Free A Small-Town Homecoming by Terry McLaughlin Page B

said on his way back toward the patio. “I’ll get these started and be right in.”
    “I’d better get the door,” Charlie said.
    “Wait.” Tess pushed the baking sheet into her hands. “Stick this under the broiler and set the timer for a couple of minutes. Then go see if Jack needs any help outside.”
    “What are you up to?”
    “I’m going to handle the uncomplicated social duties and answer the door.”
    Tess smiled as she passed through the high-wainscoted dining room, noticing Charlie’s attempts to improve her surroundings. The antique oak table looked fairlypresentable tonight, set with china instead of the usual paper plates. The front room’s walls had been freshened with a pretty sage green and the windows hung with new tab curtains. A group of large throw pillows did their best to dress up the dull brown sofa.
    Tess straightened the hem of her sweater, testing and rejecting a few snotty greetings as she neared the door. But then she remembered her intention to be charming, and she plastered a cordial expression on her face to hide her misgivings about the evening’s possibilities.
    As soon as she opened the door, her negative attitude evaporated. Quinn stood in the center of Charlie’s tiny front porch, a bottle of wine in one hand and a grocery-stand bundle of pastel-blue irises in the other. He treated her to one of his long, penetrating looks, and she stared right back, noting the shower-damp hair curling at the ends, his freshly shaved jaw and a trace of some woodsy cologne. In his faded chamois shirt and worn leather jacket, he looked as sinfully delicious as a dark chocolate truffle with a buttercream center.
    “You changed,” she said.
    “Not entirely.” He edged past her, into the front room. “I’m still the same thorn in your side I’ve always been.”
    “The flowers are beautiful.”
    “They’re not for you,” he said when Tess reached for them.
    “I figured.” She gently pried the ribbony blooms from his grip. “I’ll put these in water for Charlie. She’s got her hands full.” She glanced up at his shuttered expression. “Thoughtful of you.”
    He grunted in response.
    “Hey, Quinn.” Charlie walked into the room wearingone of her sunny grins and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Glad you could make it.”
    “Thanks for the invitation.” He handed her the wine. “Stan Kessler recommended this.”
    “Then I’m sure it’ll be great. Thanks.” She studied the label. “I guess I’ll go ahead and open this. Let it breathe awhile. We can have it with dinner.”
    “None for me,” Quinn said. “Thanks, anyway.”
    “Okay. More for Jack and me.” Charlie glanced at the stems in Tess’s hands, and her grin widened. “Flowers?”
    Quinn cleared his throat. “They’re for you.”
    “Did Stan recommend these, too?” Tess asked sweetly.
    Charlie shot her a warning look.
    “They’re great.” Charlie said. “Thanks, Quinn. What can I get you to drink?”
    “Water.”
    “Ice?”
    “Don’t go to any trouble,” he said.
    “No trouble. I have to add it to Tess’s, anyway.”
    “You’re not having any wine?” Quinn asked Tess when Charlie had left the room.
    “I rarely do. Long story.”
    Tess led him into the kitchen. Charlie handed him a glass and then pulled the bruschetta from the oven. “I’ll be right back. Jack’s nearly finished at the grill.”
    “Anything I can do to help?” Quinn asked.
    “Got it under control, thanks.” Charlie stepped outside.
    Tess rummaged through Charlie’s odds-and-ends drawer, looking for some scissors. “I hear you have a daughter,” she mentioned casually. The statement was a legitimate conversation starter. Not an interrogation.
    “Yeah.”
    “How old is she?”
    “Ten.”
    Tess waited for him to offer more information, but it wasn’t coming. She found a pair of shears and glanced around the room, wondering where Charlie kept her vases. No use spending too much time looking. Charlie probably