Page 15 of The Puck Bunny

She nods. “I got you. I hope you don’t hold it against me that I showed you this place. It was my duty as a realtor to make sure—”

I put up my hands. “No problem.”

She escorts me out and we drive in her old-fashioned and extremely comfortable Caddy down the boulevard along the mostly-empty beach except for some dog-walkersI used to have a dog. A very long time ago. Simpler times when I knew what was important.

We drive to an area called Point-of-Pines and pull into the driveway of a cottage-style ranch with impeccable landscaping like it’d been done by a sculptor rather than a gardener.

“Pretty, isn’t it? But don’t let the polished perfection fool you. The inside is just what you ordered—comfortable.”

She’s right. Off the foyer we walk into large, warm rooms with tray ceilings and arched openings that flow from the fireplaced living room to the dining room with tall windows, and gleaming hard-wood floors throughout. The kitchen is a knock-out with an enormous double oven that looks like it ought to come with a couple of chefs to run it. I whistle. “What the hell is that?”

“Good eye. That, my young man, is a Bertazzoni Heritage series double oven.”

“I vow to learn to use it if I buy the place. Mom would love it.” Dad would have drooled over it.

Fuck. Don’t go there.

“Better yet, you could invite a young lady over who can cook for you.” Edith gives me a sly, smile.

I laugh. “Touché, Edith.” Hmmm, does Ms. Bellagamba cook? Or maybe my brave puck bunny—whose name I need to find out so I don’t have to keep thinking of her as a puck bunny. It doesn’t seem right, especially given the circumstances of our almost-meeting.

WTF am I thinking? I meet exactly two interesting women and I’m already imagining having them over to cook for me?

“Quinn? What do you think?”

I’ve been staring at the stove a little too long and I turn to back to Edith. “I’m thinking that, either way, I can’t lose with this masterpiece in my kitchen.”

“You’re interested in buying the place? You didn’t even see out back yet. It’s the best part.”

I’m watching the waves roll up onto the sand from the window over the kitchen sink which is all I need to see. “Consider the place bought. I’ll count on you to get me the best deal possible.”

Edith transforms instantly into a canny business woman as if she were wearing a pin-striped suit and tie, and is smart enough not to delay an official offer by dragging me outside. She nods firmly.

Once the papers are drawn up at the kitchen island, I do take a walk out back. There’s a pergola-covered patio area with a pizza oven and a small inground pool, then a lawn and then the beach. My nephews would love this place. The idea pinches my heart and a sense of urgency to have them over squeezes my chest.

I learned the hard way that life is short and you need to seize the day and all those clichés that are all too real when life punches you in the gut with an unexpectedly quick death of a loved one.

My dad deserved more from me. I barely saw him a dozen times in the past ten years because I was so busy gallivanting on the off season. He was a good man.

Edith is quiet and leaving me to my thoughts which are killing me. The rumble of the waves lessen the stabbing pain through my shoulder blades as I listen. It’s high tide so there’s a strip of pebbled sand that we walk along the hundred feet of beach frontage and I breathe in the salty air.

“I think you’re right, Edith. The sea air is good for the soul.”

CHAPTER 7

SARA

Next day at the office, I wear my new outfit—very worker-bee, a gray-and-black plaid button-down dress with a belt, tights, and high boots. No bellagambas showing at all because it’s important to keep my work persona professional. Especially now. Can’t be too careful about not letting Quinn recognize me.

Maybe I should get some black-rim glasses—with plain glass—to emphasize the look.

With coffee in hand, I tap away at my computer, searching out all the latest social media posts on the Brawlers and especially Quinn James, who’s now my official duty rather than the pin-up boy of my girlhood dreams.

“You’re early.” Billie Mae slides into her cubicle with her coffee and an overstuffed bag filled with the kind of goodies my hips would love a little too much. “The new outfit looks good. I’m glad you bought it.”

“I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my next paycheck.” I bite the inside of my cheek because that means my household contribution is going to be a little light this week. Poor Mom. Looking like a young professional is no cheap matter. Maybe I could return the dress…

Billie Mae waves a hand and takes a bite out of her pastry, then holds it out in a gesture meant to share.