“We’ve got a small apartment upstairs next to the office. I could rent that to you,” she said. “As long as you’re quiet and tidy, I don’t see any problems.”
“Great,” he said. Ronan knew he ought to tell her his real name. She didn’t seem like the type to discriminate, although he still hadn’t figured out what the problem was with the rest of the town. “I tried to find a place in town, but no one wanted to rent to me.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. As soon as I told them my name, they suddenly didn’t have a room to rent.”
“Ronan?” she asked. “Or Smith?”
“Quinn,” he said. “My name is Ronan Quinn, not Smith.” He paused and watched as surprise came over her pretty features. “See. That’s the look right there. So it is the name.”
She laughed softly and then a sudden hiccup stopped her. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she sent him an apologetic smile. “Yeah. People around here have a pretty big grudge against anyone named Quinn.”
“How could they have a grudge against me? They don’t even know me.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Well, I don’t really believe in all the silliness. Spells and curses and witches. I’m willing to give you a job, Ronan Quinn. And a place to stay, if you want.”
“What did this Quinn do to make everyone mad?”
“It’s a complicated story,” Charlie said, waving him off.
“Don’t you think I ought to hear it, so I know what I’m up against?”
She shook her head. “If I tell you the story, you’ll think we’re all so crazy that you’ll want to leave town. And I need an oysterman.” She pointed to his duffel. “Grab your bag and I’ll show you the apartment.”
Ronan breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I didn’t mean to lie about my name. I was just trying to figure things out.”
“No matter,” she said, walking him back upstairs.
When they got to the second floor, a doorway opened into a lobby for a spacious office opposite the tasting room. “Things usually get busy in here in the afternoon when we’re preparing packing lists and labels for our shipments but all that starts next week.”
She showed him a comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a galley kitchen and a comfortable bed. A bay window overlooked the water and he could hear the metallic clank of the boat riggings through the glass. “This is nice,” he said.
“If you need an advance to buy groceries, I can help you out there.”
“I could use that,” he said. “And I can finish the skiff today. I’ll work on it all night if I have to.”
“Great,” she murmured. Charlie stood in front of him, her gaze flitting nervously around the room. Though Ronan had tried to hide his attraction to his new boss, he hadn’t really considered that she might be attracted to him. As she shifted nervously, her fingers twisted together, he decided to test a theory.
He leaned a bit closer, just a few inches, waiting for her response. Would she lean in as well, and close her eyes, expecting a kiss?
“Bathroom,” she said, turning away.
He followed her into the tiny bathroom. It looked like the room had once been a small closet and they had to struggle to move around. When they finally maneuvered themselves into a comfortable position, they were so close Ronan could feel the heat from her body.
“You—you have to jiggle the handle on the toilet to get it to stop running. And the—the tub drains real slow,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “So it’s probably best to use the shower stall instead. Unless you’re a bath guy.” She paused. “Most guys aren’t.”
He leaned a bit closer and when she turned back to him, she sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the move. Charlie retreated a step, but didn’t realize how close she was to the edge of the tub. She began to lose her balance, flailing her arms.
Ronan had to think quick and decided to save her the pain and humiliation of falling into the bathtub. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. But this didn’t have the intended effect at all. She shifted to evade slamming up against his chest and ran face first into the edge of the door.
“Ow!” she cried, covering her eye with her palm.
“Are you all right?” Ronan asked.
Charlie pulled her hand away and shook her head. “I think I’m bleeding.” She struggled to get to the medicine chest above the sink and Ronan wrapped his hands around her waist.
“Out. I’ll get them.” Ronan found a box of band-aids and then grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and soaked it with cold water. He found Charlie leaning against the kitchen counter, her fingers doing little to staunch the flow of blood.
“Let me look,” Ronan said.
Wincing, she pulled her hand away. “It’s bleeding a lot. Does it look like it needs stitches?”
Ronan dabbed at the small cut. “No. It’s tiny. There’s a lot of blood. Here, hold this.”
She pressed the cold cloth to her head as he fumbled to open the bandage. “Sorry,” she murmured.
“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault.” Ronan wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, to see if it was as soft as it looked. His gaze drifted down to her mouth. If they were going to spend time together, it was going to be hard to resist kissing her.
Though Ronan didn’t work hard at romance, he had enjoyed the regular company of a number of beautiful women. But he usually liked to spend his free time in solitary pursuits, which left little for long-term, serious relationships. Still, he was curious about this particular woman. What was it about Charlie Sibley that he found so intriguing?
“Hello! Anyone home?”
She forced a smile. “That would be the real Joel Bellingham,” Charlie murmured.
Ronan drew her wash cloth away and then neatly covered the cut with a small band-aid. “There. All better.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“No problem.”
She stared at him for a long moment and Ronan’s gaze fell to her lips, so lush and slightly parted. He wanted to lean forward and take just a quick taste, but she seemed to sense what was on his mind and quickly stepped back.
He watched as she hurried out of the apartment, her footsteps fading on the stairs. They’d have plenty of time to figure this all out, Ronan mused. A lot could happen in six weeks.
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