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 did not.”
“It’s true. My theory is they’ve tasted fear. They know what it’s like to try to survive without a good education and it’s not easy.”
“Because you’ve done it?”
“Uh-huh. I left high school when I turned eighteen. I was only in eleventh grade because I got held back a couple of times. I didn’t wait for the semester to end or anything. I legally became an adult and I was gone.” She licked her spoon. “It wasn’t so much about everything happening at home, although that was a part of it. Mostly I couldn’t stand being two years older and labeled as dumb.” She glanced at him, then back at her ice cream. “I had a learning disability that didn’t get diagnosed until I was nearly ten.”
She didn’t bother with the whys of that. No reason to go over that material.
“After I left high school, I got a job at Happy Burger.”
“I love Happy Burger,” he told her.
“Everyone does. I rented a room in a house on the edge of town and supported myself.” Which was mostly true. She’d been forced into a series of second jobs to make ends meet, had cut off ties with her family for nearly a year because she was eighteen and angry and needed to grow up, and had taken up with a series of really bad-for-her guys.
“I was going nowhere. Around the time I turned twenty, two things happened. I got a job here as a maid, and the manager of Happy Burger told me that if I earned my GED, he would recommend me for a management position. He told me that I had a real future at Happy Burger.”
“Was that good news or bad news?”
“It was the worst. I didn’t want to spend my life at Happy Burger. But it was the wake-up call I needed. I got my GED and started at community college. Along the way, I quit the burger job.”
“And now you’re two semesters away from your bachelor’s.”
She waved her spoon. “You know it.”
“Impressive.”
“The info dump?”
He flashed her a sexy smile. She was sure he didn’t mean it to be sexy, but he probably couldn’t help it. Quinn was just that kind of guy. It wasn’t in the way he moved, because right now he was sitting still. But whatever it was still existed. Maybe it was a confidence thing, or a pheromone thing. Either way, she found herself wanting to lean closer and sigh.
“You’re impressive,” he clarified. “Look at where you started and where you ended up. I respect that. I work with a lot of talented people. Most of them don’t follow traditional paths to success. Good for you for doing the work.” He smiled again. “You’re right. You don’t need fixing.”
His words made her beam as a warm glow filled her. A glow that lasted all of eight seconds, right until ice cream dripped off her spoon and onto her sweatshirt. She held in a groan and wiped at it with her finger.
Couldn’t she just once be sophisticated and elegant? Or even casual and coordinated? Did she always have to be spilling, bumping and dropping?
This was what her sister Sienna would call “pulling a Courtney”—a phrase Courtney had always hated but had to admit existed for a reason. And speaking of her family—
“You can’t tell anyone what I told you,” she said quickly. “About the college stuff.”
Quinn frowned. His eyebrows drew together and little lines formed. It was even sexier than the smile had been.
“What do you mean?”
“Joyce knows, but no one in my family does. About me going to college. I don’t think they know I have a GED. If you run into them, it would be great if you didn’t, you know, say anything.”
“Okay. Interesting. Why?”
She raised a shoulder. “It’s a long story.”
“Right. And you’re not one to overshare.” He stood. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
He studied her for a second. She had no idea what he was thinking but figured that was probably for the best.
“Good night, Courtney.”
“’Night, Quinn.”
He put his bowl in the dishwasher, then walked out of the kitchen. She watched him go, allowing herself the pleasure of admiring his butt and the way he moved. The man had grace and style. He was sophisticated and unexpectedly nice. If she were someone other than herself, she would so want to start something with him. But she wasn’t. Besides, she was focused on school and working and getting through her last year of college. Then she would land her dream job and find someone to date. A smart, kind man who thought she was exactly what he was looking for. Assuming that man existed.
She put her bowl next to Quinn’s before hunting down the cookies and grabbing a handful. As she walked back to her room, she imagined what would have happened if Quinn had reached across the table and pulled her close. No doubt she would have dropped her spoon and spilled all over him. Or burped during their kiss. Because that was how her life went. Even in her dreams.
RACHEL WAS CONFIDENT that laundry multiplied in the night. What had been a single load a couple of days ago was now four. Five if she did Josh’s sheets. He would tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she thought differently.
She glanced at the clock and held in a groan. It was five on Sunday afternoon. She’d worked late the previous day with the idea that on a weekend when Josh was with his dad, she could earn a little extra money. Which was great, but by the end of her workweek, she was always exhausted. That had turned into sleeping late, which she probably needed, but it didn’t get any of her chores done.
She’d done grocery shopping, paid some bills and spent the past two hours weeding in the yard. In between, she’d baked cookies, put a stew in the Crock-Pot and made her son’s lunch for the following day. Now she faced laundry and cleaning the kitchen. Once Josh got home—which should be any second now—they would go over his homework, assuming his father had remembered to make him do it, review his schedule for the week and then watch a show for an hour before bed. And starting tomorrow, she would do it all over again.
She put the whites in the washer, added detergent and bleach, then hit the start button. She already had the baseball uniforms in the sink in the laundry room. Between the grass stains and the ground-in dirt, those had to be pretreated or they would never get clean. Honestly, she didn’t know how professional sports organizations kept their uniforms so nice. Maybe they didn’t bother. Maybe every player wore new
