members isn’t a great idea. In fact, it’s the worst idea. “I have a lot to do,” I say loud enough for her to hear.
“Mom won’t be there. Just you, me, and Kat.”
I don’t necessarily like going behind Mrs. Covington’s back and knowingly breaking her rules, but I could use a break from wedding stuff. Plus, she didn’t mention Quinn. A full day with him touching my elbow, leaning close to my ear, casting glances he must know by now make me weak. He has my girly parts revved up, especially after the other night. I can’t believe roasting marshmallows over flames turned into heating me up instead. That did me in.
I wander to the window and stare out over the field. In the distance stands a quaint little house—a scaled-down model of this one. The columns supporting the porch aren’t as grand, and instead of pristine white clapboard, ivy covers the facade. I think there’s a patio or something in front of it but can’t tell exactly what it is from so far away.
I drop my gaze to the red barn beyond a freshly cut field and follow the four-wheeler someone drives out of it. The driver heads toward the main house and parks below my window beside a fallen tree. That’s when I notice Quinn chopping a pile of wood. Quinn, shirt off, is more dazzling than I imagined—and fuel for my dreams tonight. Tight lines dissect his rather perfect abs into six strokeable packs. Tan, lean muscles pulse in his arms as he brandishes an ax over his head and brings it down into the wood with a thud. Damn. That completely turns me on. I inch closer to the glass for a better view.
His tattoos are on full display. The vine isn’t just a vine, but achingly beautiful barbed wire, as if a country fence wrestled a rose bush, making it feminine and masculine at the same time. He raises his arms again, hovering the ax before slicing it through the air to split another log. Over his heart is a mass of tangled thorns and wire. They strangle his heart and look like they could prevent it from pumping at any second. I suck in a gasp.
“Like what you see?” I hear behind me.
I step away from the window but not before stealing another glance. “No, I . . . his tattoos.”
“ Mom about shit a farm when she saw them.” Kat steps up to the window. “Of course, she’s only seen what’s around his neck and arms. She’d shit a fucking continent if she saw his chest.”
“It’s so disturbingly dark . . . cryptic.” I scoot toward the window, wanting to look for more reasons than just curiosity.
She huffs under her breath. “
He’s
dark.” She turns and puts her hands on her hips.
“I don’t think he is; I mean . . . there is a light in him. Don’t you think?” I turn to Kat. It’s only then I realize who I’m talking to. She isn’t Lilian whom I’d spill my guts to, she’s Quinn’s angry, hurt sister. “Sorry, I was just—”
“No, you’re right.” She pulls the sheer drapes together. “The Quinn I remember is there. I just don’t know if I can be the Kat he remembers.”
“I don’t think he expects that. He just wants a chance to be here for you now.” I follow her out of Ellie’s room and down the stairs. A little bit thinks he wants to be here for me, too. But that’s imagined, right? We just met. And yeah, I’d totally hook up with him if I met him in a bar, probably take him home, but come morning, I’d give him the boot. I don’t let guys stick around. Not for breakfast, not for my number, and not for me.
Pulling into the yacht club, I get a sense of what it’s like living in Charleston where everything is historic. The building isn’t like the weathered shingle-clad buildings lining the piers back home. The brick facade mimics most of the other structures in town, and painted pristine white it has a distinguished charm that hides a century of flaws. Plantation shutters brighten the windows and bright red begonias perk up the overall appeal.
Inside, a crystal chandelier hangs from a thick
“Mom won’t be there. Just you, me, and Kat.”
I don’t necessarily like going behind Mrs. Covington’s back and knowingly breaking her rules, but I could use a break from wedding stuff. Plus, she didn’t mention Quinn. A full day with him touching my elbow, leaning close to my ear, casting glances he must know by now make me weak. He has my girly parts revved up, especially after the other night. I can’t believe roasting marshmallows over flames turned into heating me up instead. That did me in.
I wander to the window and stare out over the field. In the distance stands a quaint little house—a scaled-down model of this one. The columns supporting the porch aren’t as grand, and instead of pristine white clapboard, ivy covers the facade. I think there’s a patio or something in front of it but can’t tell exactly what it is from so far away.
I drop my gaze to the red barn beyond a freshly cut field and follow the four-wheeler someone drives out of it. The driver heads toward the main house and parks below my window beside a fallen tree. That’s when I notice Quinn chopping a pile of wood. Quinn, shirt off, is more dazzling than I imagined—and fuel for my dreams tonight. Tight lines dissect his rather perfect abs into six strokeable packs. Tan, lean muscles pulse in his arms as he brandishes an ax over his head and brings it down into the wood with a thud. Damn. That completely turns me on. I inch closer to the glass for a better view.
His tattoos are on full display. The vine isn’t just a vine, but achingly beautiful barbed wire, as if a country fence wrestled a rose bush, making it feminine and masculine at the same time. He raises his arms again, hovering the ax before slicing it through the air to split another log. Over his heart is a mass of tangled thorns and wire. They strangle his heart and look like they could prevent it from pumping at any second. I suck in a gasp.
“Like what you see?” I hear behind me.
I step away from the window but not before stealing another glance. “No, I . . . his tattoos.”
“ Mom about shit a farm when she saw them.” Kat steps up to the window. “Of course, she’s only seen what’s around his neck and arms. She’d shit a fucking continent if she saw his chest.”
“It’s so disturbingly dark . . . cryptic.” I scoot toward the window, wanting to look for more reasons than just curiosity.
She huffs under her breath. “
He’s
dark.” She turns and puts her hands on her hips.
“I don’t think he is; I mean . . . there is a light in him. Don’t you think?” I turn to Kat. It’s only then I realize who I’m talking to. She isn’t Lilian whom I’d spill my guts to, she’s Quinn’s angry, hurt sister. “Sorry, I was just—”
“No, you’re right.” She pulls the sheer drapes together. “The Quinn I remember is there. I just don’t know if I can be the Kat he remembers.”
“I don’t think he expects that. He just wants a chance to be here for you now.” I follow her out of Ellie’s room and down the stairs. A little bit thinks he wants to be here for me, too. But that’s imagined, right? We just met. And yeah, I’d totally hook up with him if I met him in a bar, probably take him home, but come morning, I’d give him the boot. I don’t let guys stick around. Not for breakfast, not for my number, and not for me.
Pulling into the yacht club, I get a sense of what it’s like living in Charleston where everything is historic. The building isn’t like the weathered shingle-clad buildings lining the piers back home. The brick facade mimics most of the other structures in town, and painted pristine white it has a distinguished charm that hides a century of flaws. Plantation shutters brighten the windows and bright red begonias perk up the overall appeal.
Inside, a crystal chandelier hangs from a thick
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