5. Quinn
Chapter 5
Quinn
Dinner is at Bella Pasta, a cozy little place on Main Street that Lottie loves, with mismatched chairs and homemade pasta dishes that smell like heaven. It’s far too quaint for my usual tastes, which is why I’ve never visited the place. But as I watch Lottie come to life, in her element in this shrine to comfort and laughter, it feels right.
“So much for keeping things low-key,” she says sheepishly as we’re finally guided to our table after greeting several local diners who recognize Lottie, me, or both of us.
I shake my head ruefully as I pull out Lottie’s chair, grateful we’re seated at a table tucked away in the corner, partially concealed by a tall potted plant. “By this time tomorrow, the gossip mill will be working overtime. By tomorrow morning, Mrs. Henderson”—my gaze slides to the elderly woman renowned for her loose lips seated with her husband near the window—“will no doubt have everyone believing that the big, bad sheriff ravished you over the ravioli.”
She smothers a laugh as Mrs. Henderson gives me a little finger wave, her other hand at her throat, clutching her pearls.
“Nothing to see here. Just two people working a case, not on a date,” Lottie teases.
“If this were a real date, I wouldn’t bring you to a pasta joint. You deserve the best. Champagne and caviar.”
Lottie wrinkles her nose. “No thanks. I prefer a milkshake and a dirty cheeseburger. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with this place. Did you know that the owner started it with one saucepan and a dream?” Her gaze moves around the dining area as she points out the pictures on the walls of the owner’s family through the generations. “Imagine that kind of courage.”
“Courage or insanity?” I quip.
“Quinn!” she protests, giving me a playful swat with her napkin, but her grin doesn’t falter. “Not everyone is as cynical as you are, you know.”
“Guilty as charged,” I concede, leaning back in my chair with a wry smile.
Taking to Lottie is easy. Easier than I expected. She has a knack for drawing me out, making me forget the shields I’ve spent years fortifying. Those shields I erected in my childhood have served me well in my line of work.
“Tell me something about you that no one else knows,” she challenges, sipping her wine with an expectant look.
“Something about me?” I repeat, buying time. My life isn’t exactly an open book.
“Yep. And don’t say it’s classified, Sheriff.” Her playful tone does something strange to my insides, twisting them up in knots.
“All right,” I relent, scratching the back of my neck. “I used to write poetry in high school.”
“Poetry?” Her eyes widen with surprise and delight. “Quinn, that’s... adorable.”
“Let’s keep that between us,” I grumble, but the embarrassment is worth the delighted laughter that spills from her lips. I know she isn’t laughing at me or my former pastime but with pure, joyful delight.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promises, holding up her pinky like a kid sealing a deal.
“Your turn,” I say, leaning back in my chair and allowing my eyes to trail over her. She looks fucking edible in a pale blue dress that dips to a V in front, highlighting her spectacular cleavage. Her hair gleams in the low lighting, which gives her skin a tempting luster and makes her eyes look almost amber.
“Hmmm, something no one else knows,” she muses.
My gaze falls to her lips, where she taps a finger thoughtfully. Everything in me aches to kiss those lips again. The kiss we shared earlier wasn’t enough. Not even close.
“Okay, in for a penny…” She takes a breath. “I secretly give funny names to everyday objects.”
I frown. “What?”
“Ugh. I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Okay, so, for example, I call my favorite coffee mug ‘Sir Sips-a-Lot.’ And the TV remote is ‘The Commander.’ Oh, and the microwave is ‘The Zapinator.’
I arch an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Your vacuum cleaner is ‘The Dirt Devourer.’”
Her eyes widen. “Yes! How did you guess?”
I stare at her, speechless.
Lottie snorts and dissolves into laughter. “I’m joking. Of course, I don’t call it ‘The Dirt Devourer.’” She pauses. “I call it ‘The Crumb Crusader.’”
My mouth twitches, and I’m suddenly laughing with her. Warmth washes over me, starting in my stomach and spreading to my chest, healing cracks I didn’t even know were there. It brings a lightness with it, deepening my connection with the woman in front of me.
“You’ve changed your mind about the whole ‘not dating’ me thing, haven’t you? Now you know I have pet names for inanimate objects.” Her eyes twinkle as she scrunches her nose.
Fuck, she’s precious.
I reach for her hand, grasping it in mine and swiping my thumb across her palm. Our eyes lock, and electricity passes between us. The air around us thickens, charged with the promise of something extraordinary. Lottie’s eyelids flicker and her gaze drops to her hand as I bring it to my mouth, nipping at the fleshy, raised area at the base of her thumb.
“Did you know that this”—I soothe the area with my tongue—“is called the Mount of Venus? It’s named after the Roman goddess of love, beauty, and fertility. A prominent Mount of Venus, like yours, indicates qualities of love, passion, and vitality, all of which you have in abundance.”
Lottie’s throat bobs as she swallows hard. “Are you testing that poetic side on me, Sheriff Jordan?”
“Maybe a little.” I grin. “But to answer your question, nothing could change my mind about you, not even if you told me you like to dance naked in your backyard, sacrificing meat-free sausages to the Vegan gods under a full moon.”
That earns me an explosion of laughter so infectious I find myself joining in again.
“Oh, my god, can you imagine?” Lottie asks, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
“The whole naked dancing part?” I smirk. “Absolutely.”
That comment earns me a beautiful blush that spreads from her cheeks all the way down her neck to her cleavage.
“I’d likely do myself an injury with all my bits and bobs flying in different directions. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly skinny.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” I say gruffly, my cock swelling uncomfortably behind my zipper at the mental image of her naked curves gilded by moonlight.
Her blush deepens as she eyes me thoughtfully. “You have a sharp sense of humor beneath all that gruffness, Sheriff. Who was foolish enough not to love you enough?”
Her question comes out of left field and floors me. Christ, she’s perceptive. But then, I’ve learned that from watching her work over the last week, how attentive she is and how she sees things others don’t. It’s what makes her so damn good at her job. She’s professional and fiercely protective of people’s privacy.
But can I trust her with the parts of myself no one knows? With the man I am in the dark? Can I tell her about all the lonely pillows I rested my head on in strange beds as a child because my parents didn’t want me?
I look into her warm eyes again, and I have my answer. Yes. Because Lottie would never make me feel less because of my childhood. Meeting her, having her in my life, has only made me feel more.
I open my mouth to tell her about the parts of myself I’ve never shared before, but our server arrives with our meals, and the moment passes. Maybe it’s just as well.
We continue to talk about everything and nothing as we tuck into our food—favorite movies and books and the small quirks of our lives. Lottie tells me about her childhood, growing up in the city with her parents and younger sister, and how she always knew she wanted a career in helping others.
Her laughter, free and uninhibited, fills the space around us like airborne endorphins. As the evening wears on, my laughter comes more easily, deep belly laughs that bubble up without my permission. I want to carry her around with me, basking in her effervescence and stealing kisses whenever I want.
“Look at you, all relaxed and smiley,” Lottie teases, leaning forward across the table, her chin propped on her elbow as she studies me with those hypnotic golden eyes. “Who are you, and what have you done with Quinn?”
“Guess you bring out the best in me,” I confess, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“Good,” she says simply, her eyes softening with pleasure. “Because I like this version of you.”
By the time we leave the restaurant, night has fully taken hold, wrapping the town in a quiet blanket. We walk side by side, close but not touching, the unspoken tension dancing between us. The urge to reach out and bridge that gap is overwhelming, but I hold back, aware of the line we’re skirting.
“Tonight was nice,” Lottie murmurs as we approach her car, her voice low in the stillness.
“Nice?” I stop, turning to look at her in horror. “I don’t do nice , Lottie.”
Her warm gaze holds mine. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Sunrise Bay’s sheriff is the nicest man I’ve ever met.”
And suddenly, nice is good. It’s fucking awesome. It’s everything I wanted her to say and more.
“Then we’ll have to do it again sometime,” I suggest, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“Sometime soon,” she agrees, a promise in her words that sends a jolt of electricity through me.
“Very soon,” I confirm, letting the moment stretch, thick with possibility.
“Sooner, the better,” she whispers, the words hanging in the air between us.
I’m so close to her now that the scent of her perfume mixes with the crisp night air. Her eyes sparkle under the streetlights, and something about the way she looks at me makes every damn thing that’s wrong with the world fade into the background.
“Lottie...” Her name is barely more than a whisper. It’s loaded with all the things I want to say but can’t. Not yet.
“Quinn?” She mirrors my tone, her voice soft, expectant.
Time slows. Fuck, I want to kiss her again. I want to taste every damned inch of her. I lean in closer, drawn by a magnetic force I don’t have the strength to fight, nor do I want to. Our breaths mingle, our lips almost touching…
Screeching tires cut through the night air, a sharp contrast to the tender moment unfolding. Instinctively, I whip around, a silent warning sounding in my head. Why has the sound alarmed me so much? It’s not uncommon to hear the squeal of rubber on asphalt, yet somehow, it holds a menace. My gut tightens, my body poised to fight, and a rumble leaves my chest. My instincts are honed after years on the job, and I trust them implicitly.
“Quinn, what’s?—”
The world erupts into chaos before Lottie can finish.
I pull Lottie away from the streetlight, my hands rough but strong enough to move her. Bullets zip through the air where our heads were seconds ago. Adrenaline kicks my reflexes into overdrive. With no time to think, I grab Lottie tighter, and then we’re falling, tumbling to the ground as I shield her with my body. Concrete bites at my skin, but all I can think about is keeping her safe. Nothing else matters.
“Stay down!” I bark, scanning the dark street for the source of danger.
A car tears past us, engine roaring like a beast unleashed. Through the glare of the headlights, I try to catch the number plate, but the vehicle is moving too fast, disappearing around a corner.
I don’t need to see the drive or the plate, however, to know the fucker behind the wheel. This has Mike Hartless written all over it.
“Are you hit?” I ask Lottie, my voice rough with concern.
“No, I-I’m fine.”
“Stay here. I’m going to call this in.” I start to rise.
Her hand grips mine tight enough to convey the fear she’s trying not to show. “Quinn, don’t leave me,” she pleads.
I glance down at the pulse beating rapidly below her jaw. She’s afraid. How can I do anything but stay?
Helping her into a sitting position, I tug her onto my lap and wrap an arm firmly around her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”
She burrows into me, fine tremors passing through her muscles. “Are they coming back?” she asks, trying to peer over my shoulder.
I fumble for my phone with my free hand, my fingers suddenly clumsy. “They’re gone. I won’t let them hurt you,” I vow, pressing the phone to my ear. “Dispatch, this is Sheriff Jordan. Shots fired...”
As I rattle off details to the dispatcher, I’m acutely aware of Lottie’s softness, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine. The trust she’s placing in me does something to my insides, twisting them in a way that’s both painful and exhilarating. I’ve never felt more alive than I do at this moment. Or more connected to the extraordinary woman in my arms.
“Help is on the way,” I tell her once the call ends, my gaze searching hers.
Her eyes are wide, but they hold a fierce determination that matches the pounding of my heart. She has a thread of steel running through her. She’s scared out of her mind, but she’s not falling apart. Not Lottie.
“Lottie, I…” Words fail me because what do you say after you’ve been shot at? How do I bridge the gap between death brushing past us and the warmth of the woman who’s come to mean more to me than I ever expected? A woman who seems to have captured my heart without even trying.
“Kiss me, Quinn,” she whispers, her voice laced with urgency and something wild that sends my senses reeling.
I don’t hesitate.
Our lips crash together in a collision of fear, relief, and raw emotion. It’s a kiss born from the need to feel alive, to reaffirm that we’re both still here, hearts beating furiously within our chests.
Her hands clutch at my back, pulling me closer, and I pour every ounce of protectiveness, every shred of desire into that kiss. Our tongues meld in an ancient dance that makes my groin throb and sends heat to every part of me.
We break apart, gasping for air. Lottie shivers as I slide my knuckles over her cheek and tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear. A siren wails in the distance, getting closer, but for a heartbeat of time, it’s only us in the world. Lottie and me.
“Quinn.” She breathes my name like a lifeline. “What happens now?”
“My deputies are on the way,” I tell her, my voice steady despite the maelstrom of emotions inside me.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” she says with a soft laugh, cupping my cheek.
The way she looks at me, like she’s found the world in my eyes, makes my heart thud harder in my chest. Christ, I wish we were alone instead of in a parking lot rapidly filling with people.
My deputies show up, the red and blue strobes on their cars washing over us. I give them the information about the shooting, holding Lottie when she turns to me for comfort, and glare at any onlookers who appear as though they might come near us to ask questions. Lottie needs to feel safe right now, and answering the public’s questions will only make her more anxious.
I watch the people in the crowd, wondering if Mike, Alicia, or one of their friends might be here, ready to finish the job they failed to carry out. I knew that facing down Aiden’s parents would be problematic. If my suspicions are correct, they’ve now shown me their willingness to kill. What wasn’t personal has now become very fucking personal. For Aiden. For Lottie. For me.
“Come on,” I say firmly, leading her to her car. “Let’s get you safe.”
“Quinn?” Lottie’s voice is stronger now, tinged with her innate humor even after everything. “Next time we decide to have a moment, let’s avoid the dramatic shootouts, okay?”
“Agreed.” I chuckle, the sound rough in my throat. “Takeaway and a Netflix movie next time, I promise.”
“Good,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Because I like this version of you, too. The one who kisses me like the world is ending.”
My heart stutters. I’m getting in over my head with my little coffee-slinging tornado. It scares me to death. But what scares me even more is the thought that I could’ve lost her tonight.
The weight of my badge against my chest suddenly means so much more now Lottie and Aiden are in my life. And that responsibility terrifies me the most.