn’t sure if it was the diner or Quinn.

The usual morning customers came through the door. The menu changed to accommodate Quinn’s minimal chef skills, and none of them seemed to notice.

All day, as long as Sadie served any manner of eggs or burgers, the customers, both hicks and chicks, were happy.

Waitressing kept her busy enough that Sadie had to keep her talk with Quinn in simplest terms.

She said order.

He said order up.

Sadie took the order from the last remaining lunch customer and clipped it on the order wheel. She glanced at Quinn. When he reached above the Viking stovetop for the peppercorn grinder, she was riveted. His jeans dropped below his waistline and split apart from his white tee. She peeked at his smooth back, just above his black boxer briefs. She’d caressed his hips and lovely butt the night before as he dozed peacefully in her arms. Then scared him away without even a BOO!

She shook off her disappointment and went into the kitchen. “Can you serve up that burger? I need to clean up.”

“Of course.” Quinn flipped the veggie patty onto a bun and slid it on the plate. “Not bad for a neophyte?”

Sadie shrugged and headed to the bathroom. The tank top she’d thrown on this morning stunk like dirty laundry and stale whiskey. Whipping it, and her bra off, she punched the wall hand dryer on, and glided her bra under the stream of hot air to freshen it up. The machine’s hum lulled her into a trance.

Her mom was dead. Dad was a drunk. He was probably dying a slow death every day he lived and breathed in this place without her.
Depressing.

The dryer clicked off.

“Sadie, I have your rhubarb, babe,” Lindy said as she pounded on the bathroom door.

“Where have you been? I could have used your help this morning. Didn’t you get my messages?” Sadie cracked open the door. “I’ll be right out.”

Lindy busted into the compact bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. “Eddie, Quinn, and you all left me messages. I was in Chicago. Growing Power was selling some greens. I couldn’t miss it. You all right?”

“As well as can be expected since my dad’s a drunken bum.”

“I checked on him. He was sleeping like a baby in Quinn’s Jeep. I detected a faint grin, so I suspect he’ll come around as soon as Quinn gets him home.”

“Pop’s enjoying his only day off in a year and sleeping through it.” Sadie grabbed her bra and a pink T-shirt from the backup stash. The extra T-shirts from the fundraising run were folded on the shelf above the toilet. She shook it open and admired the line drawing of cupcakes on the tee. The run had garnered thousands and paid for her mother’s hospital bills.

Suddenly, Lindy grabbed her arm. “Oh my. It looks like someone had a good time.”

Sadie looked in the mirror at her bare breasts. The tender tissue around both her nipples was spotted about with rosy chafe marks.

Souvenirs from Quinn and his passionate kisses. Funny, she hadn’t noticed them. Sadie slipped her bra back on and pulled on the T-shirt. Quinn was a one-night stand, nothing more.

How could she have been so naïve? She squeezed her eyes shut to block out his look of panic when he had run from the kitchen and pushed his apology out of her mind. “A silly mistake. That’s all, Lindy.”

“Really? And was the silly perpetrator Quinn?”