11. Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Quinn
“I’ve never seen this much wood before.” It was true—unless he counted forests—but Quinn was also hoping he could bait Jake into an innuendo. That seemed like such an obvious opening, there was no way he could turn it down.
Yet he did. Jake kept on walking and left the comment to hang as they moved through towering stacks of lumber.
When they got to the large warehouse doors, Jake turned around, nodded to the camera crew, then finally looked at Quinn. “So, obviously we can work with anything that strikes your fancy. But it looked like you were into the mid-century modern look?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. A lot of those pieces that grandpa kept out on the front porch? That got ruined? They were mid-century. And I always really liked the look. Really clean, but not utilitarian. Still attractive.”
Jake smiled at him. “I agree with everything you said. I’ve got a soft spot for that style, too.” He looked around at the different wood in the space. “We see a lot of beech and teak, and obviously oak in mid-century modern furniture. Also rosewood and walnut, but I’m not convinced we should go that route. If you’re asking my opinion on it.”
“You’re the expert and I’m here to listen.”
Jake shook his head. “You’re the expert on what you want in your house, not me. I’m just talking the history part. And the design part a little.”
“Well, just give me your opinion.” Why the hell was he so hard to talk to all the sudden? Did I do that much damage? “I want to hear and learn.”
Jake blew out a long breath, looking straight up. “Well, even with the change in the layout there on the ground floor, it’s not the biggest, most open floor plan. Opening up and giving you bigger windows would get you a little more light and the illusion of space, but that would be a nightmare and a half and it’s not really in our plan. The lighter colored woods will make things feel a bit less closed in.” He nodded, seemingly more to himself than Jake. “And we can avoid including too many red tones. We’d have to be careful if you wanted to go teak, make sure it’s on the lighter end of things. The right stain would keep the warmth knocked down out of oak or beech. But again, that’s just my opinion. It’s your space, and I can work with whatever.” He locked eyes with Quinn for what seemed like the first time all day. “You came along so you can weigh in, so if you see something you think you like, mark it out and let us know.”
“I will happily talk about my wood with you.”
Jake’s face contorted and he sucked in his lips, obviously holding back a laugh. It took him a few seconds before he got control of himself again. “We are here to talk about wood. Yes.”
They carried on inside, where things were much smaller. Little displays with various woods in different finishes, all with big caveats to let them all know that they were examples, not guarantees. Quinn scanned his eyes up and down the aisles, but his gaze kept flicking back to Jake. He was currently talking to someone who worked there, gesturing to the cameras, laughing. Suddenly so natural and open, now that he was talking to a complete stranger instead of a virtual stranger like Quinn.
I don’t like this. Deeper than just regretting his snapping the other day, Quinn’s skin itched at the fact that he wasn’t bantering with Jake anymore. He missed it. He wanted someone to talk games with and make stupid innuendos with. He even missed Jake checking in on his feelings, uncomfortable and annoying as it might have been in the moment.
And I can’t apologize if he won’t talk to me. That’s what it really boiled down to. Hashing things out on camera felt off for a whole variety of reasons. But if Jake wasn’t going to give him a real chance in private…
Quinn walked up and tapped Jake on the shoulder. “Hey. I’m sorry. I’m not running away. I forgot my phone in the car, I need to grab it. I will run as fast as I can.”
He nodded. “No worries.” Then back to the guy from the lumber yard.
Still no real connection. Which meant Quinn’s plan felt considerably more appealing. He jogged back through all the wood there, to the SUV, then slid his phone out of his pocket and tucked it into the cup holder in the back seat.
Jake brought me my phone once.
Then Quinn headed back, his stomach in far too many knots. But some alone time felt like what they needed. At least I hope so.
Quinn paced back and forth. He couldn’t settle, he couldn’t eat, and he didn’t want to drink anything in case he got too shitfaced. Of course he had no guarantee that Jake would even show, but every time that thought reared its head, he batted it back. Not helpful at all. But maybe true. That niggling doubt was the entire reason he couldn’t settle down. The night was dragging on with no sign—
Knock knock knock.
Quinn tripped over his own feet and barely caught himself from face-planting into the edge of the sofa as he jerked around it and headed for the door. He didn’t even check through the peephole or latch the chain so he could peek through the gap, just flung it open, only realizing how desperate it might look as the door was swinging in, revealing a big blonde with a phone outstretched.
“You know, they make those little tracker things you can stick onto stuff.”
“Yeah. I have four in a box in my nightstand. Should probably use them.” He took his phone back and checked for any missed calls or messages—none, thankfully—then slipped it into his pocket and stepped back. “Ride home again? Least I can do, since I seem to have given you partial custody over my phone.”
“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t cancel again. Rideshare drivers have to make their money.”
“Please?” Quinn’s voice tightened and he barely got the word out as he lunged out to grab onto Jake’s wrist. “I wanted to talk. Without cameras. I don’t actually lose my phone this often.”
Jake stood a moment, looking him up and down again, running his fingers back through his hair. Then he reached down and grabbed his own phone out, tapping the screen. “We can talk. But no pressure.” He nodded and then slipped his phone away. “Ride’s canceled.”
Quinn stepped away from the door. “Come in? Probably more comfortable than my car.” Sweat trailed down Quinn’s back and he clamped down on the door knob as he backed away, using it to support himself. Time to find out how bad I messed things up.
Jake came in and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “So, what’s up?”
Quinn took a spot at the coffee table, sitting down on it so he could look Jake head on instead of trying to look at each other from opposite ends of the couch. That felt too casual…and maybe Quinn just couldn’t quite settle into a proper seat while all this energy and conflict bubbled away inside of him. “The other day, I was dealing with a lot. Internally. And you didn’t deserve to have me bite your head off over it.” He wrung his hands in his lap, but forced himself to keep eye contact with Jake, even as heat cascaded up his back and neck and face. “Being in the house just makes me think about my grandpa. I guess I wasn’t totally prepared for all the changes that come with redoing a house. His house.”
“Well, it’s a lot to handle.”
“It is. But it’s the right thing. It makes sense. I asked you all to come and help me out with the house.” Quinn shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself. “Not help me. Do the work for me because I couldn’t go into the house, and even if I could, I couldn’t possibly do even half as much as you all have. Definitely not this fast.”
Jake reached out, rubbing his shoulder, touching him for the first time the entire day. Nothing crazy, but the thick layer of ice squeezing Quinn’s stomach melted at that touch. Even if he shouldn’t care about Jake, shouldn’t let himself get attached…no part of him was listening to all those rational arguments. It felt good to know he hadn’t totally burned this bridge.
Quinn took Jake’s other hand and leaned forward, looking into his eyes. Magnetic. Deep, with a gravitational pull. He parted his lips and locked his mouth to Jake’s, and by god those lips felt just as appealing and soft and warm as he could have imagined. Maybe more. Maybe a lot more.