Page 49 of Digging Up Love
“Well, you do kind of stick out,” he said in the same undertone.
“Is that a comment on my Blackness?”
“It’s a comment on your sexiness.”
Alisha’s mouth dropped open just a bit, and he did a mental fist pump. Score one for Quentin. Nice to know he could throw her off her game too. Being around her reminded him of the time he’d joined some friends on their sailboat on Lake Michigan—the first and only time he’d been out on a boat—and a storm came up. Wonderful and worrisome, all at once.
She gave him a half smile and opened the doughnut case. Snapping the plastic tongs, she asked, “Want one?”
“Nah, I think I’ve already exceeded my daily sugar limit by about a hundred grams.” He held the giant cappuccino aloft.
“Suit yourself.” Alisha dropped a bear claw and a long john into a paper bag, and they headed over to the cash register. He reached for his wallet, but Alisha pulled hers out first. “I got this one.”
The clerk cracked his knuckles on the counter, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hi, Ali. Since you’re here—my boss wanted to ask you—we’d really like to start stocking your cookies.”
Next to him, Alisha went rigid. She reached up to her necklace, tugging the gold crucifix back and forth on the chain.
Both men’s eyes shifted to Alisha. She cleared her throat, ran a finger under her nose.
“Thanks for asking, Ryan. I’ll definitely consider it.” Her tone said otherwise. “Things are pretty busy right now at Honey and Hickory, but tell Joanne I’ll be in touch.” She fished out a ten.
Ryan accepted her cash with a reflexive flick of his long brown bangs and peered at Quentin from under the fringe, his frown reappearing. “Are you one of the geologists from Chicago?”
Another long pause. Quentin hadn’t expected to be asked outright.
“He’s with me,” Alisha piped up, slipping her hand into his.
The register shot out and whacked Ryan in the stomach. Quentin winced in sympathy, trying to tamp down the blaze spreading through him at Alisha’s touch. The clerk passed back her change without a word.
Letting the door swing closed after they’d stepped out into the humid air, he asked, “Still doubting your sexiness?”
Alisha frowned.
“That guy was practically drooling over you.” He squeezed her hand. “And your cookies.”
She dropped her eyes to their linked hands but didn’t let go. “Yeah, well, Ryan drools all over anything female. And edible.”
Quentin barked out a laugh. “Still, thanks for shutting him down. I appreciate you covering for us.”
“It’s pure self-interest. We don’t want a bunch of spectators trampling the rosebushes.” She stepped out from under the overhang into bright sunlight.
“Okay, first of all, how old are you?” He grinned. “Sometimes you sound like you’re going on eighty-five.”
At the end of their joined hands, she spun back toward him. “I hope that was a rhetorical question.”
Ignoring her comment, he said, “And secondly, you don’t take compliments well, do you?”
“I didn’t think being called an octogenarian was a compliment.” But she smiled and stepped closer again, into the shade.
Closing the distance between them, he swung her hand gently. “Anytime I say something nice, you brush it off.”
Face to his, Alisha said quietly, “Try again.”
“When you used to text me, I’d imagine your smile, and seeing it again in person, my memories didn’t do it justice.” He leaned closer, until they stood nearly chest to chest, and pitched his voice low. “This is where you say, ‘Thank you, Quentin. You’re so sweet and truthful.’” He batted his lashes.
Alisha laughed, just like he intended, but unfortunately she swung away again and dropped his hand, gesturing with the bag of doughnuts. “Thatissweet of you. But not entirely tr—”
He shook his head. “Don’t you dare try to tell me it isn’t true. Your smile is easily the best part of my day.”
