Late the next afternoon, while a restoration service finishes cleaning up the fire damage in Milton’s, I sit at one of the dining room tables with my laptop open. I spent all of last night drawing up preliminary plans for the updates to show Gwen and her family so they can give me a thumbs-up, and now that my day is done at the Climax site, I’m going over them one last time.

A Facetime ringtone takes over my screen, and when I see that it’s Mark and Mattie Hollister, the brother-and-sister owners of Climax, I answer the call right away.

“Are you checking in to see how my first day of multitasking went?” I ask.

“It went well, I hope,” Mattie says while Mark sits next to her, looking like he’d rather be doing something else, like inspecting wine barrels. He’s one of those still-waters-run-deep guys, and if there’s something to say, Mattie will be the one to say it. She’s got curly hair the color of cream soda, while his hair is cut in a straight razor line down past his ears — one of those artisans Cherry Valley seems to attract in places like Craftsman’s Row or in the trendy restaurants popping up near Main Street. Both of them have light green eyes that always seem as if they’re full of future plans.

“Things are going real well.” I brace my arms back on the top of the seat. “I don’t think I thanked you two properly yesterday for giving me some time to deal with the Milton’s situation — and for giving me your blessing on pulling a couple of guys from the Climax build.”

“What kind of new neighbors would we be if we didn’t help out?” Mattie asks.

Mark casually rests his hands under his arms. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re already ahead of schedule. We just need to be good to go for the Hamilton-Burnett wedding reception at the end of next month.”

I nod. Much of the town will be coming to that event, so being ready on time is a big deal. But I’m going to get this job done even before then, and if I have to be here at Milton’s on a few Saturdays, so be it. “You can’t buy the kind of PR you’re getting with your kindness. Milton’s is a Cherry Valley institution, so you’re scoring points with the town already by helping them out.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. “We’ve heard about how squirrely these townspeople can be about outsiders, especially when they’re bringing change. Before we even moved here, we were reading the ABCs of Cherry Valley blog and seeing how resistant some folks were.”

“And are,” I say, thinking in particular of Gwen Milton. Not that she’s ever far from my mind.

He goes on. “Damn, did you see some of the comments on Abby Peters’ blog about Climax Vineyards?” He takes on a droll tone. “‘Scandalous branding.’ ‘Peddle some of that smut in another town.’ ‘Don’t they know the difference between classy and racy?’”

I nod again. “I read every bit of it.”

Mattie nudges her brother with her elbow. “I want to go on record by saying that we’re not helping out because we want good PR. We’re happy to share some of our builders because we’re looking forward to being a part of the community.”

Mark grins. “And that’s why my sister is the mouthpiece for this business.”

From there, we segue into my latest update about the build, and when we sign off, the siblings are just as happy as ever with the job I’m doing. I figure that I won’t be splitting my time between Climax and Milton’s for more than a few weeks anyway, and in my view, this is a genius plan. These updates I suggested to Gwen mean that I’ll have more time with her, and I’m willing to labor extra hard to get it.

My pulse is already counting down the minutes until she and her family arrive to go over my plans, and as I wait, I think about yesterday evening and how I caught Gwen looking at me with a different kind of wrinkle between her eyebrows. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to figure me out, because if there was one question written all over her pretty face yesterday, it was this: why is this guy who was hitting on me so diligently now acting like Joe Cool?

I do believe my new approach to Gwen Milton has got her way more interested. Hell, I ought to trademark this method, or at least use it again after I’m done in Cherry Valley. If I can manage to stay away from women who’re nothing but trouble, I should be able to live a happy, horny bachelor’s life.

When I see Gwen and her family pull up outside in her rusted pickup, steam ticks through my veins, and I shrug into my canvas coat because the weather is a little cooler today. Then I scoop up my laptop and bring it with me to meet them.

The twins and their mom are wearing long-sleeved cotton blouses under denim jackets. Even though all of them are blonde, slim, and also dressed in good old American-made jeans, Gwen stands out from the Milton lineup right away. She’s got her straight hair down today, and she approaches me with her hands tucked into the back pockets of her Wranglers. I’m happy to see she looks a hell of a lot less stressed out, and I congratulate myself on that.

As the noise from the restoration service starts up again from inside the diner, I greet the blonde brigade and then gesture to a picnic table at the side of the building. “How about we take a seat here and I’ll go over the upgrade plans?”

Their mom looks more anxious than Gwen does today. “Before we start, Gwen tells me that this won’t cost us anything? Is that true?”

Breaking news: some cautious apples don’t fall far from the tree. “That’s right, Mrs. Milton.”

“You can call me Audie,” she says, sticking out her hand for a shake. “I never got the chance to officially meet you, even though the girls tell me you’ve been a constant customer.”

“I am.” I shake with her. “Quinn Maxwell.”

As I turn around to go to the benches, I catch Grace bumping her hip into Gwen, who gives her a light shove in return. Grace laughs, and if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that Grace is teasing Gwen about the obvious thing I have for her — or the thing I did have before I decided to shift down into a lower gear. But as heat roars in my belly, I realize the teasing means that I’ve been a topic of discussion in the Milton household.

I like where this is heading.

We sit down. Audie takes a seat opposite me, and Grace rushes to sit next to her. That leaves Gwen to slowly take her hands out of her jeans pockets and settle next to me, close enough to where I can smell her nice shampoo again. Someday soon I’m going to thank Grace for her fiendish assistance.

When I glance at Gwen, she gives me a polite smile, which I consider to be even more progress.

I start presenting my ideas, and I can tell Audie and Grace love everything, but they always look to Gwen for her approval. I don’t know how old she is — thirty at most? — but from the way people treat her in the diner and from what I’m seeing now, she seems damned competent and responsible for someone her age.

By the time I’m through talking about light fixtures, an expanded kitchen window, and a paint job, Audie and Grace are on the edge of their seats. The sun has also come out from behind a few clouds, and it’s warmer.

Grace’s cheeks are flushed. “You know what I’ve always wanted? New booths! We’ve had to patch up the old upholstery for years.”

“Blue vinyl with a white V in the middle,” Audie says. “Wouldn’t that be so retro and classy?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Gwen holds up her hands. “Remember how we have a budget to stick to? Besides, we can’t take advantage of Quinn. He’s got limited time.”

I like how she obviously works hard enough herself to respect my own time. I don’t know how she got that way, but it has to be more than small-town values. Look at Grace, who was raised by the same mother in the same place; she’s pretty much the opposite of Gwen as far as putting your nose to the grindstone goes. I mean, she works hard too, but not like her sister.

I smile at Gwen in assurance. “I think we can work something out.”

“We just don’t want to take advantage,” she says.

My instinct is pushing me to say that I wouldn’t mind being taken advantage of by her one bit, but my new strategy demands that I think for a moment and turn down the steam. “We can take a closer look at what we’ve already got going on and proceed from there.”

She can take that for what it’s worth.

But she must know that my meaning is double-edged — that I could be referring to the diner or us — and before she glances away, there’s something bright in her eyes that tells me, yeah, she knows I might be talking about drinking wine with her tomorrow night. She’s been dwelling a whole damn lot on it, too, just like I’ve been.

And there, ladies and gentlemen, we have more fucking progress, I think.

Now that I’m warmed up, I peel off my jacket, ready to brainstorm more ideas with the Miltons. Then I see Audie’s gaze cloud up as she looks at my arms and the tats I got when I was a young idiot trying to impress my shitty friends on the streets.

She gets the same wrinkle between her eyebrows that Gwen usually has, but as Gwen leans a little closer to me to look at the booth seats I’ve brought up on my laptop screen, I forget about everything but her.