Page 42 of Digging Up Love
Quitting time for now, though, before the blazing afternoon sun dried them out like the fossils sealed in meticulously labeled ziplock bags. He stood, and his knees cracked out a protest. Based on the wide grin Dev shot his way, he’d heard the creaky joints loud and clear.
Quentin shrugged with aWhat can you do?smile, then called out, “All right, everyone, let’s call it a day.”
“Woot, fine by me!” Caitlyn slowly unfolded herself from the ground. Forrest put up a finger, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked a small fragment of bone free. Bridget was already topside, sorting specimen bags.
“There’s a hot bath with my name on it.” Hands on her hips, Cait twisted her torso side to side. “Or at least lukewarm. This morning’s shower gave me frostbite. I’m not even sure our motel has a hot water heater.”
Dev took off his sweat-soaked Cubs hat and sniffed at it with a grimace. “The rest of you wanna grab a beer at the bar in town? We can catch the game.”
“Thanks, but I gotta go for a run. Work out the kinks.” Quentin dug fists into his lower back.
Dev opened his mouth, probably to make a wisecrack, but at Quentin’s glare he backed down, poking Forrest with the bill of his cap instead. “How ’bout you, Forrest, my man?”
Forrest swatted the hat away but nodded. “Sure, I could use a cold beer or three right about now.”
After he hauled himself out of the dig, Quentin cast a glance at the house. He wished Alisha would show her face. Anything to give him a clue. But with the radio silence, it would be weird to march up and knock on the door. What would he say?Hello. I like you. I miss you.Talk about pitiful.
Instead, he climbed into the truck, wincing at the film of dust coating the leather seats. He’d need to detail it within an inch of his life if he didn’t want Dad to disown him. Mirroring the truck, every inch of him itched under a fine layer of dirt. The grit had even worked its way into his eyelashes. A shower would wash away the dirt, but a run might chase away his stress over a certain MIA baker.
Back in his room, Quentin changed into shorts and a sleeveless performance tank. The chill of the air conditioner was such a relief that it took all his willpower not to collapse on the bed and pass out, dirt-encrusted socks and all. But he slid his Garmin around his wrist and hurried down the wooden staircase that hugged the ramshackle building.
Almost a full week without a run had left him jonesing for the adrenaline rush. A Google search this morning had turned up a lake with a bike path less than a mile from the motel. A muddy pond compared to Lake Michigan, but a nice change of scenery from corn, corn, and oh, look!—more corn. Also, running on an established exercise trail would leave him more at ease than braving the back roads around here.
He turned out of the parking lot and picked up an easy jog down the shoulder, the motion loosening his muscles and chasing away his tiredness. By the time he got to the gravel trail flanking the lake, there wasn’t a soul around. Bird calls and the deep thrum of bullfrogs were the only sounds apart from his own breathing.
About a mile in, he picked up the pace. Without city noise to drown out his thoughts, his mind drifted to the rift between himself and his father. He hadn’t told his family the significance of this dig, although his mom was happy he’d be staying relatively close to home this summer.
Why bother? Ma would’ve been proud whatever he and Hector chose to do with their lives, from janitor to president. He could discover a new species or putter away in anonymity his whole career, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to her.
And Dad? Initially Quentin had been excited at the chance to use this dig to prove his father wrong. But he took issue with Quentin’s entire profession, so a groundbreaking dinosaur discovery wouldn’t earn him so much as a pat on the back. Prestige in the paleontological community would be like a whole lot of white noise to his dad, as unworthy of his attention as a gnat buzzing around his ears. Best keep the status quo than stir up a new bone of contention by sharing what made this excavation unique.
He spotted another runner rounding the bend. A familiar face, her twists piled up on her head and held in place with a fluorescent-yellow headband. His heart lifted. But with his luck, she might just keep on running right past him.
“Quentin?” She slowed to a walk, taking out her earbuds. Her chest rose and fell with exertion, and she drew her hands up high to rest them under her rib cage. A rivulet of sweat ran down her sternum, and he averted his gaze so he wouldn’t track its slippery downward path.
“What are you doing here?” Alisha asked.
He grinned. “Running.”
“Oh, duh.” She mirrored his smile, then ducked her head and lifted a shoulder to wipe the sweat that dripped down her cheek.
In unison, Quentin drew up the hem of his shirt to scrub away his own sweat. He let it fall and caught her staring. She darted her eyes away, but his stomach tightened nonetheless. “Didn’t know you were a runner.”
She blew out a vibrating breath between her lips and squinted up at him. “Not sure I’d call myself a runner. I used to run track in high school, but now I just jog to stay in shape.”
Quentin swept an appraising gaze down her body. She looked way more than just “in shape.” For a second, he let his eyes wander like he hadn’t back in the garage that first day. Muscle striations wrapped her shoulders, and her shorts were no match for the lush curve of her hips and thick, strong thighs.
He jerked his gaze up ... straight into her eyes.Rookie move.But her eyes glimmered with mischief, not accusation. A jolt zapped through him, hard. Rubbing a thumb along his lips, he kicked the toe of his sneaker into the gravel. “Can I ask you a question? Did I do something wrong?”
Her eyebrows tipped inward. “No, why?”
“Well, is it my imagination, or have you been avoiding me all week?” Terrified of her answer, he rushed to clarify. “I mean, we were texting pretty much every day. I was counting down the days to come back here.” He hesitated, realizing he was coming on strong, a Quentin Harris trait. “Because of the dig, of course. But also ... I was really looking forward to seeing you again.” He dropped his gaze to her bright pink-and-yellow shoes. Everything she wore was vibrant, like an exotic bird. Out of place in this faded, dusty town.
“You’re not imagining things.”
He brought his eyes to hers again, and this time a half smile caught at the corner of her mouth. She pressed her fingers to the sides of her face, then ran them down along her jaw, her expression sheepish. “What I’m trying to say is, Iwaslooking forward to seeing you.”
“Was?”
