Page 95 of Keller

I pull to the curb and put the Range Rover in park. The front door opens before I can text that I'm here.

Quinn steps onto the porch in loose blue jeans and a fitted gray shirt that hugs her shoulders. Her hair is pulled back, and her cheeks are still flushed from her run. Bare feet sliding into simple leather sandals as she turns to lock the deadbolt.

God, she's beautiful.

The thought arrives without effort. No calculation, no assessment. I smile at her, grateful for the safe place to land.

She crosses the small yard and pulls open the passenger door. The interior light catches the freckles across her nose. The ones she probably thinks no one notices.

"You look like you walked out of a boardroom and straight into a date without stopping."

I glance down at my rolled sleeves, the open collar. "That's exactly what I did."

"Points for honesty." She settles into the seat and pulls the belt across her chest. "You know, some guys plan this look. It's kind of hot you live it."

"I don't plan anything with you." The words come out before I can edit them. True in ways I'm not ready to examine.

Her mouth curves, and she doesn't push.

I pull away from the curb and head toward the river. The streetlights flicker on as we pass beneath them, casting the car in alternating pools of gold and shadow.

"So." Quinn shifts to face me, one knee tucked beneath her. "Where does someone fly to and back in a single day?"

"Savannah."

Her eyebrows lift. "Georgia Savannah?"

"Unless there's another one I'm not aware of."

"That's a lot of fuel for lunch. If I'm not being too forward, I'm fascinated to know what you had to go to Savannah for."

"Met with a preservation architect." I keep my eyes on the road. "Nothing like flying five hundred miles to have lunch with a rich asshole."

She laughs. The sound fills the car and instantly makes it warmer, happier. It's amazing that one person's laugh can do that. "What do you need a preservation architect for? Does he play at your tables?"

"It's part of an Argentum project I'm working on." I wave one hand loosely. "The committee wants to restore one of the historic properties the krewe owns. Someone has to do the legwork."

The half-truth slides out smoothly. It’s not a complete lie, because Argentum is doing just that, and Ridge and I are on the committee. It's just not what I was working on today.

Quinn's expression softens. She reaches over and touches my forearm, her fingers light against the rolled fabric.

"I like that you're continuing something your mother cared about. I bet she's watching from above, smiling down on you."

The words land in my chest like a stone dropped into still water. I'm not sure if she would be happy that I flew to Savannah without telling anyone in my family to meet with the man who ripped all of our hearts out. Nor do I think she'd appreciate that I lied to him, using a fake name and fictitious project.

I also wonder how she might feel about me lying to Quinn. The very thing I hate about my mother, I'm doing to Quinn. We're building something, and I'm lying to her face.

Quinn knows none of this. I don't talk about the ugly parts of my mother with anyone. She only knows what I've given her. Amother who loved jasmine. A mother who laughed too loudly. A mother who made their house a home.

"Yeah." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "She would have liked that."

Quinn squeezes my arm once, then leaves it there. I like the weight and the warmth, and hope she doesn't move it.

The river appears ahead, dark water glinting under the first stars. The oyster bar's neon sign glows red against the deepening sky.

I pull into the gravel lot and cut the engine.

The hole-in-the-wall sits on weathered pilings over the water. String lights crisscross above the open deck, casting everything in soft gold. The distinct sea smell, salt, and lemon hang in the air, mixing with the muddy sweetness of the river. A tugboat pushes a barge past, its wake slapping against the wooden supports beneath us.