Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “Yes . . . er . . . is there anything you’d like me to bring? I planned to do my grocery shopping for the week at Tidyman’s after I leave here.”

  “If you could pick up some of those frozen hash browns, that would be a treat. Before Katherine left, I overheard her conversation with Carl. She was so rude.”

  “Yes, but so was he.” Quinn didn’t agree with how pushy Carl had been.

  “After she got off the phone with Mr. Flagrantly Good Looking, I got on my soapbox.”

  “Is that what she calls him?” He chuckled.

  “Yes. I thought it was funny, too. She said he’s not the type of fellow you call back, that it would be far too encouraging for him.”

  Quinn took a sip of tea. Katherine was probably right. Carl could be fearless when it came to women.

  “She was completely annoyed, not at all flattered.” Ethel shook her head.

  “Do you think she’s interested in Joe . . . again?” Like an old slide show, the picture of Katherine on the back of Joe’s bike clicked past.

  “There’s too many things wrong with Joe.” Eyes narrowed, Ethel returned her mug to the table. “He wouldn’t go to church with her. He was never on time. And . . . he didn’t have a brain.”

  Suppressing a chuckle, Quinn carefully lowered his mug to the table.

  “After Joe, a man with brains became higher on her list. Ask her. She was such a baby when he broke her heart.” Ethel appeared thoughtful before glancing over her shoulder toward the doorway to the living room. “I’m surprised she was able to squeak out all A's that semester.”

  “What do you mean, such a baby?” Hadn’t Ethel said during her first visit to his office that Kings rarely cried?

  “Joe was the first fellow to ever break her heart. She was completely shocked by the experience. You know, the first time you fall, you don’t have a landing net.”

  Quinn remembered his first crash landing all too well.

  “Why do you keep asking about Joe?” She set both elbows on the table. “Don’t tell me you know something I don’t. Don’t tell me she likes him again.”

  “Joe’s not hearing the nine-credit excuse as often as Carl.”

  “Well, she and Joe are friends now.” Ethel waved a hand. “They’re close.”

  “It’s rare, Ethel, don’t you think?” He smiled slightly. “I mean, he broke her heart, and now they’re close friends.”

  Ethel clasped her vein-riddled hands above the table. “They played on the same tennis team for years. But, it was after Joe’s father died that they truly became friends. The day he died . . .” Ethel’s chest expanded. “Joe came here looking for Katherine. They sat together in the living room.” She nodded over her shoulder. “For a couple of hours, Joe wept in her arms. She loves him in a different way now. You know . . .” Ethel dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a paper napkin. “When you go through something like that with someone, you grow closer.”

  Quinn remembered Katherine’s large, historic-blue eyes staring at him from beneath the helmet. Her arms wrapped about Joe. Evans was wrong. Her Joe List needed to be rewritten.

  Ж

  Joe always gave Katherine a sizable lead. When she managed to get one point against him, she was always ecstatic. The start of their last game, he tossed the tennis ball for his serve, then caught it in one hand. Jogging toward the net, he smiled his I know I’m good looking smile.

  “I’ll give you a fifteen-love lead. If I win, you’ll go out to dinner with me tonight. If you win, I’ll . . .”

  “Joe . . .” She shook her head. “I have a ton of studying, and I’ve been sidetracked all day. I don’t bet when I know I’ll lose.”

  “I’ll play right-handed.”

  Joe was left-handed. He’d played her once before right-handed, and she’d scored an ace serve.

  “Okay.” She nodded. “If I win, you’ll go to church with Grandma and me tomorrow.”

  “And if I win, you’ll tell me over dinner all that’s going on with the professor.”

  “That’s easy. Nothing.” Katherine jogged toward her serve line. “I get to serve.”

  “It’s my turn to serve.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. Had she ever seen him serve right-handed? Could he?

  “Shoot yourself.” She tossed two balls over the net toward him.

  His first attempt went right into the net. She giggled. As she rocked back and forth in her ready stance, the second serve whizzed over the net into the far right corner, out of reach. An ace serve.

  Joe was ambidextrous.

  His next three serves were almost as menacing as when he served left-handed. She didn’t even return one. Chin held high, she approached the net.

  “You’re mad, Kate; I see it in your eyes.”

  “You failed to tell me you’re as awesome with your right as you are with your left. I didn’t stand a chance, and you knew it.”

  “I’ve been practicing. Learning to serve with both; works both sides of the brain. Makes you a more complete athlete.”

  “Why dinner?” Reaching over the top of the net, she shook his hand.

  “I want you to meet my future girlfriend.”

  She should have known. “Wow, you made it a whole two weeks.”

  “It’s not official yet; I want your opinion. You’ve been right about the last two . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Betty and Veronica.”

  “Hey, no name calling. I thought I’d get your opinion this time before . . .”

  “What time do you want to meet?”

  “I’ll pick you up at the orthodontist’s at six o’clock.”

  The orthodontist’s office was just far enough away that Grandma wouldn’t hear the rev of Joe’s bike. “Where are we going?”

  “Five four one North Main. Great little hole-in-the-wall, family-owned restaurant. Her family.”

  That’s all Joe was going to tell her. He wanted it to be a surprise.

  Ж

  The phone rang. It was probably for Katherine. They couldn’t even finish a cup of tea without a fellow calling for her. “I need to get one of those go phones that go where you go.” Ethel rose from her chair.

  “They’re called cell phones.” Quinn chuckled.

  “Hello,” Ethel said, setting a hand on her hip.

  “Hi, Grandma, I’m at the library. There’s been a change in plans; Joe’s taking me to dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, honey, I hope the two of you aren’t getting back together.”

  “We’re not. I lost to him at tennis. If he won, he wanted to take me out for dinner. If I won, I wanted him to go to church with us tomorrow. But I lost.”

  “Of course, you lost; he’s the Big Sky champion.”

  “He gave me a fifteen-point lead, and he played right-handed. He’s left-handed.” Katherine sighed. “He’s amazing.”

  “Just remember he doesn’t have a brain. Are you going from the library to dinner, or are you coming home first?”

  “I need to take a shower.”

  “Okay, honey. Tonight’s a good night to wear your red shirt.”

  “Grandma!”

  “Good-bye.” Ethel hung up on her.

  Quinn chuckled while she returned to her seat. She had big news for him. She’d watch his face closely for any telltale signs.

  “If Joe won, he wanted to take her out to dinner. If Katherine won, she wanted him to go to church with us in the morning.” Ethel sighed. “Of course, she’s going to lose. He’s the Big Sky champion.”

  “Yes, the odds were not in her favor.”

  “He gave her a fifteen-point lead, and even played right-handed. She said he’s amazing. I sure hope they’re not back together.” Ethel sighed.

  Quinn’s eyes twinkled as he suppressed a smile. He didn’t appear to be in the least bit concerned. He was probably relieved.

  “Do they go out to dinner very often?”

  “About every month or so when Joe’s in between girlfriends.”

&nb
sp; “Sounds to me like you don’t need to worry.”

  “I worry a little bit more now that Carl’s shown some attention. Super-duper smart professors do not come along every day.” She patted Quinn’s nearest hand.

  “Carl’s a bit like Joe.” Quinn smirked. “He doesn’t go too long in between girlfriends.”

  “Oh, well, we won’t even think about him, then.” Ethel pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose for a better view of Quinn. “We’ll focus on another super-duper smart professor.”

  Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re not insinuating me, are you?”

  “And if I were?”

  “Then I’d need to remind you that for almost two months, I’ve looked forward to meeting a woman from the town of Palouse. We’ve spoken on the phone numerous times, but due to our schedules, we won’t be able to meet until this coming Friday. And as you well know, Katherine and I don’t—”

  “Over two months? Is she a stewardess?”

  “No.” He smiled. “She works nights. She’s a 9-1-1 operator.”

  “And you’re really interested in this one?”

  “I enjoy her personality, her voice—” he inhaled—“and she’s a very good listener.” He was smitten. Even his breathing was affected when he mentioned her.

  “But, you’ve never met?”

  “No.”

  “But . . . you’ve seen pictures?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t have anything current.”

  “Voices can be deceiving. There was this radio commentator in the forties who my sister and I imagined to be extremely good looking. When we first laid eyes on him, we were shocked.” Ethel shook her head as she recalled the eye-opening experience.

  “At the moment, at least, I feel certain that she’ll be worth the wait.”

  “How can you wait a week? In romance, that’s a lifetime.”

  Quinn’s downcast gaze proved he agreed with her.

  “You should just hop in your car tomorrow after church and drive to Palouse. I’ll go with you. There’s a hamburger place on the left-hand side of town that Edwin and I used to stop at on our way to Spokane. Do you have her address?”

  “I’ve talked about dropping by, but for some reason or other, she hasn’t been receptive to the idea.”

  “Maybe she’s trying to lose weight before she meets you. You’re her incentive.”

  “No, she said she could afford to lose a few pounds, but she’s comfortable.”

  “What’s her name?” After church tomorrow, she and Katherine could drive to the town of Palouse, Washington. The canola fields would be in bloom, making for a beautiful Sunday drive. Katherine could study on the way. They’d have hamburgers and very casually look up this Miss Palouse.

  “When I discuss my blind dates at Evans’s, I give them fictional names. Her family has lived in Palouse for three generations, and Miss Palouse is running for mayor this fall.”

  “Wow . . . mayor.” She couldn’t picture Quinn with a woman of power. And she couldn’t believe he was fine about being in limbo for another week, but it was his love life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After finishing some errands and shopping at Tidyman’s, Quinn set three bags of groceries on his kitchen counter. His phone vibrated in his back pocket. He slid a can of Folgers coffee onto the shelf above the coffee maker and flipped open his cell phone.

  “Hello.”

  “I was wondering if you’re home,” Katherine said.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Is now a good time for Grandma to deliver the cinnamon rolls?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m glad; the rolls are always best while they’re still warm, and Grandma wants to officially welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  Katherine had a surprisingly pleasant phone voice. He put away the groceries, tidied the living room, fluffed a pillow on the couch, and sat down at his dark oak desk, an estate sale find. He reread two poorly crafted student essays and then glanced at his wristwatch. Fifteen minutes had passed. The walk from Ethel’s to his place should have taken the spry, elderly woman five minutes max. He yawned. Why had Katherine commented “while they’re still warm” if Ethel was going to dawdle on her way here?

  Holding down the six on his phone, he speed-dialed the Kings’ number.

  “Hello,” Katherine said.

  “Hi again, it’s Quinn Benton. Has Ethel left yet?”

  “Yessss. She should already be there. She left a good fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”

  “Hmm . . .” He strolled to the front window and peered out at the empty street. “Maybe she ran into neighbors that she knows.”

  “No, she was on a mission to deliver the rolls while they’re still warm. Call me when she gets there or I’ll worry.”

  “I will.” He returned the phone to his back pocket. Where was Ethel? Quinn stepped out onto his front walkway, which overlooked Lynn Street. In the early afternoon, the brightly lit tree-lined street was void of cars or pedestrians. The first time Evans visited, he’d accidentally knocked on Quinn’s tenant’s door. Evans had seen the 432 on the mailbox and not paid any attention after that. Maybe Ethel had done the same.

  In the year he’d owned the duplex, he hadn’t had enough company to get in the habit of reminding visitors that his front door was the one on the left.

  As Quinn strolled by Harold’s side, he ever so casually peered in the front room window. Then he stepped back and did a double take. Seated in the kitchen nook area, with her profile to the window, Ethel sat drinking a cup of coffee.

  He chuckled and dialed the Kings’ residence.

  “Hello.”

  “She’s here and fine. No need to worry.”

  “Good . . .” Katherine sighed with relief. “What took her so long?”

  “I’ll let her tell you about it when she gets home.” He slid his phone back in his pocket and eased Harold’s front door closed behind him.

  Harold’s voice echoed from the kitchen—“I’m an old World War II man myself.”

  “Anybody home?” Quinn called out a greeting. The floor plan mirrored his side—1280 square feet, sixties ranch with popcorn ceilings, brick fireplace, and accordion-style closet doors.

  “Took you long enough.” Harold waited until Quinn stepped into the galley kitchen to add, “Pour yourself a cup of coffee.”

  “Where have you been, Quinn?” Ethel glanced over her shoulder at him. Her gardening hat hung on the back of her chair.

  A square glass pan of gooey, frosting-loaded cinnamon rolls sat on the table. One large square, a quarter of the pan, was missing. Only a smear of cinnamon syrup remained on Harold’s dinner-sized plate. How to diplomatically address the situation? Quinn pulled a striped mug down from the cupboard, poured himself a cup of dark coffee, and added cream.

  “Ethel, I don’t know if Harold informed you—”

  “Uncle Harold,” Harold interrupted.

  So he’d lured Ethel in by lying to her. Would she think the worst? Leaning back against the counter, Quinn cradled the warm mug in both hands and studied the elderly man. In his early eighties, Harold didn’t get much company or home cooking. Though swindled, the cinnamon roll must have been a treat for him.

  “I don’t know if my neighbor explained to you . . .” Quinn turned his attention to Ethel.

  Her jaw slowly lowered.

  “When I purchased the duplex from Harold . . . Gillespie, he wanted to continue living here as a tenant. We are not related.”

  “You lied.” Wide-eyed, Ethel stared at Harold.

  “Look at it from an elder’s perspective . . .” Harold addressed Quinn as he set down his coffee cup and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’d just taken a shower, and when I came in here, there’s someone sitting at the table hidden behind my newspaper. To be frank, it gave me a heck of a start. I asked, ‘How may I help you?’ I didn’t know if it was you”—he nodded toward Quinn—“or a thug.” Harold held a hand out toward Ethel. “Instead,
I find this attractive young woman sitting at my table.”

  “Hogwash.” Ethel rolled her eyes.

  Quinn supposed from Harold’s point of view it was an unusual situation.

  “And lo and behold, she’d brought me home-baked goodies.”

  “I thought it was you, Quinn, in the shower,” Ethel said. “I made myself at home. Put my jar of strawberry jam in the freezer, and instead of decorating your front doorstep, I decorated the inside.” She held up a roll of Scotch tape and nodded over her shoulder.

  “Welcome Home” in six-inch-high letters cut out of red construction paper was taped to the front of Harold’s pine cabinets.

  “I usually spell out Welcome Neighbor, but I ran out of red paper.” Ethel shook her head.

  “I was telling Ethel her welcome to the neighborhood was more of a homecoming than I received from my ex-wife when I returned from World War II.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Harold.” He now understood why the elderly man had been married twice.

  Quinn wasn’t about to forget Ethel’s freezer jam. From the top freezer shelf, he retrieved the pint-sized jar from an avalanche of ice. He’d just bought a sleeve of English muffins that it would prove tasty on. He spun a dining chair around backward at the table and, straddling it, sat down.

  “Ethel said that you and Katherine see quite a bit of each other,” Harold said. “I thought your university frowned on professors dating students.”

  “I don’t.” Quinn shook his head. “We aren’t.”

  “I said just the opposite.” Ethel rolled her eyes. “I said, the two tolerate each other because of me.”

  Harold chuckled.

  Quinn took a sip of the darkly brewed coffee. “Katherine is a very focused student and has no intention of dating until she’s completed her master’s.”

  “The Kings are known for their . . .” She looked at Quinn. “What’s a synonym for pigheadedness?”

  “Stubborn, obstinate . . . Katherine King.” He smiled.

  “I worry about her.” Ethel’s shoulders dropped. “If she did have feelings for someone, she’s so good at studying that she might . . . ” Ethel’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, what’s the word I’m looking for?” She glanced at Quinn.