“Oof!” I cry, nearly losing my footing at the impact.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, are you all right?” The deep voice from behind me is accompanied by the touch of a strong hand on my side, steadying me.
I regain my footing and pivot around, nearly gasping at the sight of a wide, beflanneled chest.
“I’m fine,” I tell the chest, adding a “whoa” silently with my mouth.
My eyes travel upward, landing on a pair of kind, gray-blue eyes with crow’s feet that could put this man squarely in the category of silver fox, except that his hair isn’t silver at all, but warm brown and wavy. The shaggy mop hangs just above his ears.
He holds out the box to me. “You were reaching for these?”
I snatch the box away. “Yes, for a client, not for me!”
“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?”
I laugh a little too hard and reply, “I mean, I’m not eating these. I would never.”
His lovely eyebrows rise in mild surprise. “Oh. Too bad. I kind of like those. Would be nice to have a new friend to eat them with.”
I’m taken aback at his forwardness. But not turned off.
“Oh, are you new in town?”
“Yeah. Really new. So new that I haven’t found a place to live yet and I’m eating highly processed foods because I don’t have a kitchen at the hotel.”
I chuckle and enjoy the view of his shoulders and the way his forearms look with his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed in front of him.
“Oh, good luck on the home search,” I say. “What brought you to town?”
“Work. Well, I’m teaching fiction writing at the local prep school.”
My conversation with Meredith comes crashing down on me.
It’s him! And Meredith was not wrong about this dude being a snack and a half.
I put out my hand. “I’m Mallory. Mal. My daughter attends Greenbridge.”
“Quinn.” He seems to reluctantly end the handshake, and frankly I’m enjoying the warmth against my always-cold hands.
We stare stupidly at each other for a moment.
“Well. I suppose I’ll see you around,” he says softly, nodding still. He looks like he’s waiting for me to say something else.
But I don’t.
“Yeah,” I finally say. His magical smile dares me to take the leap and give him my number.
But ultimately I have to think of protecting Shelby. She’s had trouble making friends at school. A bit of a tomboy, with her field hockey skills and her tendency to choose the school uniform pants instead of the plaid skirt.
The bake sale queen can’t give the student body any more ammunition to taunt her daughter.
He turns to walk away and I finally see how stupid I am.
He’s carrying an old paperback copy of On the Road in his back pocket, and I have questions.
“Quinn, wait.”
He spins around, leading with his face, which burns me with a bright, hopeful grin.