Didi pulled a green dish down from one of the higher shelves and nodded. “That’s fine, dear.”
Paige met Quentin’s gaze, but he just shrugged in response. He didn’t mind getting dirty, and spiders didn’t faze him . . . unless they were giant and furry. He’d take his chances in the shed rather than die of boredom listening to Paige and her client toss words like Spode, Waterford, and Depression glass back and forth.
The lawn behind the house was patchy and full of clover and dandelions. Lucas led the way past a picnic table to a shed built against a high board fence.
“The place has gone to hell in the last couple of years. We live over in Bend, and unfortunately don’t get to the coast as often as we’d like.” He pushed open the shed door. “Since Didi’s brother spends most of his time in Salem, even when the government is in recess, we don’t have a lot of help.”
“I imagine dealing with aging parents can be a challenge.” Quentin paused to look around for spiders before stepping inside. “Your brother-in-law is in politics?”
“State Senator.”
“From this district? Mason LaPine?”
“That’s right.” Lucas picked a coffee can full of nails up off a workbench and dropped it in a partially filled wheelbarrow.
“I own a restaurant in Portland and met him at a fundraiser one time. He seemed ultra-confident.”
“Mason is full of himself. He wants to run for governor.” Lucas chucked wood scraps and a box of wire in after the nails. “There are a few decent tools I suppose we can sell. I’d keep them, but I’m not handy that way.”
Quentin appreciated a man who wasn’t afraid to admit his shortcomings. “I’m a hell of a lot better in the kitchen than a workshop, although I have a few skills. Just tell me what I can do to help.”
Lucas glanced around. “If you really don’t mind, all those gardening tools hanging on the wall need to go out to the SUV. I can use them at home since I’m thinking about putting in a small vegetable plot in the spring.”
“I’m on it.”
An hour later, they’d made serious progress, and Quentin was enjoying Lucas’s dry humor. When he discovered an old wetsuit, a bamboo fishing rod, and a Hawaiian sling behind a tall red toolbox, he hauled them out. “What do you want to do with these? It looks like mice have been chewing on the wetsuit.”
“The suit can definitely go in the dumpster.” The older man frowned. “I don’t remember Henry using that particular rod, and he sure as hell never went spear fishing. My father-in-law in a wetsuit would have been mistaken for a seal. The man was rather portly.”
Quentin choked on a laugh. “The rod and spear look old enough to be interesting. If you want to part with them, I’ll hang these on a wall at the Poseidon Grill.”
“I heard that restaurant had sold after the last owner went to jail. You bought it?”
He nodded. “I’m looking forward to bringing the place back to life. The Poseidon Grill has been a mainstay for Siren Cove’s tourism forever, and it’s a favorite with the locals, too.”
“Then I’d like to donate the rod and spear to the cause. I took Didi there for dinner the night we got engaged. I have fond memories of the place.”
“Are you sure?”
Lucas waved a hand. “Absolutely. They can’t be worth much, anyway. They’re all yours.”
“Thank you. The pair will get a place of honor on one of the walls. Maybe I’ll put Paige to work looking for more vintage fishing gear to make a whole display.”
“I like that idea.”
Tucking the Hawaiian sling and the fishing rod beneath one arm, Quentin threw the wetsuit onto the pile in the wheelbarrow before maneuvering it out through the doorway. Once he’d stowed the spear and pole in the back of the van, he emptied the refuse into the dumpster.
“Want to take a break from hauling trash and help move some furniture instead?”
Quentin stepped toward the front stoop where Paige leaned against the doorframe. “Sure. Shall I call Lucas to come lend a hand?”
“I think we can manage between the two of us. I bought an old trunk, which isn’t heavy, but I packed a bunch of breakables into it. Then there’s a standing mirror and a corner cabinet. The rest I can carry on my own.”
Leaving the wheelbarrow, he joined her. “Did you get some good stuff?”
“A few unbelievable pieces of china and glassware. They cost me a bundle but are worth every penny. I’ll have collectors fighting over them.”
He slid an arm around her waist and squeezed. “So, the trip was worth it?”
“You bet. Let’s load up and head home. We have an exciting evening of unpacking ahead of us.”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “Oh boy. I can’t wait.”
Chapter Four
He couldn’t freaking believe what had happened, although maybe he should have anticipated the possibility. Selling everything was inevitable, but he’d expected to have a little more advance warning. Obviously, he’d been an idiot to leave evidence behind. The murder weapon—his brain shied away from the term—had been well hidden all these years where no one would ever think to look for it.
He wanted nothing more than to forget that awful night, and the damn thing had seemed perfectly safe where he’d stashed it.
Better than trying to chuck it in the trash or a culvert when the cops were still sniffing around, looking for any connection to the crime.
He’d tried to wipe off all the blood and fingerprints, but with the DNA tests available now . . .
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He didn’t know what exactly to expect. Hopefully he’d find the . . . thing where he’d left it. His skin crawled even thinking about touching the smooth surface. It couldn’t be worth much, and surely the woman from the antique store had found better merchandise to buy. He’d take the last piece of incriminating evidence to the landfill and be done with it.
It was infuriating, knowing he had to deal with this crap now, when he had a shit-ton of work to do. But he didn’t have any choice. He’d take care of unfinished business then move on with his life. Free and clear. At least for now.
* * *
Paige poured two glasses of chardonnay, stuck the cork back in the bottle, then returned it to the refrigerator. Carrying the stemware, she rounded the bar counter and headed into the living room. After handing one glass to Quentin, she settled beside him on the couch. “Did you choose a movie?”
“There’s not much new available in romantic comedies.” He sipped his wine and gave her a sideways glance before setting down the glass. “You’re sure you don’t want action adventure?”
“We watched car chases and gun fights last night. I’m in the mood for sweet and sentimental.” Pulling her legs up beneath her, she curled into the cushions.
“Has anyone ever told you that you sit like a cat?”
She hid a smile. “No, but one guy I dated mentioned I growl like one when—”
“Oh, my God. Stop!” He clamped a hand over her mouth. “Way too much information. I don’t want to imagine you and some dude getting it on. Save that kind of confession for Nina or Leah.”
Paige pushed away his hand. “You’re the one with the dirty mind. I was going to say when I try to program the TV. There are all those extra channels I don’t want, and I can’t get rid of them.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “Sure, you were.” Finally, he looked away. “If it has to be a rom-com, how about an older one. Have you seen He’s Just Not That Into You?”
“I’m a woman. Of course I’ve seen it. Not exactly sentimental, but I’d watch it again.”
Picking up the remote, he clicked through the onscreen menu.
Curling tighter, she took a swig of wine. “The title might as well be my theme song.”
When the opening music blasted through the speakers, he turned down the volume. “What was that?”
“Nothing. Get comfy and drink your wine. It’s excellent, by the way.”
“One of my favorites
. It should go well with the cheesy premise to the plot.”
“With jokes like that, it’s no wonder you’re still single. Now shut up and watch the movie.”
He grinned back at her before stretching out with his feet up on the coffee table. “What’s your excuse for not being hitched?”
“I don’t need one. Men are idiots. Or at least the vast majority of them are. My BFFs seem to have found a couple of keepers.”
“I thought I was your BFF.”
She eyed him steadily. “You’re in a class all by yourself.”
“You make me feel so special.”
They sat in comfortable silence as the movie progressed. Paige sipped her wine slowly and stared at the TV screen. Guys who don’t return calls. Boyfriends who’re content with the status quo. Women who fool themselves into believing all is good when it isn’t. She could relate to each scenario.
Turning her head against the couch cushion, she narrowed her eyes at Quentin, who seemed more interested in playing on his phone than in the movie.
With his lifestyle, he could have starred in the film.
After a moment, he glanced up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing when you’re looking at me like I served up roadkill for dinner.”
“Sorry. I was just thinking, you’re a lot like most of the guys in this movie.”
“I’ll admit I haven’t been paying much attention. Is that an insult?”
“Yes, but maybe I’m simply projecting.”
He put down his phone, took her empty wineglass and set it on the table, then turned down the TV volume. Scooting closer, he pulled her against his shoulder. “Did that guy, Tom, hurt you? Is that what this is about?”
“A few things he said bothered me.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Distance wasn’t our only problem. He told me he couldn’t compete with an ideal, and there wasn’t much point in even trying.”
Quentin tightened his arm around her. “What the hell does that mean?”
“That I know exactly what I want, and no mere mortal can live up to my expectations.”
“Is it true?”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her thumb back and forth over a spot on the knee of her pants. “Maybe. Probably. If he’s correct, I’m doomed to living life alone. Forever.”
He burst out laughing.
“Ass!” She shoved him away.
“Sorry! But you sounded so dramatic. Christ, Paige. You’re beautiful and smart, entertaining and hot. I can’t see you winding up as an old maid.”
“So, I should give up on finding Mr. Right and just settle?”
“Or we can be each other’s backup plan.”
“I’m thirty-one. How long do you expect me to wait?”
“Good question. Forty seems like a reasonable number. I might be ready to settle down by the time I hit the big four-oh.”
She threw a decorative pillow at him. “You’re an idiot. My eggs would be petrified by then. What if I want kids?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, but maybe I should get a puppy instead. You used to say you wanted them—kids, not dogs. Has that changed?”
“I still do. Eventually.” He poked her with his sock-clad foot. “What kind of puppy?”
Grabbing the remote, she turned off the TV as the credits rolled. “I’m going to bed.”
“Hey, don’t be mad. I’m just kidding.” He lunged forward and grabbed her hand.
Off balance, she toppled onto him. When he wrapped his arms around her, she smashed her nose against his chin. “Ouch.”
“Sorry.” Bracing his foot against the coffee table to keep them from rolling to the floor, he regarded her with amusement. “Shall I kiss it and make it better?”
Before she could answer—or struggle upright—he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. Slowly his eyes darkened, and he adjusted his position to kiss her surprised lips that parted on contact. Whisper soft and tentative at first, he deepened the contact. Tongues touched, and Paige couldn’t suppress a little moan.
His cell rang, and she jerked backward and fell over onto the floor when he released her.
His cheeks flushed as he snatched up the phone and slid his thumb across the surface without looking at it. “What?”
A high voice penetrated the silence, talking on and on as Paige scrambled to her feet. She rubbed her sore hip while her pounding heart slowed. With an effort, she wrenched her gaze away from Quentin’s stunned expression. Since she didn’t know what to say, escape to her bedroom seemed like the best solution. Turning, she fled.
Why the hell did he kiss me?
After quietly closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and simply breathed. The kiss was no big deal. A spur of the moment impulse. It wasn’t like a single random kiss—even if it involved tongue—was going to ruin their friendship and make things awkward between them.
Was it?
She stripped off her clothes and dropped them into the hamper, then put on a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top, along with her fleece robe. She’d scurried into the bathroom and was scrubbing the enamel off her teeth when a knock sounded on the door.
“What?” she yelled through a mouthful of toothpaste.
“Are you okay?”
She spat in the sink. “Of course.”
“Can I come in?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Sure. Join the party.”
He pushed open the door and gave her a cautious smile. “You left abruptly.”
“You were on the phone.” Maybe if she didn’t mention the kiss that had rocked her world, he wouldn’t either.
“It was Blaze. That woman doesn’t give up. She wants to come down here.”
“And?” Paige rinsed out her mouth.
“What do you mean, and? I told her no way. I tried to be nice . . .”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Nice is overrated.”
“So, I shouldn’t be nice and apologize for losing my mind and kissing you?”
There it is. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone.
She decided to go for the direct approach. “Why did you?”
“You literally fell in my lap. Gut reflex when confronted with soft lips and even softer curves. I’m only human, and you were sitting on my—”
“Stop!” She held up a hand. “I’m taking my soft everything and going to bed. Feel free to shower. Cold is to the right.”
He laid a hand on her arm as she brushed past. “It was an excellent kiss.”
“I do most things well. Good night, Quentin.”
“Night, Paige.”
Minutes later, she lay in bed, not even close to sleep, while the water ran in the bathroom. Maybe he was taking a cold shower. Maybe the kiss had been all about hormones and the fact that Quentin currently wasn’t getting any.
They’d been friends their entire lives. Best friends. She didn’t want to screw that up with sex. Knowing Quentin’s track record in excruciating detail, a romantic relationship between them wouldn’t last since he obviously didn’t want anything long term. She wouldn’t let herself even think about the possibility. Instead, they would go back to what they’d always cherished. Friendship, pure and simple.
And maybe a little lonely.
* * *
Quentin stepped out of the shower, his skin covered in goosebumps, and grabbed a towel off the rack. After five minutes standing beneath the cold spray, he certainly wasn’t tempted to do anything stupid with Paige. Rubbing vigorously to get the blood flowing again, he winced. In his current state, enticing any woman into his bed would be a challenge.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he left the bathroom and headed to the second bedroom, which Paige used as an office and guest room. The futon was still folded out from the previous night, the covers in a rumpled mess. Clothes littered the floor. He wasn’t exactly the neatest houseguest. Dropping the towel, he pulled on a pair of clean boxers, flipped the blankets into place, and
climbed into bed. After a minute, he got up to lower the shade on the window to cut the moonlight streaming through. His hand stilled on the blind. With the moon shedding a silvery glow over the waves lapping the shore, the night was made for romance.
Which was the last damned thing he needed. He let the shade hit the sill with a thump and returned to his lumpy bed. Staring at the wall separating him from Paige and wondering what she slept in was just plain stupid. He wasn’t going to start something with the one woman he’d loved forever. He knew she loved him back, but not in that way. Trying to change their friendship into something more would only end in both of them getting hurt since a whole lot of women had told him he sucked at relationships. Paige deserved better than his best effort.
Since he was lonely and horny, the solution to his problem seemed obvious. First, he needed to put some distance between the two of them, which meant calling Nina about renting her house. Second, he needed to find a willing woman who knew the score and didn’t want anything serious, only a little extracurricular fun. With another female to distract him, he wouldn’t let wine, the stupid rom-com, and the sweet vanilla scent Paige wore tempt him into making a move on his best friend.
With that settled in his mind, he closed his eyes, but it was a long time before he finally fell asleep.
After a restless night, he rose hours before his normal time as the scent of coffee teased him out of bed. Pulling on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, he left his temporary quarters and headed into the compact kitchen. Paige stood at the sink wearing her fuzzy purple robe, drinking coffee, and staring out the window at an angry sea.
“Are you waiting for me to make breakfast?”
With a cry, she spun around and sloshed coffee. “Son of a bitch!” Setting down the mug, she shook her hand.
“Did you burn yourself?” Turning on the water, he took a gentle hold on her fingers and held them under the flow. “I thought you heard me coming.”
“In bare feet? You didn’t make a sound.” She flipped off the faucet. “My hand’s okay. Mostly, I was just startled.”
“Sorry.” When she turned away from the sink and brushed up against him, he stepped back. “I wasn’t using my head. Will breakfast make up for my stupidity?”
Hidden Secrets Page 4