Free Perfect Pairing by Rachel Spangler Page B

and boots approached, and she nodded an acknowledgment without speaking a word. They returned the gesture casually as they passed by, but their collective gaze caught, then lingered, on Quinn. Her sleek black slacks and light cable knit sweater stood out clean and bright against the muddy gravel and dirt parking lot. The hair on Hal’s arm stood up, and she subtly shifted her body between Quinn and the men. It was a protective move, a possessive one too, and she didn’t want to think about what might have inspired it.
    â€œI thought I told you to dress down,” she grumbled.
    â€œI did,” Quinn said, gesturing to the sleeves of her sweater. “This is casual.”
    â€œSure, on Cape Cod.”
    â€œMaybe next time you can just come rummage through my closets and dress me yourself.”
    She wouldn’t let her mind picture that, not even for a second. “Just wear jeans and a hoodie.”
    â€œA hoodie?”
    â€œOh Lord, you don’t know what a hoodie is?”
    â€œOf course I do. I’m just not sure I own one.”
    Hal took a deep breath and looked skyward before releasing it and heading toward one of the low, sand-colored brick buildings. “One problem at a time.”
    â€œI’m paying you to be a food consultant. Does the fashion advice cost extra?”
    â€œJust go inside.” She swung open a door painted to look like the entrance to a barn. “This is Willowbrook Farms’ cash-and-carry store. Be nice to these people, or I swear you will owe me for a lot more than the fashion commentary.”
    Quinn’s smile was almost playful as she brushed up against her more than the width of the doorway warranted. “Don’t worry, I can be very nice when I want to be.”
    Hal wondered if Quinn knew what little things like that did to her blood pressure.
    Of course she knew. Women like her always knew . . .
    Quinn pressed her lips together to hide the smile trying to form there. Hal liked to play so tough, so grumpy, but she wasn’t fooling anyone, except maybe herself. The little flash of chivalry outside gave too much away. She may not be the president of the Quinn Banning fan club, but she obviously felt something other than annoyance for her if she didn’t want a group of roughnecks eyeing her like a piece of prime beef. And yet, she wasn’t doing much eyeing of her own. That instinct to protect generally came from the toddler part of the brain that screamed “Mine!” whenever someone else got too close to a prized possession. Hal seemed to want anything but possession as she disappeared behind a stack of cauliflower.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Quinn asked, scooting closer when Hal stopped to inspect a bulk crate of Honeycrisp apples.
    â€œThinking.” She pressed her thumb against the fruit and then smelled it.
    â€œCould you think out loud?”
    â€œI don’t usually.”
    â€œWell, are you usually . . .” She started to pull the I’m-paying-you card, but stopped short. Hal wouldn’t take well to the heavy approach. “Are you usually accompanied by a very interested friend who’s eager to learn?”
    â€œAnd who’s paying handsomely?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    â€œYou thought it,” Hal said.
    â€œYou prosecute for thought crime? How very Orwellian of you.”
    Hal smiled and set the apple gently back in the bin, then strolled over to what appeared to be the leafy greens section of the store. “I’m looking for produce that is in good enough shape to keep for a few days.”
    â€œOkay, what do you need?”
    â€œIt doesn’t work that way,” Hal said, thumbing through a tub of fresh spinach. “The food tells me what I’m going to make, not the other way around.”
    â€œIsn’t that like the horse driving the cart?”
    â€œThe horse always drives the cart,” Hal quipped. “Anyone who says