Chapter Three
Robin put down his sandpaper at the sound of his dad’s voice.
If Dad needed Robin, he’d holler. After a moment, Robin resumed his rubdown of the wood, removing its rough edges until it was smooth as glass.
From what he could glean, Dad had a customer, but as soon as he heard the other participant, Robin stilled.
I know that voice. He strained to listen, trying to place it.
When the door opened Robin quickly went back to his task.
“Well, come on through and take a look.”
Robin glanced up with interest, and then froze when in walked Mr. Quentin, the art and drama teacher from his high school.
The very cool and sexy as fuck Mr. Quentin.
It was a weird feeling seeing him out of his usual environment.
Now that he thought about it, Robin hadn’t laid eyes on Mr. Quentin since graduation in June.
Mr. Quentin’s eyes lit up. “Well, if it isn’t my best ever set-builder.”
Robin knew he was flushed. Tingling swept up the back of his neck and across his face.
Dad gazed at Mr. Quentin in puzzlement for a moment, then widened his eyes. “Of course. You teach at the high school. Was Robin one of your students? I can’t remember.”
“No, he wasn’t, but I did a production of Dracula last year, and Robin helped build this really spooky set. It was amazing.” Mr. Quentin inclined his head toward Robin. “Your son is very talented.”
“We think so too.” Dad’s eyes lit up. “So you’re the one to blame for all the time he spent after school.”
Mr. Quentin held up his hands. “Hey, he volunteered.”
Dad chuckled. “I’m kidding. And it was a fantastic production. I remember when I was in high school. I was in a musical, and I know how much work goes into pulling it all together.”
Robin gaped. “You sing? I didn’t know that.”
Dad coughed. “The less said about my singing skills, the better. I was there to make up the numbers, I think.”
“I did teach Ryan though,” Mr. Quentin added. “He took drama with me.”
Dad bit his lip. “I’ll bet that was a very interesting class.” The phone rang in the outer office, and he raised his eyes heavenward. “Damn, I need to get that. I’m so sorry, but I’m been expecting a call, and we’re finishing shortly for the day.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Robin interjected. “I’ll take care of Mr. Quentin.”
Dad gave him a grateful smile, then patted Mr. Quentin on the arm. “I’m sure Robin can answer any of your questions.” He dashed through the door, closing it behind him.
Leaving Robin alone with Mr. Quentin.
Robin swallowed. Somehow, he didn’t think ‘God, you look good’ was the correct way to begin a conversation. As it was, Mr. Quentin was gazing at his surroundings with obvious interest. Robin took advantage of the fact to take a good look at him.
His eyes are stunning. They were a clear green, morphing into amber near the pupils. The dark beard that hugged most of his lower face was all kinds of sexy, as was the way his hair was longer on top, slightly curly in comparison to the shorn sides of his head. He had neat dark brows…
…that arched up toward his hairline as he gazed at Robin, displaying a wide grin.
Fuck. He caught me staring.
“So…” Robin coughed. “Good to see you again, Mr. Quentin. I didn’t know you canoed.” Let’s start talking so I can forget I was ogling you and got busted.
Mr. Quentin smiled. “And I didn’t know you worked with your dad. Is this a recent thing?”
Robin nodded. “Since graduation.”
“That figures.” He glanced at the gunwale Robin was working on. “You always were good with your hands.”
Robin’s tongue had apparently decided to tie itself into a knot, and he was sure his face was bright red.
It was like being back in high school, when Mr. Quentin used to wander onto the set while Robin was working on it, and Robin never had a clue what to say.
“So… canoeing… Are you into any other sports?”
Sports? For God’s sake… He must have sounded like a total loser.
Mr. Quentin gave no sign he thought the question idiotic. “Oh yes. I love snowboarding, ice skating, and skiing. In fact, I’m a qualified ski instructor.”
“That’s cool.” He cleared his throat. “So…”
Mr. Quentin laughed. “If Miss Martindale could hear you now, she’d have a fit.” His dark eyes twinkled. “Didn’t you get a lecture in your English classes on the evils of starting a sentence with the word so?”
Robin blinked. “How did you know about that?” It had been almost a weekly occurrence. He didn’t recall seeing Mr. Quentin at the back of his English class. He would definitely have noticed that.
“She’s a friend of mine.” Mr. Quentin leaned forward almost conspiratorially. “To be honest? I get the same lecture.”
Okay, that was cute. “You’re here to order a canoe?” God, could I sound any more like an idiot? What else would he be here for—to buy a car?
Mr. Quentin nodded, straightening. “I’m setting myself a challenge for next year. I’m going to take part in the Adirondack Canoe Classic.”
Robin widened his eyes. “Okay, I am seriously impressed. That’s ninety miles, isn’t it?” It was a dream of his, only Dad wouldn’t hear of it. Robin was tired of hearing the old refrain of ‘Wait a few years.’
Waiting was boring as fuck.
“Yup, over three days. My old Royalex canoe is nearing retirement, so I decided it was time to buy a new one.” He folded his arms and stared at Robin, his eyes twinkling. “What would be your recommendation?”
“A RapidFire,” Robin responded without hesitation.
Mr. Quentin arched his eyebrows. “That was fast. Now tell me why.”
“That’s easy.” Robin was on safer ground. “It’s incredibly light, weighing only about twenty-six pounds. It’s fast, and if you’re going to do the Classic, you can fit a lot of camping gear and firewood in it. There’s plenty of space. It’s a carbon composite, with cherrywood gunwales.”
“Is that what you’re working on?” Mr. Quentin gestured to the wood he’d been rubbing down. He crouched down to stroke it. “This is cherry, right?”
“Yeah, that’s cherry. I think it’s such a beautiful wood.”
Mr. Quentin rose to his feet and peered at a canoe perched on stands nearby. “Twenty-six pounds,” he mused. “Yeah, that’s light.”
“Yes, but it’s stable enough to handle breezy days out on the lake.
” Robin pointed to the canoes stacked against the wall.
“We do five colors, but we can also do a custom job for whatever you want. When the canoe is made, we get you in to pick out the seat, and you go for a test paddle in the pond out back. That way, we can also choose the best paddle combination for you.”
Mr. Quentin took a step toward the canoes. “What color is this one?” He pointed to one.
“That’s amethyst.” It was also Robin’s favorite.
“It’s gorgeous.” Mr. Quentin’s smile widened. “Okay, you’ve sold me. You obviously know your stuff.”
The office door opened, and Dad came back in. “Sorry about that. I hope Robin was helpful?”
“Extremely helpful. It’s good to see such enthusiasm for a product, not to mention a thorough knowledge of it.”
Dad’s approving glance sent warmth through Robin.
Mr. Quentin raised his chin and looked Dad in the eye. “Okay. How do I go about ordering a RapidFire?”
Robin beamed. Hey, I got one. Yay me.
Dad gestured to the door. “Let’s go into the office and we’ll get the paperwork started. You’re ordering it for the spring?”
“Yes. I want to be ready by Labor Day for the Classic.”
Dad gave a broad smile. “Then you’ve made a good choice.” He opened the door and stepped into the office.
Mr. Quentin followed him but paused at the threshold. He turned back and gave Robin a warm smile. “Thanks, Robin.”
Robin couldn’t help but return that smile.
“Any time, Mr. Quentin.” He knew Mr. Quentin’s first name, of course—most kids knew their teachers’ first names—and he really wanted to use it.
After all, he was out of school, and it wasn’t as if Mr. Quentin had ever been his teacher, but all the same, it felt… wrong.
That’s the kind of thing you wait to be invited to do.
Then he gave himself a mental kick in the butt. For fuck’s sake. Forget about his name and get back to work.
Robin stretched in his bed, his phone in his hand. It had been a good day, and his dad was clearly proud of the job Robin had done in recommending a canoe for Mr. Quentin. He’d mentioned it when they got home that evening, and Mom had given him a hug.
Working with his dad was going to be just fine.
Robin closed his eyes, focusing on the way Mr. Quentin had looked.
The only reason he’d volunteered to help with the set—well, reasons—were that Mr. Quentin had asked for any students who would be willing to give up their time, and that had meant spending a few hours after school with Mr. Quentin on a regular basis.
Robin could still recall the whispered conversations among the girls in his class whenever Mr. Quentin strolled down the hallway.
He was a gorgeous guy, and Robin knew from working with him that the leather jacket he always wore in school hid tattoos over his shoulder and muscled upper left arm.
Thank God for the occasional hot summer day when Mr. Quentin had worn a tank top and jeans after school.
Robin had tried not to drool at the sight of tanned flesh and dark blue ink as Mr. Quentin had rehearsed with his actors, while Robin pretended to work on the set and not stare at the guy’s firm ass and thick calves in those tight jeans.
Except Robin knew it was more than the way Mr. Quentin looked.
Most kids got a feel for who the good teachers were, and it wasn’t necessarily about whether they’d let the kids get away with shit.
I think you know who the good guys are. And Mr. Quentin was one of the good guys.
The kind of guy you knew deep down was a good person.
His phone buzzed, and a glance at the screen told him Ryan wanted to FaceTime. “Hey. You okay?”
Judging by the background noise, Ryan was in his dorm. “Yeah. We okay to talk?”