Daughters Of The Bride(70)
Courtney’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t much of a crier, so they were kind of a shock. She sniffed, blinked them away, then glared at Quinn.
“You’re really pissing me off,” she told him.
“What did I do?”
Everything. Nothing. Before she could figure out what to say, her pager went off.
She stood. “I have to get back to the kitchen. There’s a delivery. I’ll see you later.”
“Courtney. What’s wrong?”
She waved off the question. Because what was she going to say? She already liked him. After the amazing sex, she was in danger of getting more involved. Now, hearing the story of how and why he’d hired Wayne, she could feel herself sinking in deeper.
She knew the danger. Love hurt. Always. Every kind. If you loved someone, you were going to get hurt. It was a given. She didn’t want that. Not ever. The guys she’d been involved with before had all been borderline losers. Her heart had never been at risk. But Quinn was different. Something she would have to remember. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed, she was going to have to be a lot more careful.
16
SATURDAYS AT THE salon were always long. Rachel’s new walking program had given her a little more energy, but by six o’clock, she was still dragging.
As she drove the few miles home after work, she went over the mental list of what had to get done on her two days off. There was laundry, grocery shopping, planning meals for the upcoming week—a chore that should probably come before grocery shopping—an afternoon of Crock-Pot cooking, salad making and the like to give her a jump start on the week.
Both bathrooms were desperately dirty, as was the kitchen. And the yard. She sighed. She didn’t want to think about how horrible the lawn looked, not to mention the weeds.
She turned onto her street and saw Greg’s truck parked in front of her house. For a second she felt almost giddy anticipation—reminiscent to what she’d felt at seventeen—then firmly squashed the ridiculous emotion. He’d had Josh all day. Of course he’d come by to drop off his son. He must have stayed because he wanted to talk about something. Fine. They would talk, then he would leave and she and her son would have a perfectly wonderful evening together.
But as she pulled into the driveway, she saw something even more unexpected than her ex-husband’s truck. Her lawn had been mowed and the majority of the weeds were gone. As she got out of her SUV, Greg came around the side of the house, pushing the lawn mower. He waved when he saw her.
“You’re home,” he called. “Great timing. I just finished in back.”
“You mowed my lawn?”
“Yup. Josh helped. Another year or so and he’ll be able to handle it all himself. He’s finishing up the weeding in back right now.”
She wasn’t sure her blood pressure could handle her preteen son using something as dangerous as a lawn mower, but she would deal with that later.
“Thank you,” she told him. “Really. I don’t like having to deal with the yard. I appreciate the help.”
He grinned. “Then you’ll be even happier to know you had a broken sprinkler head in the backyard. We fixed it.”
“Thank you.”
She felt as if she was repeating herself but didn’t know what else to say.
“Let me get this cleaned up and in the garage,” he told her. “I’ll let Josh know you’re home and we’ll meet you inside. We stopped for Chinese. It’s in the refrigerator.”
Those last three sentences pretty much left her speechless. She had no idea which to tackle first. That he’d bought them dinner? That he was expecting to join them for said dinner? As if they did this all the time?
What was he doing and what did it all mean?
“You okay?” he asked.
“Um, sure. I’ll meet you inside.”
She might as well be confused indoors, she thought as she collected her purse and her work tote, then headed into the house.
She changed into jeans and a T-shirt. For a second she’d had the ridiculous notion that she should touch up her makeup and wear something nice. She squashed that notion. She’d had a long week. She was hungry and tired and she wasn’t trying to impress Greg.
She went into the kitchen and pulled the large bag of Chinese food out of the refrigerator. He’d brought all her favorites, which meant her job was going to be portion control. Oh, and she would have to remember not to weigh herself for at least three days, not to mention drink extra water tomorrow and add a mile to her walk. But aside from that, she was going to eat what she wanted without feeling guilty.
She was about to close the refrigerator door when she noticed Greg had also brought a bottle of her favorite chardonnay. What on earth?