for God’s sake. He had a new wife. And all she wanted from him for now and forever was never to see or hear from him again.
Her heart racing with a sick kind of fury that he’d dared to encroach on her new life where he had no business being, Chloe whipped the beautiful flowers from the vase. Dripping water across the counter and onto the floor, too, she dropped them in the trash compactor, shoved it shut and turned the motor on. The compactor rumbled. She felt way too much satisfaction as the machine crushed the bright blooms to a pulp.
Once the flowers were toast, she poured the water from the vase into the sink, whipped the compactor open again and dropped the vase on top of the mashed flowers. She ran the motor a second time, grinning like a madwoman when she heard that loud, scary pop that meant the vase was nothing but shards of broken glass. After that, she picked up the little bits of card, every one, threw them in with the shattered vase and the pulped flowers, took the plastic bag out of the compactor, lugged it out to the trash bin and threw it in.
Good riddance to bad trash.
She spent a while stewing, considering calling Ted and giving him a large piece of her mind.
But no. She wanted nothing to do with him and she certainly didn’t want to make contact with him again. That might just encourage him.
She wondered if the flowers and the creepy note could be considered the act of a stalker.
But then she reminded herself that Ted and his bride, Larissa, lived more than a thousand miles away in San Diego. It was one thing for Ted to have his assistant send her flowers just to freak her out, but something else again for him to show up on her doorstep in person.
Wasn’t going to happen. He was just being a jerk, an activity at which he excelled.
God. She had married him. How could she have been such an utter, complete fool?
Back in the house, she changed into jeans and a tank top. Then she took her time cooking an excellent dinner of fresh broiled trout with lemon butter, green beans and slivered almonds and her favorite salad of field greens, blueberries, Gorgonzola cheese and toasted walnuts, with a balsamic vinaigrette.
When it was ready, she set the table with her best dishes, lit a candle, poured herself a glass of really nice sauvignon blanc and sat down. She ate slowly, savoring every delicious bite.
A little later, she took a long scented bath and put on a comfy sleep shirt and shorts. Even after the bath, she was still buzzing with anger at the loser she’d once had the bad judgment to marry. Streaming a movie or reading a book was not going to settle her down. She needed a serious distraction.
So she went to the cozy room on the lower floor that she used as a home office and lost herself in the plans for Quinn’s house. Within a few minutes of sitting down at her desk, the only thing on her mind was the rooms taking shape in her imagination—and on her sketch pad. And the numbers coming together for each room, for the project as a whole. She worked for hours and hardly noticed the time passing.
When she finally went back upstairs to the main floor, it was almost midnight. Time for bed.
But she didn’t go to bed. It was cool out that evening. So she put on a big sweater over her sleep shirt, pulled on a pair of fluffy pink booties and went out onto her deck. It was something she had not done after dark since the night Quinn spent in her bed.
But she was doing it tonight.
She padded to the deck railing and stared down at Quinn’s house.
Was she actually expecting him to be watching, waiting for the moment when she wandered out under the stars?
Not really. It just felt...reassuring somehow. To gaze down at his house, to know that she would see him again, would share dinner with him on Friday night.
When the French doors opened and he emerged, she let out a laugh of pure delight and waved to signal him up.
He didn’t even hesitate, just went on down the steps at the side of his deck and forged up the hill. She went to meet him at the top of her stairs, feeling breathless and wonderful.
Tonight, he wore ripped old jeans, a white T-shirt that seemed to glow in the dark and the same moccasins he’d been wearing that other night. He said, “Love those furry boots.” When she laughed, he added, “I was getting worried you might never come outside.”
“And I was absolutely certain there was no way you might be glancing up to see if I was looking down for you.” She held out her hand. He took it. His skin was warm, his palm callous. Just his touch made her body sing. “Come sit with me?”
He looked at her as though she were the only other person in the world. “Whatever you want, Chloe.”
She tugged him over to the two chairs they’d sat in that other night and pulled him down beside her.
Silence.
But it was a good silence. They just sat there, staring out at the clear night and the distant mountains. A slight wind came up, rustling the nearby pines. And an owl hooted off in the shadows somewhere between his house and hers.
Finally, she said, “I met with Manny. I think it went well.”
“He says so, too.”
“And I’m in love with your daughter.”
He chuckled, a rough and tempting sound. “She has that effect on people. Manny’s tough, but Annabelle still manages to wrap him around her little finger. Truth is she rules the house. We just try to keep up with her.”
She looked over at him. “Has she asked you about her mother again?”
“Not yet.” He met her eyes through the shadows. “I know, I know. Wait until she asks. And then don’t load her up with more information than she’s ready for.”
“That’s the way.” She thought of the flowers she’d crushed in the compactor—and then pushed them out of her mind. Why ruin a lovely moment by bringing Ted into it?
Instead, she asked him how he had met Manny. He explained that the old ex-fighter had been his first professional trainer. “I met him at the first gym I walked into after leaving home. Downtown Gym, it was called, in Albuquerque. Manny ran the place and worked with the fighters who trained there. We got along. When I moved on, he went with me. I had a lot of trainers. And over time, Manny became more like my manager, I guess you could say. And kind of a cross between a best friend and a dad.” He shot her a warning look. “But don’t tell him I said that.”
She grinned. “Why not?”
“He already thinks he knows what’s best for me. If he ever heard I said I thought of him as a father, he’d never shut up with the advice and instructions.”
She softly advised, “But I’ll bet it would mean the world to him to know how you really feel.”
“He knows. Hearing it out loud would only make him more impossible to live with.” Quinn faked a dangerous scowl. “So keep your mouth shut.”
She laughed and held up both hands. “I swear I’ll never say a word.”
“Good.”
“So,
