Abby jumped. “Yes, I’m Abby Quinn. And no, I’m not squatting.” She waited a beat, then gave the doorman the curious teacher look she used with her students. “Is that a new tie?”
Harvey’s lips twitched. Was he about to smile? He’d lived here for almost eight years and never seen the old goat look remotely happy.
The man lifted his chin a fraction. “It is. A gift from the missus.”
Abby went to the desk. “She’s got excellent taste. It brings out your eyes.”
The old man was either having a stroke or again, attempting to grin. “A delivery came for you.”
“For me? I didn’t order anything?”
Harvey’s gaze hardened and the grumpy old codger was back. “You young kids, ordering so much off the computer you can’t even remember what you bought in the first place. When I was your age, everything I owned could fit in a shoebox. A shoebox!”
Brennen shifted her bag and tucked his mail under his arm. “Here, I’ll carry it for you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s probably from my cousin,” she said, lifting the box off the desk. “Oh my gosh, it’s really heavy.” She took a few steps toward him when the bottom gave out and an assortment of winter apparel and three pairs of boots scattered on the lobby floor.
“I hope you know I’m not cleaning that up,” Harvey huffed.
Abby ignored the man, set the box on the floor, and went down to her knees. She picked up a boot then glanced at the coat. “Brennen, they all have Bergen Mountain Sports labels,” she said, looking up at him.
He joined her on the lobby floor and touched the sleeve of the coat. “That’s a three in one insulated parka. It’s got two parts, the outer shell and the inner liner. It’s waterproof and has thermal reflective technology—just fancy talk for something that will keep you warm.”
She stared at him.
He gave her a hesitant grin and pressed on. “You could even ski with that jacket. It’s great. And these.” He picked up a boot. “I wasn’t sure what size shoe you wore so I had them send over the three most common sizes.”
She blinked but said nothing.
“Um…so these are gloves and hats. It looks like they threw in a scarf. That’s good. I totally forgot about that,” he continued, sounding like an idiot.
Abby studied him. “How did you do this? When did you do this?”
“How?” he asked, confused. “My family owns a mountain sports business. I just texted the store manager of the Denver location and asked them to deliver.”
She shook her head. “You should have asked me first. I can’t possibly accept this. It’s too much.”
“Abby, you need this stuff.”
She stroked her thumb across the fur lining of the boot. “You need to send it all back.”
Flip! This had backfired spectacularly.
Why wouldn’t she accept it? Did it break some man fast rule he didn’t know about? There was no way in hell he was going to let her freeze her ass off in that pitiful excuse of a coat. He needed to find a different angle.
“Think of it as prep for the Colorado Fact Competition.”
“Fact prep?”
He nodded. “In Colorado, it’s very important to be prepared for the elements. It can go from fifty degrees and sunny to minus five and snowing in a heartbeat. The correct gear can be the difference between life and death.”
She chewed on her lip.
“This doesn’t violate your man fast rules,” he added.
Her eyes went wide.
“We’re friends, right? Friends do this kind of stuff for each other.”
She released a sharp breath, still not convinced.
“Turn it around, Abby. If you had an entire warehouse of mountain apparel at your disposal and you met someone new to the state who didn’t have the right winter clothing, you’d help them out in a heartbeat. I know you would.”
She stared at the items for what seemed like a flipping eternity, then reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Brennen.”
The breath caught in his throat. As if on autopilot, he tightened his grip and ran his thumb across the back of her wrist. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Warmth radiated from their connection. His breathing grew shallow. He met her gaze. Her pupils went wide. Her chest moved in shallow breaths.
She had to feel this.
Christ, how he wanted to kiss her!
Their heads were bent over the items scattered on the floor, and all he’d need to do was lean forward. He shifted his gaze from their hands and caught her watching him. He stroked her wrist again. She parted her lips but didn’t speak.
Time froze. Nothing existed besides the two of them. His heart raced. It was like standing at the base of a mountain with an avalanche heading straight for you.
Terrifying. Electrifying. Mesmerizing.
Were you going to survive or get swept away?
“Are you two going to pick all that up or do I need to get the broom?” Harvey called from his perch at the concierge desk.
Gently, Abby pulled her hand from his. “We better…”
“Yeah,” he said.
He held the box, supporting it from the bottom as Abby collected the items and placed them inside. They rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor, and he followed her down the hall to her apartment.
“This is me,” she said, unlocking and opening the door to 11B. “I’d ask you in, but it’s getting late, and I still have work, and…”
He set the box and her bag inside the apartment and took a step back into the hallway. “No, I have stuff, too. I should head up.”
They watched each other for an awkward moment, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He wanted to touch her again. Wanted to hold her hand. Wanted to run his fingertips along her jawline. He wanted to know everything about her.
Brennen Bergen, the man who couldn’t even remember the names of the women he’d slept with, now wanted to catalog Abigail Quinn’s every minute detail.
“Thank you, Brennen. The boots, the coat…everything. It’s so thoughtful and exactly what I needed. Please, thank the manager for me. And your grandparents, too. It was so kind of them to pay for dinner. Let them know that next time, dinner’s on me.”
He didn’t know what made him happier. The fact that she was keeping the gear or that she also wanted to go out to dinner with his grandparents—and maybe him—again.
And this girl, this woman! His grandparents were worth a billion dollars, and here she was, the sweetest fucking—flipping—school teacher on the planet wanting to buy them a meal. The women in his orbit didn’t offer to pay for anything.
Relief washed over him. “Good! Great!” Flip! He was doing it again. He needed to pull it together. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”
“Thank you, Brennen.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets, and Abby glanced down and flexed her fingers, the space between them growing heavy, like a moment wishing to be born.
“I should…” she said.
“Me too,” he answered, not moving a muscle.
He stared into her eyes. She looked like a deer who’d found herself trapped by a hunter, unsure whether to remain frozen or to run.
He took a step toward her. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“What’s your middle name?”
She smiled and her apprehension melted away. “It’s Rose.”
“Abigail Rose Quinn,” he said, the words tasting like honey and sunshine.
Her smile reached her eyes. “That’s it.”
It took every ounce of strength he had, but he took a step back, then another. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Abby Rose.”
7
Abby
“Are you okay?” Brennen whispered.
“Do I not look okay?” Abby asked, smoothing her skirt for the three-hundredth time.
“You look a little nervous.”
“Like about
to lose my lunch nervous or regular nervous?”
Brennen gave her a sympathetic grin. “Did you eat lunch today?”
“No.”
“That was probably a good call.”
Abby sat on the edge of her seat next to Brennen in the back of the auditorium while her students sat on a set of risers across from Mrs. Mackendorfer’s class on the auditorium stage.
This was it. It was down to the final three children in the Colorado Fact Competition. She glanced over at Brennen. After that night at her door, the night she thought she was on the verge of breaking her man fast on only day three, she worried that things between them would feel weird. He said he was her friend, but her heart felt more.
Her stupid heart.
The same heart had put Tyler on a pedestal. The same heart that never suspected her boyfriend of five years was cheating on her.
Maybe friendship was just what she needed—and Brennen said he was on a woman fast. That made him safe, right? The butterflies in her stomach, however, disagreed.
Still, she needed a reset.
She needed this man fast. She needed to learn about herself without having to put the priorities of a flaky father or a self-centered boyfriend first. She needed to know that when she met someone, she wouldn’t give her heart away willy-nilly unless she knew it was in safe hands. She’d known Brennen less than a week, and while he wasn’t the sullen giant she’d met on Monday, he was Colorado’s most notorious playboy with image after image of him and a string of beautiful women splashed all over the internet.
She glanced down at her hands in tight fists, scrunching the hem of her dress. She released a breath and folded them in her lap.
Brennen leaned in. “No matter what happens, your students have done an amazing job.”
He was right. They’d worked hard the last three days, pumping Colorado facts into every part of the day.
State animal: Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep
State tree: Colorado Blue Spruce
This morning, she told Harvey the state dinosaur was a stegosaurus to which he flipped the page of the newspaper and continued reading. She was a Colorado fact machine, and so were her students.
“Does anything change with final three?” she whispered back.
Through some miracle Porter, alarm-pulling, firetruck-loving Porter, stood next to two of Mrs. Mackendorfer’s students, waiting for the final round.
The competition, which was being simulcast on the school’s webpage for family members unable to fly in for the event—yes, it was that huge—was run similarly to a Spelling Bee. Children would come to the microphone, one at a time, and Principal Ramos would ask them a Colorado fact question. If they got it right, they made it to the next round. If they got it wrong, they were out.
Brennen nodded. “The final student needs to answer two questions correctly in a row to win. If they miss one, they go back and forth between the last two kids until someone misses a question.”
“Okay,” she said, back to wrinkling her dress.
Teachers weren’t allowed to accompany their class on stage or be anywhere close by. She’d been informed of Factgate 2006 when a teacher had tried to cheat by miming out the answers.
So, she sat in the back of the auditorium on one side and the Mack Attack on the other.
“Students, teachers, parents, and honored guests,” Principal Ramos said from behind a grand podium embellished with the Whitmore crest. “Let’s give a round of applause for the final three students: Adelaide Lawrence-Maxwell and Cooper Newby-Smith from Mrs. Mackendorfer’s class, and Porter Boyd from Ms. Quinn’s class.”
“Why doesn’t Porter get two last names?” Brennen whispered with laughing eyes.
“Hush!” she said.
He was trying to help her relax, but she was far too amped up.
Could Porter pull it off?
She glanced at Adelaide and Cooper. Mrs. Mackendorfer’s kids looked like tiny fact gladiators, expressions neutral, gazes locked on Principal Ramos while Porter grinned like he’d just happened to end up on a stage and figured he’d chill out there until a fire truck passed by. Thank goodness there were no windows and no fire alarm pull switches on the stage.
“Cooper, the first question is for you. Please come to the microphone,” Principal Ramos said.
The boy strode to the microphone with the confidence most Fortune 500 CEO’s don’t even possess.
“Cooper, please name the official Colorado summer sport.”
The little boy’s cool exterior cracked.
“He doesn’t know the answer,” Brennen whispered with far too much excitement in his voice for a children’s fact competition.
But she was right there with him and held her breath as the clock on the stage ticked down from thirty seconds.
“Mountain biking!” the child blurted.
“I’m sorry, Cooper, but that’s not the correct answer.”
“Poor Cooper,” Abby whispered.
“Forget Cooper. Now we’ve got Adelaide, and she’s a little fact machine. I heard her practicing on the playground all week. Porter better bring his A-game. Adelaide doesn’t f— flip around,” Brennen said, knee bouncing and nearly dropping an F-bomb.
“Adelaide, please name the official Colorado summer sport,” Principal Ramos said, gesturing for the little girl to come to the microphone.
With the poker face of a seasoned card shark, Adelaide nodded to Principal Ramos then turned to the crowd. “That would be pack burro racing. A nod to Colorado’s mining history where miners would load burros or donkeys with their supplies and walk next to them. In 2012, the Colorado legislature declared pack burro racing the state’s official summer sport.”
“Holy sh—” Brennen began, but Abby pressed a finger to his lips before the “it” could slip out.
Still, holy shit was right! Adelaide Lawrence-Maxwell was the daughter of two neurosurgeons, and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Her precision and attention to detail were clearly second to none.
The little girl’s lips quirked into a sly grin. “Would you like me to recite the answer in Spanish or Mandarin?”
“Show off,” Brennen muttered.
Abby threw him her best keep quiet teacher look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“No, dear, that’s not necessary,” Principal Ramos said as the audience clapped.
Adelaide took a seat, and all eyes shifted to Porter.
“Porter, Porter,” Principal Ramos called as the boy finished picking his nose.
“Come on, Porter!” Abby whispered.
The boy smiled out into the crowd, lifted his hand toward his nose, then must have thought better of it and rested his hand at his side.
“That was close,” Brennen said on a relieved exhale. “It’s one thing to pick your nose on stage once. That’s understandable. But twice is unforgivable.”
Abby nodded. “Remind me not to let him touch anything until we get him some hand sanitizer.”
Brennen met her gaze. “You bet.”
“All right, Porter,” the principal began. “Please tell us the Colorado state pet?”
“Trick question! Trick question!” Brennen whisper-shouted into her ear.
He was right. There wasn’t just one state pet.
She turned to Brennen. “We went over this. We played that game, remember?”
He nodded. “Let’s just hope the little pyro remembers.”
Porter stood in front of the microphone. “Woof, woof! Meow, meow!”
“Oh flip,” Brennen said.
Abby grinned. “No, he’s got it!”
Porter turned to the principal. “The answer is rescue dogs and cats.”
“That’s correct!” she said as the parents and students clapped. Mrs. Ramos raised her hands. “We’ve got our top two participants. Adelaide, please join Porter at the microphone.”
The audience broke into cheers.
“Whitmore friends and families, we’re entering the final rounds,”
Principal Ramos exclaimed. “Adelaide will be given two questions. If she answers them correctly, she’ll be our winner. However, if she misses one, Porter will be given that missed question and a second question. If he answers both correctly, he’ll be our champion.”
Adelaide glanced at Porter with the hint of a smirk.
Porter again went for his nose then, thankfully, slid his hands into his pockets.
Principal Ramos addressed the little girl. “Adelaide, please name the state gemstone.”
Brennen crossed his arms. “What a joke! That’s too easy!”
He was right. But there was nothing they could do. The questions were randomly generated.
“Aquamarine,” the girl answered without hesitation.
“That’s correct! One more and you’re our winner,” the principal beamed.
“Adelaide, for the win, please name the common fast food item that was invented in Denver.”
The little girl’s expression darkened.
Abby and Brennen turned to each other, eyes wide. Neither said a word.
Abby glanced at the timer as it ticked down.
Twenty seconds.
Adelaide twisted the end of her braid.
Ten seconds.
Adelaide started sucking on the hair.
Three, two, one.
“Do you have an answer, dear?” the principal asked.
The little girl pulled the wet end out of her mouth. “Chicken nuggets?”
“No, that’s incorrect. Porter, the question goes to you.”
“Cheeeeeeseburger!” the boy called out, miming the action of eating one.
Abby’s class jumped to their feet and cheered as Adelaide pouted.
“Boys and girls, we’re not done yet. Porter has one more question to answer.”
The children stilled and sat down on the risers.
Brennen leaned over. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
Abby swallowed hard.
“This is for the win, Porter. Are you ready?” Principal Ramos asked.
The boy nodded.
“How many fire stations are operated by the Denver Fire Department?”
Brennen shot up. “No flipping way.”
Man Fast: Bergen Brothers: Book One Page 9