slim.
She didn’t bother with overhead lights in the kitchen. She knew her way in the twilight produced by the soft glow from under-the-counter illumination and exit signs. She collected a bowl and a spoon, then crossed to the walk-in freezer to pick her flavor.
She walked out with a three-gallon container of vanilla chocolate chip and found herself in the brightly lit kitchen, facing a tall, broad-shouldered man.
She shrieked and jumped. The ice cream slipped from her hands. She grabbed, he grabbed and they both ended up with their arms wrapped around a very cold, very large container.
They were close enough for her to see the various shades of blue in his irises and inhale the scent of clean fabric and man. His jaw was strong, his beard about two days old and his gaze piercing. Her heart thundered in her chest, but it had very little to do with shock and everything to do with attraction.
“One of us should let go,” he said.
“What?” Oh, right. She immediately released the container and straightened. “Um, sorry. You startled me.”
“I got that.” He put the ice cream on the counter. “Late-night snack?”
“Something like that.”
They continued to watch each other. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.
“I’m Quinn.”
Seriously? “We all know who you are. There are all kinds of pictures of you in Joyce’s bungalow. Plus, she talks about you all the time.”
He groaned. “I don’t want to know what she says.”
“Most of it is good.”
His brows rose. “Most?”
Courtney grinned. “You said you didn’t want to know. I’m Courtney, by the way. We’ve met a few times before.”
“I remember.”
She doubted that. A man like Quinn would remember meeting Rihanna and Taylor Swift, but not someone like her. She would have been nothing but staff, and who remembered the woman who cleaned his room?
She pointed at the container. “It’s vanilla chocolate chip—our flavor of the month. You want some?”
“Sure.”
She grabbed a second bowl and spoon, then scooped out ice cream for both of them. She returned the container to the freezer. When she walked back into the kitchen, she half expected to find Quinn had gone. But he’d pulled up one of the stools by the counter as if he planned to stay. She did the same, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them.
“Oh, there are cookies, too,” she said. “If you want some.”
“No, thanks. This is enough.”
Not a philosophy she could get behind, but now she wasn’t comfortable adding a couple of crushed cookies to her bowl. Later, she promised herself. She would take them up to her room.
“You’re up late,” he commented.
“I like the hotel at night. It’s quiet. All the guests are asleep. Or at least not wandering around, making trouble.”
“Is that how you see them?”
“You’ve never cleaned up a hotel room after a rowdy party.”
“That’s true.”
They ate in silence for a few seconds. Courtney found the moment surreal. Quinn might not be an actual rock star, but he was famous for discovering musical talent of all kinds and taking those talents to the top of the charts.
“A fan?” he asked, nodding toward her.
It took her a second to realize he meant her sweatshirt. She glanced down at the USC college logo. “Not really. One of the guests left it behind and it was way too nice to throw out.”
She remembered the pretty but tearful coed who’d tossed the sweatshirt at her, demanding it be burned.
“It had been her fiancé’s, and it turned out he’d slept with one of the strippers hired for his bachelor party.” She licked her spoon. “I’ll never understand the whole concept of inviting trouble a few days before you commit yourself to someone for the rest of your life. But weddings are all about drama.” She eyed him. “Are you really moving back to Los Lobos?”
He nodded.
“But you live in LA.”
“That’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Isn’t your business there?”
“It’s mobile. I’m ready for a change.”
She wondered if any part of his decision was about his grandmother. “She’s doing fine, you know. Mentally and physically.”
“Thanks for the update. She’s not the only reason, but she’s one of them.” He paused.
Courtney took a bite of ice cream. As if he’d been waiting for her to be in that delicate act of swallowing, he then said, “She’s trying to fix us up.”
Courtney began to choke.
He waited until she’d regained control to add, “Or have me take you on as a project. Which makes me wonder why you need fixing.”
The door was so far away, Courtney thought longingly as she glanced toward the exit. She ignored the heat burning her cheeks. There was no pretending that wasn’t happening, not with the overhead lights blaring down. In a matter of seconds, she knew her face was as brightly colored as her sweatshirt.
“You’re imagining things, I’m sure,” she managed, thinking that as much as she loved her boss, she was going to have to kill her. There was no other response that was appropriate.
He waited.
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t need fixing. I’m doing great. I’m only two semesters from graduating with my bachelor’s in hotel management. I have a good job and lots of friends.”
“You’re twenty-seven.”
She was torn between wondering how he knew that and the relevancy of the statement.
“So?”
“You waited a while to go to college.”
A statement, not a question. Yet she was somehow compelled to explain. Maybe it was the way his dark blue gaze settled on her face. Maybe it was the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. Maybe it was a latent babbling gene choosing this inopportune moment to surface. Regardless, she started speaking and then couldn’t seem to stop.
“Not everyone makes it to college out of high school,” she began. “Did you know that returning female students are the most successful demographic in college?”
“I
