Parrish, who was shorter than his heavily tattooed husband by at least a foot, was the one carrying the baby. He also had his arm braced around Diesel’s waist.
“Vaccines are never fun, baby,” Parrish said soothingly as they approached. “But you were so brave. I think you deserve a cookie from Annie’s.”
Okay, so I might not be down for relationships, but there was something about a guy saying such sweet things to his little girl—
“Thanks, Parrish,” Diesel said in his gruff voice. “I don’t mean to get upset. It’s just so hard to see Marigold cry, you know?”
“I know. ’Cause you’re a great dad.”
Oh. Oh, damn. That was even cuter.
Parrish wouldn’t balk at buying Diesel a donut or accuse him of wanting a relationship when he didn’t, that was for sure.
Hercules yapped excitedly, and Diesel lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey there, Quinn.”
Despite me knowing most people in town by name, it was still odd to think they knew who I was. I hadn’t joined the Thicket social scene since I didn’t plan to live in town long—just long enough to build up my business while living and working rent-free in the building that used to house Aunt Cherry’s dressmaking shop—but Diesel and Parrish seemed really nice.
“Morning!” I returned.
“This your dog? Mind if I pet him? He’s adorable.” Diesel bent down to pet Herc after I nodded.
“Not mine, I’m afraid. I’m dog sitting.” Against my will. “Hercules is great for business, though. Clients enjoy him.”
“Of course.” Diesel balanced his daughter on his knee, and she smiled as she watched Herc jump around.
“Diesel’s an animal lover,” Parrish said, looking down at his husband fondly. Then he glanced back at me, and his gaze narrowed. “Speaking of clients, how is your business going? Is your calendar… booked up, would you say?”
“Oh, um. Going well. I’m busy. On the road to Nashville a lot.”
“Ah, that’s rough. Long drive, especially in winter,” Parrish said.
I shrugged. “Not unexpected, though. Not much need of my services around here.” I chuckled at the idea of there being a big-budget event in the Thicket—and then remembered hearing that Parrish Partridge was the heir to the Nashville-based Partridge Pit BBQ restaurant chain. I cleared my throat. “Never too busy to squeeze in a hometown client, though! Were you… looking to plan a wedding?” I glanced down at his hand, which already sported a scuffed-up ring.
“Us?” Parrish laughed lightly. “Oh, no. We’re not the wedding type.”
“Nah. We’re the marrying type,” Diesel agreed.
“Oh-kay?” I gave him a wan smile, though I had no idea what he meant.
“We have a different kind of event in mind that you’d be perfect for, though!” Parrish said happily. “We’ll be in touch soon, okay?”
Later, I’d remember that this almost sounded like a warning, but I was too busy preparing for my client meeting and not thinking of Champ to worry about it.
Fortunately, the bright, airy showroom was already pristine, just the way I’d left it the night before. I lit some candles, tweaked the flower arrangements, and plumped the cushions on the vintage green sofa that Aunt Cherry had reupholstered shortly before she’d retired and left me her shop. Then I headed to my office/storage room in the back of the shop to brew some coffee and put together the planning binder I’d started for Marissa Drakes.
I knew there were a lot of people—for example, my ex-boyfriend Scott—who thought I was crazy for moving all the way to Licking Thicket and taking over Cherry’s shop, but it wasn’t so bad. The space was perfect, really. I just wished it was located somewhere a little less… nowhere.
Besides, it was thanks to Scott—and his brand-new twenty-three-year-old soul mate, Onyx, and his “teeny cash flow situation” preventing him from buying out my share of the event business we’d started together—that I’d had to relocate in the first place, so who cared what he thought?
“All in all,” I told the dog firmly as I leaned over to pull a client questionnaire from the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet, “I am over men and their ridiculous opinions.”
“Not all men, I hope.”
I whirled and jumped, hand over my heart. “Mr. Dunwoody! You startled me.”
“Trey,” the man said softly. He was dressed in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren and seemed equal parts nervous and determined. “M-my name’s Trey. You said on the phone the other day that we should call you Quinn, so you should call me Trey.”
“Right.” I blinked. “Yes. Whatever sets you and Marissa at ease, Trey.” I forced a smile and extended my hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you in person. Can I get you a cup of—?”
“I like your office. It’s real nice.”
“Oh.” I looked around the organized chaos of the storage area. “Thanks?”
Trey swallowed nervously and ran a hand over his hair, then took a step toward me.