RILEY
Her first home-cooked meal in two decades. Riley was proud of the mediocre dish she’d produced. It wasn’t the best food she’d had, but it wasn’t the worst either, and Quinn seemed to approve as she cleared her plate for the second time. She was enjoying the company and the strange new concept of cooking for someone in her home, and for the first time since she’d moved in, she didn’t hate the house as much. Well, the kitchen, at least.
They’d talked about Mystic and their nonexistent love lives. Quinn had filled her in on her job and steered away from personal questions so far, which Riley appreciated, as it made the night all the more pleasant.
“So where does your love for Italian food come from?” she asked.
“My sister-in-law, Mary, is Italian. I have dinner with her, Rob—my brother—and the kids at least twice a week. Mary’s taught me a thing or two about Italian cooking.”
“Then I hope my humble dish was up to your standards.
“It was delicious. Thank you.” Quinn took Riley’s and her own plate and cutlery and placed it in the sink, then started rinsing them.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll clear up later,” Riley said. Quinn clearly felt at home in her kitchen, which was nice but also a little strange.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Quinn shrugged. “I was trying to help.”
“And I’m grateful, but really, I don’t have that much to do, so I’ll take care of it.” Riley held up the bottle. “Let’s polish this off. Would you like another glass to go with those chocolates you brought? Chocolate and red wine are a combo made in heaven.”
Quinn went back to the table and chuckled. “Thank you, but I still have to drive home, so I shouldn’t.”
“You can stay here if you want. My assistant made up two bedrooms before I moved in, so there’s another bed waiting upstairs.” Riley narrowed her eyes as she dug through her memory. “I think it’s the first bedroom on the left.” She waved a hand when it hit her that she might be overstepping. “Or don’t. You don’t know me, and that was a weird thing to propose. I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize. You apologize a lot.”
“I don’t know how this whole social thing works,” Riley admitted.
“What? You didn’t have friends in New York?”
Riley shook her head regretfully. She’d been here almost a week and she hadn’t spoken to any of her team members. “No,” she finally said. “I guess I didn’t have real friends. I was close to my cleaner and my assistant, but as far as real two-way relationships go, I don’t think I had any close friends.” She felt a stab when a look of pity flashed across Quinn’s face. “Not that I needed friends,” she quickly added. “I was a workaholic, which I’m sure you already know, as Lindsey filled you in.”
“Yes, I know.” Quinn smiled. “By the way, you’re doing well with the social thing as you call it. I’ve had a great night.” She glanced around the kitchen then up at the ceiling. “Do you mind if I have a look around?”
“Not at all. Want me to give you a tour?” Riley topped up her own glass and took it with her into the hallway. “You’ve seen this already,” she said, opening the door to the living and dining room. “And you’ve seen this.”
“You’ve stripped most of it.” Quinn ran her hand over the wall, touching the snippets of leftover wallpaper as if they were precious paintings.
“I’ve been keeping busy.” Riley ignored the rest of the living space; she didn’t like to be there. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They went back into the hallway and headed up the wide staircase. “Everything is still in its original state up there,” she said, slightly embarrassed about the dusty rooms. As I said, two beds are made, but that’s about it.”
“It’s beautiful.” Quinn looked around the square landing where three doors lay ahead of them and one on either side.
“I wouldn’t call it beautiful. It’s a bit of a dated mess, but I’ll deal with it.” Riley opened the first door, to her bedroom, which was the biggest one. Like the kitchen, it didn’t look quite as depressing as the rest of the house, as it had been lived in. The antique dressing table held her makeup and accessories, and her new clothes were piled onto a chair next to the big, freestanding closet. Wendy had hung her New York living room curtains in here, which added a sense of security, but the gray fabric jarred with the floral wallpaper and the antique four-poster bed that the old owners had left behind. “This is my bedroom,” she said, feeling like a stranger in the space. “Needless to say, everything needs updating.”
“Why? It’s nice.” Quinn turned to her. “It breathes history. Don’t you love that?”
“It’s not my history.” Riley arched a brow at her. “If you ask me, they’re lucky I didn’t sue them. There’s a bunch of clutter the previous owners should have removed, and the only reason I didn’t complain is because I need that stuff. It makes it less eerie and dampens noise. I’m terrified at night.” She glanced at the yellowish paint that was plastered all over the doorframes and any other wood surface on display. “And my next step is to paint everything clean and white. That color is hideous. It looks like chain smokers lived here.”
“So you’re just going to erase all of it, are you?” Quinn’s sharp voice echoed off her bedroom walls. “I knew it. You have no appreciation for this house whatsoever.” She locked her eyes with Riley’s, and there was anger in them.
“No…I didn’t say that.” Riley stared at her. “Why are you so passionate about this house? I’m sorry, but I feel like you’re overreacting.” Shocked that a woman who seemed totally chilled a few minutes ago was suddenly getting worked up about her choice of paint, she had no idea what to think of the situation. “It’s my house. I can do whatever I want with it.”
“You’re right. It’s your house.” Quinn stepped out of the room and sighed as she shook her head. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s probably best if I go now.”
“Yeah.” Still confused, Riley nodded. There was something strange about this woman, and she didn’t like the awkward turn the night had taken. “I’ll walk you out.”
14
