Just Maybe (Home In You Book 3)

by Crystal Walton

  Barry must’ve rambled off at least a page worth of sentences, but Cooper didn’t hear a one. “Have a drink with your wife today, Barry. Everything’s going to work out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll be in touch.” Cooper ended the call before another unwarranted question could sneak through. A few tentative steps brought him to the center of the living room. The aroma grew stronger, the humming transitioning to lyrics. It almost sounded like . . . Yep, she was definitely singing Boyz II Men.

  He might’ve been able to hold in a laugh if the view around the open doorway left him half a chance. Waving an oven mitt in one hand and a muffin tray in the other, Quinn swayed to the music coming through her earbuds.

  His gaze bounced from her to the baby monitor on the counter and on to a series of pink sticky notes attached to every drawer and cabinet in his kitchen. Wow. He’d seen a lot of clashing images in his time, but this one might’ve topped them all.

  Midway through the song, she spun around and gasped. The pan hit the floor, muffins rolling across the tiles. “Jeez.” She yanked her earbuds out and curled a wayward strand of brown hair around her ear. “Sorry, I was just, um . . .”

  “Having a dance party in the middle of my kitchen?”

  A rosy hue set off the flour smudges on her cheeks. The girl was cute. He’d give her that.

  She ran her white Converse sneaker along her calf beneath her capris’ cuff. “Thinking,” she offered instead. “I mean, baking. Well, both, actually. One usually helps the other. The music was just kind of a break.” She shut her eyes and mumbled, “Like the one I should be giving my mouth right now.”

  Cooper leaned an arm into the jamb and bit back a grin. Definitely cute.

  The second she caught him smiling, she looked away and dropped to her knees to gather the runaway muffins.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He joined her on the tiles. “If it makes you feel better, you were dancing pretty good.”

  “Well.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s dancing well, not good.” She put the muffin he handed her back into the tray without looking up from the floor. “And don’t worry about the muffins. There should be plenty. I made two dozen earlier.”

  While adding another dozen reasons Cooper could barely hide his amusement. Did she really just correct his grammar?

  When she still didn’t so much as blink in his direction, Cooper tilted his head under hers. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” She rose to her feet, cradled the pan to her chest, and sent her gaze flitting across every corner of the kitchen as though scouring for an exit. “You have something against shirts?”

  That’s what had her all flustered? He glanced at his bare chest as he rose. “I was out on the water. Thinking.” His lips quirked. “Guess you could say one usually helps the other.”

  Quinn met him head-on then. With a glint in her amber eyes that he’d probably just provoked, she set the pan down and crossed her slender arms. “I don’t blame you. It’s hard to think in here with everything disorganized. You’re kind of a mess.”

  Cute, geeky, and brazen. He ran his tongue along the corner of his mouth. “Getting ready to move has a way of doing that.” She didn’t need to know the place would be a wreck regardless. “Guess it doesn’t matter since I see you’ve remedied that for me.”

  “Just trying to get my bearings. Hope you don’t mind.”

  For three weeks? He’d deal. “Don’t mind at all.”

  She tossed the muffins in the trash and ran the tray under the faucet. “So, where are you guys moving to?”

  “You guys?”

  “You and Brayden.” Loose strands of hair fell from a messy bun as she peered up from the sink.

  “Uh, yeah, it’s just me.” He backed against the counter and retied the strings on his board shorts. “I’m heading on a cross-country trip July Fourth weekend. Once I make it to LA, I’m catching a one-way ticket to Indonesia.”

  The pan clattered into the sink. She spun around, hands covered in suds. “Indonesia?”

  “It has some of the best waves on the planet.”

  Shock dissolved behind a telling look that said she had him all figured out. “You’re moving across the world to surf?”

  “To open a boat shop. It’s something I need to do.” Why was he telling her this? He let go of the strings, grabbed one of the good muffins from a platter, and slanted a brow. “And the view’s not half bad.” He expected her to get the implication. If she was so sure she already had him pegged, he’d play the part.

  Hopefully, she did a better job at baking than she did attempting to keep a blank face.

  “Seems like the view here suits you just fine.” She dried off her hands and motioned to the only two sticky notes without capital letters labeling a compartment.

  He peeled them off the counter to find phone messages from two girls he’d gone on dates with last week. Nothing like playing right into her hand.

  “I’m not trying to be your personal assistant or anything. I just didn’t want the phone to wake up Brayden.”

  Cooper set the notes aside and looked from the baby monitor back to Quinn’s fiery, flour-coated cheeks. “Sorry about that. I don’t give out my cell number to women.” He’d barely finished his sentence before his cell rang like a gavel she probably assumed was proving him a liar. Perfect. He turned and answered. “Anderson. Talk to me.”

  “Cooper, it’s Ray. We have a new potential buyer interested in the house. A well-established couple—highly motivated, already pre-approved. I have a good feeling about this one.”

  About time. It’d taken months after the first contract on the house had fallen through to find another qualified buyer. He couldn’t afford for this to end in anything but a quick sale. They were cutting it too close to his move-out date. “When do we settle?”

  With his usual patronizing laugh, Ray fit right in with half the businessmen Cooper’d worked with through the years. “Easy, cowboy. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There are negotiations to be made.”

  Of course there were. Cooper clenched the muffin. “Such as?”

  “The couple’s asking for a new pier.”

  “What’s wrong with the one that’s here?”

  Even the guy’s pauses could be patronizing. “You know how these things go. They look at other houses in the area. Comparisons are made. You can’t blame people for wanting the best. Am I right?”

  When Cooper didn’t bite, Ray switched gears. “We’re not talking major reconstruction here. Just a little upgrade. Maybe, say, switching those worn pine boards for red cedar. That’s all.”

  Sure that was all. “And what about my negotiations?”

  “It’s a buyer’s market, kid. You want a quick sale? You agree to terms.”

  Cooper glanced at Quinn, busying herself with the rest of the dishes. He set the muffin down. “You know what? Fine. Done. I’ll repair the deck.”

  Dollar signs from Ray’s expected commission hung on the tail of an audible smile. “I’ll make the call.”

  After pocketing his phone, Cooper gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and leaned into it. Money wasn’t a problem, but he’d rather do the work himself. At this point, he could use the distraction. It might even be therapeutic.

  Right beside him, Quinn gently touched his hand. “I’m fairly certain it’s not the countertop’s fault.”

  White skin on his knuckles beamed up at him. He let go. “Sorry, it’s—”

  “Not my business.”

  True. None of it was. Why was he trying to defend himself anyway? He opened a cabinet labeled MUGS and withdrew his favorite Tar Heels one. That coffee was way too many phone calls overdue.

  Still beside him, Quinn peeled a liner off a muffin, one side at a time. “I know I just finished saying it’s none of my business, but I am kind of curious why you have to leave in three weeks. I realize your plans are already set, and believe me, I know how th
at goes. But it seems like staying longer might take some stress off.”

  He hung his head, sighed. “It’s not an option.” He couldn’t let Dad down again. Not this time. As hard as it’d be, he had to secure a stable home for Brayden before the Fourth.

  “O-kay,” she dragged out the word. “Business deal gone bad?”

  He faced her. “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s kind of hard to live in Hatteras without hearing about the fallout with Shore Corp Investments.”

  He cocked a brow. “You’re from Hatteras?” Why didn’t she say anything about it yesterday?

  She diverted her attention to the muffin she was dismantling piece by tiny piece. “I’ve lived there for four years.”

  And was clearly hiding something about it. He tipped his head to read her eyes. “What brought you to Lake Gaston?”

  Cornered, she backed up. A frazzled look scrunched her forehead but only for a moment. Replacing it, a seemingly satisfied grin made a slow climb to the left. “The view.”

  Oh, this one was trouble, all right. He liked her already.

  Her cell buzzed on the counter. She snatched it, shoved it into her pocket like contraband, and dodged his gaze again. “Coffee,” she blurted out. “You wanted some coffee, right?”

  Not as bad as she obviously wanted a diversion. He’d play along. For now.

  “There’s a canister in the cabinet above the microwave. But you probably already know that, given you’ve dissected my entire kitchen.”

  “Actually, it’s over here now.” She motioned to a cabinet two over from the sink. “It makes more sense to keep it here. You’ll thank me later, and sorry, but that’s not coffee.”

  She had to be kidding. He retrieved the canister, opened it, and inhaled. A rich, nutty aroma met him like a therapist. “Italian roast. This stuff is amazing. My sister-in-law got me hooked on it last summer.” He smiled at Ti’s new designation. Drew was a lucky guy.

  Quinn sent a skeptical appraisal over the clear canister.

  “Let me guess.” Cooper closed the lid. “You’re looking for some venti whip frou-frou thing.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  A city girl out of her element. He could have fun with this one. “I’ll tell you what. There’s a café up the road. If I nail your order, you have to answer my earlier question.”

  “What are we? Ten?”

  “You don’t strike me as the type to back down.”

  “I’m not.” Shoulders squared, mouth tight—he had her now.

  Her cell buzzed in her pocket again. She strained to pretend she didn’t notice.

  “You gonna answer that?”

  “Nope.” She pulled a pencil out of her dark hair and grabbed her purse from the table.

  “Going to replenish your sticky note supply?”

  The stiff smile she sent him wrinkled the freckles on her nose. “We’re going to get coffee. And I’m buying.”

  Of course she was. He could certainly add stubborn to her list of endearing traits.

  He cocked his chin. “We can take my bike.”

  A simpering laugh shifted her demeanor. “Might be kind of hard to strap a car seat to a motorcycle.”

  Brayden. How could he forget he was here so easily? Sure, Social Services had dropped the boy off at his house only two days ago, but still. A pang quaked through him. What had Megan been thinking, leaving Brayden to him? Even a stranger could see he wasn’t cut out to be his dad.

  Quinn seemed to be trying to interpret his thoughts.

  He crammed them aside before she saw things she shouldn’t and hooked a thumb behind him. “We can take the Audi instead. I’ll just go . . .” He fought a grin. “Grab a shirt.”

  “Make sure it’s big enough to fit over that inflated head of yours,” she mumbled once she probably thought he was out of earshot.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d launched one of those muffins at him next.

  He laughed on his way to his room. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge. From the sounds of it, he wasn’t alone in keeping secrets either.

  Chapter Four

  Roots

  Quinn huffed to herself on her way down the hall toward Brayden’s room. A shirt, indeed.

  A replay of her fumbling those muffins stopped her in the doorway. Ugh. She bumped her forehead against the trim. You have something against shirts? She just had to let that come out of her mouth, didn’t she? Now, he knew she noticed and admired. Double ugh.

  She could hear Ava’s write-up already: Mr. Elusive turns Miss Uptight into a puddle on the kitchen floor with nothing but a crooked smile. Quinn shook her head. Stupid water droplets clinging to his perfectly messy hair. Like his commanding presence wasn’t attractive enough.

  Straightening, she gave herself an internal Gibbs-smack. So, the guy had charisma. Big deal. So did half the men she rubbed elbows with every day. Just because most women couldn’t stop themselves from stumbling under his charm like it was a spell didn’t mean she had to fuel his fire. She worked for News First, not Seventeen Magazine.

  If her own pep talk wouldn’t work, her boss’s nagging voice surely would. Quinn withdrew her cell and opened the messages she’d ignored in the kitchen. First, a text from Ava:

  Cruella just let Brad in Advertising go. If I’m next, I’m taking my desk chair with me.

  Despite her best friend’s teasing, Quinn’s stomach dropped. That was the third termination this month. If she didn’t do something about their boss’s firing spree soon, she’d be letting down all her coworkers counting on her to take News First Magazine in a new direction.

  Her thumb hovered over the voice mail icon. Maybe she’d better listen to it later when she actually had something to report other than rolling muffins and hypnotizing eyes.

  Admittedly, she had learned a few new things about Cooper’s future plans, but his past was what she needed to break. Cruella didn’t care that he was up for Top Entrepreneur of the Year. She wanted to know how he’d gotten there in such a short time. She wanted the gritty secrets, the scandals, the reason he’d been hiding out in Lake Gaston for a year.

  But what if it wasn’t that simple?

  A singing toy went off across the room. Quinn tiptoed over. Brayden lay awake in his crib, seemingly content to play with his jungle blanket. He lowered the corner from his mouth when Quinn leaned over the railing. Sunlight coming through the window lit up an innocent smile, and everything else faded with the shadows.

  “Hey, little guy. Have a good nap? Wish I could take one. But time is money,” she said in Cruella’s annoying voice. Wiggling a finger to his belly, she tamped down the pang his cuteness stirred and kept her tone light. “Luckily, you have a while before you have to worry about that. How about we settle for taking a ride?”

  Squealing, he flapped his arms and legs in the air as if she’d spoken a secret password into his world.

  “Ah, you know that word, huh?”

  He clung to her two index fingers to pull himself to his feet and batted Cooper’s same crippling hazel eyes at her. He had to be his son. But then how could he leave him behind to go all the way to Indonesia, of all places?

  Maybe he was a loner—along with a host of other nouns Quinn could add—but something didn’t add up with this. She just had to find out what. Well, and then actually get him to agree to let her print it.

  She brushed a thumb over Brayden’s soft hand. Was she going about this all wrong? She used to swear she could do whatever it took to be a solid journalist, even go undercover if a lead required it. But being underhanded wasn’t her style. Despite how perfect the nanny cover had sounded yesterday, this whole idea turned her stomach into a maze of nerves now.

  At least she had some time to figure it all out. Amazingly, Cruella agreed to let her stay the three weeks. Almost a little too easily. Man, she must really want to see Quinn screw this up. Then again, Quinn could do her job from almost anywhere, so being away from the office for a few we
eks wouldn’t cause her to fall behind on her regular responsibilities.

  Getting Cooper to open up in that time frame, on the other hand . . . The knot in her gut expanded. Maybe she could talk him into an exchange—her help as a nanny for his cooperation on the feature. She rolled her eyes. Lame. He’d toss her out the second she dropped the big “media” word on him. There had to be another way.

  Completely unaware of the thoughts running laps in her mind, Brayden let out another soft squeal that lifted his adorable chubby cheeks.

  “Oh, you think you’re cute, too, don’t you? Uh-huh. I see you flashing those dimples no girl could turn down.”

  “Cah. Go.” Brayden spouted off a string of gibberish with only a decipherable word here and there.

  “See, it’s not that hard to get guys talking. You just gotta mention cars. Add in a little flattery. What do you think? I can be smooth, right?”

  Without his smile even twitching, he passed gas.

  Quinn cracked a laugh. “Well, I guess that answers that.” After changing his diaper, she shimmied a fresh T-shirt over Brayden’s head and lifted him onto her hip. “Come on, Dimplestiltskin, let’s go show Daddy how it’s done.”

  By the front door, Cooper stood in leather flip-flops, low-hanging jeans, and an O’Neal T-shirt, stark white against his tanned skin. Figures he’d look even better with one on. Though, she had to admit, his laid-back style wasn’t the look she’d imagined for a guy with his drive and reputation. Iron Man’s chest plate, on the other hand—

  “What?”

  She peered up from the hardwoods. “Hmm?”

  “Something has you smiling. What are you thinking about?”

  She bit her lip as if that’d curb the answer. “Nothing.” With Brayden clinging to one shoulder and his diaper bag on the other, Quinn looked around the modest home.

  He studied her. “Something wrong with the house?”

  “It’s gorgeous, just not what I anticipated. Honestly, I half expected you to have one of those fancy bidets in the bathroom. Or at least a knockoff of Tony Stark’s secret chamber downstairs.”