Of course, Quentin was already in the kitchen when she got there. He held a mug of coffee in his hands and stood in front of the counter, looking through the almost-invisible window at the desert. In the morning light, the scene was breathtaking—orange beams of light struck the Joshua trees and shrubbery in such a way to make them…dare she say beautiful? She could almost understand why he’d chosen this place as his home.
Almost.
Hearing her shoes on the floor, he turned his head slightly. She said, “You guys don’t have a Starbucks downtown, do you?”
“There’s a coffee shop—but you’re right. No Starbucks. And downtown isn’t like L.A. If you blink, you’ll miss it. But it’s respectable. You can find almost anything you need there.”
She made her way toward the cabinet to search for a cup. “You sure about that? All I saw was a grocery store and a few tourist traps.”
“You came in on the highway and missed part of it. We have a few restaurants and hotels, some gas stations, bars, and liquor stores. A few stoplights and plenty of gift shops.”
“Stoplights? You’re kidding.”
“No. There’s even a small car dealership. Joshua Tree is a little bigger than you think, because you haven’t driven through town. But, yeah, if you’re wanting something that feels like L.A., you’re in the wrong place. And that’s what I like about it.”
“Whatever,” she said, opening a few cabinets. “Do you have any herbal tea, something without caffeine? Or should I go shopping?”
“There’s some over here,” he said, moving toward her and opening a drawer with a selection of various teas. “And the kettle is here.” Bending over, he pulled out a stainless steel kettle and filled it with water at the sink. Meanwhile, Raine tried not to notice the scent of the cologne he wore but it smelled spicy—and he had on a similar outfit today, one that she was beginning to think of as his uniform: dark plain short-sleeved t-shirt (today’s was navy blue), dark blue jeans, and those work boots.
She herself had worn something a little different today: an olive-colored long-sleeved t-shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers. Feeling a little chilly when she’d gotten up, she’d considered bringing her leather jacket but changed her mind. Working would warm her up. As for her makeup, she hadn’t put on the usual heavy eyeliner this morning, instead keeping it minimal, and had left her hair loose.
“Do you care if I eat what’s left of that pint of blueberries in the fridge?” she asked, her stomach growling. She’d hardly eaten since arriving here and it was catching up with her.
“Yeah, but you’ll want to wash them first.”
That was an invitation to help herself if she’d ever heard of it. Opening the fridge, she refrained from making a wisecrack that she was shocked they had real food in town. Soon, she was assembling a light but hearty meal while Quentin maintained his position looking out the window. Even though she’d arrived an hour earlier, she realized then that he must have already eaten. Or maybe he wasn’t hungry. Unlike yesterday, she hadn’t smelled the remnants of food when she’d entered the kitchen.
. “Do you want any toast?”
“No, thanks. There are a few jars of jam in the door of the fridge.”
“Do you have peanut butter?”
He gave her a slight smile as he turned back from the window and nodded toward the cabinet nearest the fridge. “Second shelf.”
There was something gratifying about doing it herself. So many times back at home, she’d just eat at a nearby café or have something DoorDashed. Then there was the road—and she ate out all the time while on tour. Sometimes, she did get sick of eating out, but it was a way to be around people without having to connect. After her second album, every time she went out, she’d risk being recognized. As she started spreading peanut butter on her toast, she considered doing more cooking for herself when she returned to her apartment. In Quentin’s kitchen, she could understand actually liking the process.
When she placed the knife on the counter, she poured the now hot water in the cup and put the tea bag inside so it could brew. As she moved everything to the table, Quentin put his coffee cup down and picked up the knife, washing it in the sink.
“I can get that when I’m done.”
But he finished washing it, then dried it and put it in the drawer.
Whatever.
Sitting at the table, Raine took a big bite of the toast and closed her eyes, relishing the way her taste buds lit up at the slightly sweet peanut butter. After a few seconds, she realized Quentin was taking care of everything she’d left on the counter. “I said I’d get that.”
“I’m just cleaning up.”
Damn, the man was anal. As an afterthought, she added, “I know it’s a rule to do it myself.” And Raine was hungry, but she tried to keep herself from gobbling the food down as if she’d been starving. Wow. It tasted so damn good. Way better than anything a restaurant would have put together and yet so simple.
“You sure you don’t want any of these blueberries before I polish them off?”
“Thanks but no.” As he poured himself another cup of coffee, he asked. “Will you need more hot water?”
“Um…maybe later.” She knew he wanted to put the kettle away, but she’d likely have one more cup of tea before heading to the studio.
“So what do you do for fun around here?”
