Whew.Adorable is what he was. “Yeah, that’s the one.” She blew a bubble, which was hard as heck to do with crappy gum like Juicy Fruit. “Now it’s my sister they’re hooking you with.”
Scooting to the edge of her seat, she watched the cheery expression drain from his face.
Uh-huh. Bingo.
Brushing by her, Mr. Wonderful ripped open a drawer in the mammoth island Henry built for that witch Celia last year, rifled around until he came up with a box of toothpicks. Jamming one in the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “I don’t have a relationship with your sister. Sorry. Gossip’s wrong on that score. Same for Naomi, Madonna, and Jane. Liz Hurley, I did take to dinner last fall. Just dinner. She’s a close friend of my European agent. There was a stupid snapshot in theEnquirer.”He snapped the box shut, tossed it back in the drawer. “Probably where that ridiculous story came from.”
Hannah stuck her foot out, aiming to poke him as he crossed back to the stove. “Hold on, don’t have a cow.”She shrugged, rolling her gum around her tongue. “My sister needs fun, adventure, spontaneity—a little spice in an otherwise salty life. I guess I came over here to tell you it’s okay with me. Plus, I was way curious. I admit it.”
“Small town gossip is, pardon my French, usually bullshit.”
“I don’t know about that.” She dangled her flip-flop, swinging it back and forth. “For once in her life, I hope she goes for it. Knowing her, she isn’t making it easy.” She sighed, buffing a spot on the table with her thumb. “Fontana’s never madeanythingeasy.”
Campbell stopped dead, dropped his head back, and muttered a low curse. With a tired exhale, he slid into the chair across from her, shoving a hand through his hair, leaving it in adorable knots.
She’d hooked him. He was interested in her sister, plain and simple.
And knowing Tana, she wasn’t giving up many details.
“Okay, Hannah Quinn, renowned artist and intrepid investigator of bogus luminaries, you win.” He saluted her with the toothpick. “I’ve got about ten minutes before the troops pile in from pumpkin carving out back expecting dinner. Fire away.”
“Oh.” Her face pulled into what Jaime called an unattractive pout. “I thoughtyouhad the questions.” Was he trying to avoid getting together with Tana? If her sister found out she’d grilled Campbell True for information—or worse, offered any—she would freak in a very unflattering, borderline horrific way.
He leaned forward, then slowly, like her offer was news to him, pressed his lips together and sat back. Twirling the toothpick between his fingers, his gaze drifted over her shoulder, and she could practically hear the wheels in his mind spinning right along with that wooden sliver, longer than necessary if all he wanted to ask was where Tana liked to eat in Greenville or what movie might be the best to take her to. No action flicks, that would be her recommendation, something light. Tana loved romantic comedies.
When his gaze tracked back, it was focused on her like there would never be another person to question, not ever again. It was the same look he used on the models he worked with, she was certain.
Whydid Tana have to pick an intelligent one? Athinker, just like she was?
A foreboding sensation raced down Hannah’s spine, and she squirmed in her seat to shake it off. The fancy embroidered curtains fluttered from the inch-wide crack in the window as a crisp fall breeze rushed over her skin. She was smart—an honor student, co-captain of her college debate team, even though she planned to paint her life away. And shrewd, much more so than her sister.
Tana, despite everything she’d been through, still believed in the inherent goodness of people. That was why Hannah had come tonight—to judge the man her sister avoided talking about unless she absolutely had to.
And when she did, her cheeks flushed.
Perplexing…because Fontana Quinn was no blusher.
When the lone question came, Hannah realized just how deeply her sister and this man were—or could be—connected. “Who hurt her?”
FONTANA
In every town Fontana’s father dragged her to, there had been a library.
Housed in a grand old Georgian like Promise’s or a makeshift trailer like the cheerless one in Indiana, libraries had become her refuge—soothing, bland, predictable.
Everything her childhoodhadn’tbeen.
Even if her father was on one of his rampages, he wouldn’t follow her there. The quiet, the calm, held him back like barbed wire. Now, she visited for pleasure rather than purpose.
Today’s visit was, most assuredly, a matter of purpose.
Her first week after moving to Promise, following a deep-rooted impulse, she’d located the library and the lone spot in the building where she couldn’t be seen from the front entrance. A gangster’s reading plan, she thought with a smile.
It was good she could laugh about it now.
She breathed in the scent of disinfectant, moldy pages, and sunshine as the door whispered shut behind her.
The local authors’ rack was at the front, near the checkout desk, which—thank you, God—was currently unattended. She’d ignored this section on previous visits, the vibrant image on the cover of Campbell’s oversized book scraping against her nerves like a rusty nail, a jarring burst of color in the midst of life’s beige jungle.
