“He’s not…” Quinn’s voice trailed off when a light hand touched her shoulder.
“Sure,” Nora said, smiling at the kids. “Just go slow, okay?”
After a few minutes of scratches, slobbery kisses, and delighted giggles, the family resumed their late-afternoon stroll. Quinn shoved her hands into her pockets as she drawled, “I’m glad he didn’t take one of the little guys out.”
“Nah, he loves kids.” Nora pushed her sunglasses back up onto her head, using them to hold her hair off her face as she smiled at Quinn. “But you should probably grab your skateboard while he isn’t paying attention to it.” She laughed when Quinn nodded but made no move to retrieve the board, and bit her lip as she arched a perfect brow in a way that asked,Areyou going to get it?
Quinn blushed and muttered, “Yeah, sure,” as she made to retrieve the skateboard. Fort put up a fight when he saw she was stealing his ride, but she distracted him with a vigorous scratch between the ears. “That’s enough for today, buddy.”
Fort inclined his head and let loose a soft sound that seemed to ask,Can I do it again later?
“We’ll see, pal,” she told him. It wasn’t a lie so much as wishful thinking on her part, and she gave him one last scratch before she swooped the board up over her shoulder by its front truck and turned to Nora. With Fort no longer riding the skateboard, there wasn’t a reason for her to hang around. The realization was nearly enough for her to set it down and usher the pup back onto the deck, but she somehow managed to restrain herself. “Right, well…”
“Yeah,” Nora agreed, her gorgeous golden eyes glowing with the warmth of the setting sun. “Thanks for humoring this goofball.”
You really are exquisite, Quinn’s brain noted with more than a hint of wistfulness. But she also knew it was a good idea to end this now. After all, she’d be returning to Mystic in less than a week, and there was something about Nora that told her she wasn’t a woman she’d be able to walk away from easily.
“It was my pleasure,” she insisted, offering Nora her hand. The ripple of desire that coiled low in her belly as Nora’s hand gently slid into her own one last time was enough to confirm she’d made the right decision. But as she watched Nora lead Fort past a gigantic inflatable Santa Claus that someone had set out on their thin strip of a back lawn facing the boardwalk, she still couldn’t help but wish they’d cross paths again so she could get to know her better.
Quinn sang along with the Christmas music pumping through the speakers spaced throughout Marina Park as she finished setting up the booth she’d be calling home for the next four nights. While palm trees, golden sand, and a picturesque cerulean blue bay didn’t exactly scream Christmas, the colorful lights wrapped around the trunks of the trees and draped artistically over the fronds did wonders to create that magical, holiday vibe.
And, she had to admit, the music didn’t hurt, either. After all, how could you not get into the holly, jolly spirit when you were belting out your best fa-la-la-la-la?
She’d been skeptical when the holiday market’s organizers had first reached out in late June to see if she’d be interested in coming out and anchoring this year’s celebration. Not because it was an unusual request—she traditionally spent a good chunk of December traveling from one such event to another—but because she wasn’t sure the über-affluent pocket of Newport Beach was a good fit for her particular brand of art.
In the end, it’d been her friends Emerson and Mari who’d helped her see reason. Emerson had been the perfect sounding board as she talked her way through what had seemed like valid points of consideration, and she had already been slowly working toward agreeing that it was a good idea when Mari stepped in with a rolled-up magazine to, quite literally, knock some sense into her.
How in the world is this even something to think about?Mari smacked her on the top of the head with the magazine in an emphatic fit of pique.You’re being offered an all-expenses paid trip to Southern California! They’re going to cover a rental for you at the beachandpay you to set up a booth where you can probably drum up a ridiculous amount of business from an entirely new demographic. Haven’t you been bitching about always having to carve bears and shit? This is your chance to branch out. Maybe do a sea turtle or a dolphin or two. Email them right this minute and tell them you’d love to do it, or I’ll never make you my famous tamales again.
If the reason in Mari’s argument hadn’t convinced her, the threat of never getting another tamale most certainly would have. And, as she looked around at the booths laid out in perfect lines across the lush, soft grass of the park beside the bay, she had to admit that Mari was right.
She would have been a fucking idiot to have passed this up.
She plopped a fuzzy red Santa hat onto her head as she surveyed her display of hand-carved ornaments. The earthy wood tones of the ornaments contrasted beautifully with the aquamarine cloth she’d draped over the two large folding tables that anchored the front of her booth, and once the sun set, the little white lights dangling from the frame of the pop-up tent would add the perfect amount of holiday cheer to it all.
“Not bad, Q,” she told herself with a little nod.
“Whoa,” a small voice interrupted her thoughts.
Quinn turned to see a little girl of perhaps five or six with sandy blonde hair pulled into a slowly disintegrating ponytail standing beside her. The girl’s eyes were wide as saucers as she looked from Quinn to the display and back again. Quinn smiled as she asked, “You like those ornaments?”
The girl nodded and pointed to the tattoo sleeve that covered Quinn’s right arm. “Your mom let you color on your skin?! Mine says Santa won’t bring me any presents if I do it!”
“Bethany!” a new voice, older and distinctly horrified, interjected as a woman Quinn assumed was Bethany’s mother joined them. To Quinn, she added, “I’m so sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Quinn assured her with a little laugh. She turned to Bethany and said, “Well, your mom’s probably right. It’s beenagessince Santa’s come to my house.”
The look of wonder in Bethany’s expression faded into pity. “Really?”
“Mmhmm.” Quinn shrugged and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Y’know, you’re a pretty lucky kid. I wish my mom would’ve known Santa had a no-coloring-on-yourself rule.”
Still focused on the big-picture, Bethany asked, “So you don’t getanyChristmas presents?”
“Not from Santa,” Quinn confirmed.
“Oh…”
Bethany’s mom chuckled and patted her daughter’s head as she looked at the ornaments Quinn had just finished laying out. “These are wonderful,” she murmured, inclining her head as she moved in for a better look. “Did you make them?”
