Page 30 of Quinn

Holding a scoop of flour in her palm, she teasingly held up her hand as if about to pelt him with the whole shebang. Chuckling softly, she merely waved her hand, lightly dusting the counter.

Her shoulder brushed his, heat shot through him all the way to his toes, his fingers tightened on the rolling pin and he sucked in a deep breath.

Oblivious to the sensations running through him, she continued as if they hadn’t been teasing each other. “And a lighter touch. Like you’re coaxing it, not forcing it.” Her voice was soft and low and just as tantalizing as the brief brush of shoulders.

Making another effort, surprise caught him when the dough began to yield under his gentler pressure. “How about that? It’s actually working.”

“Of course it is.” Her smile got him every time. “You build things. This is just another kind of building.”

Loving how she looked at life, he rolled the dough thinner, watching it transform into a translucent sheet.

“Perfect.” Her approval warmed him more than it should. “Now for the fun part.”

“I thought we were already having fun?”

“I thought so too.” Still smiling, she turned and fed the dough through Aunt Eileen’s pasta machine. “Another trick, don’t rush this either. Turn the crank very slowly.” The sheet emerged even thinner, more delicate. “You try.”

Their fingers brushed as she passed him the dough. He focused on the task, afraid she might read in his eyes what he barely understood himself.

The kitchen fell quiet except for the rhythmic turning of the crank.

“Now we cut.” She changed the attachment on the machine. “Fettuccine or spaghetti?”

“Chef’s choice.” He’d never felt like smiling so often in his life.

“Fettuccine.” She nodded firmly. “Holds the sauce better.”

Together they fed the sheets through again, this time watching them emerge as perfect ribbons of pasta. She gathered them, creating little nests on a flour-dusted tray.

“That’s it?” he asked. “We’re done?”

“For now.” She covered the pasta with a clean towel. “They need to dry a bit before cooking.”

Her hands were flecked with flour, a smudge of it on her cheek. Without thinking, he reached out, his thumb brushing it away. “Flour.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended.

“Thanks.” She didn’t step back.

The air between them seemed to thicken.Say something, he urged himself.Anything. Tell her how you feel. “Eloise, I—”

The back door swung open, the patter of paws spilled into the kitchen seconds before Danny’s laugh, shattering the moment.

“Perfect timing.” Eloise stepped back, her smile a little shaky. “Quinn and I just finished making pasta.”

Danny’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the flour-dusted kitchen. “Looks more like a mess is what you made.”

Quinn forced a laugh, though everything in him wanted to grab those lost seconds back. What had he been about to say? What would she have answered?

Another moment and the front door creaked open, the sound of laughter and chatter drifting through the home as the kitchen filled with family. Quinn found himself watching her interact with the different members of his vast family as if she’d always been one of them, debating whether or not he’d imagined the disappointment in her eyes when they’d been interrupted. Wondering if he’d ever find the courage—or the moment—to finish what he’d started to say.

Chapter Fourteen

“Are we ready for tonight?” Eileen flipped the grilled cheese sandwiches. Everyone was walking around just a tad anxious about tonight’s grand opening.

“What would happen if I said no?” Eloise looked a surprising shade of pea green.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

Doing her best to grin as wide as she could, Eloise shook her head before shifting to a nod. “Scared to death,” she laughed.

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