While night falls over the guesthouse, I kick back like a queen, nestled on the couch with my book. I used to wish I had time alone to read for hours, and here I am. But I keep looking up from the pages to make a comment to Quinn or to fill my gaze with him, only to realize he’s not here.

Too bad my ever-growing enjoyment in having him around isn’t the only thing that’s making me lose my place in my book.

When Quinn took off to help that friend of his, he was kind of secretive, and that struck me the wrong way. I got a little tense about it, but then I told myself that this is Quinn, the guy who said he wants to take care of me, and that’s just what I’ve been letting him do for the past couple of days. Also, hasn’t Quinn proven that he’s the type of guy who’ll drop everything to help a friend or anyone else out, just as he did with me and Milton’s? That’s exactly what he must be doing for this friend. So that means I really shouldn’t have this seed of discomfort growing in the pit of my stomach.

Easy to say, though. I’ve spent my whole life doubting others because of my damned dad. But now that I’ve met Quinn, I want to get over that. Quinn’s even showing me that trusting someone might be possible, and if I can’t trust the man who’s gotten past more of my barriers than anyone ever has, then who?

I lie down and tuck a patterned throw pillow under my head. Then, just after I recommit to reading, I hear a text ding on my phone.

Mom: Grace tells me you’re not coming back here tonight. Either you got kidnapped or you’re having a lot of fun with Quinn.

Good old Mom, checking up on me. And I get why she’s doing it. The only relationship she ever had featured a man who started smacking her around long after they were high school sweethearts. Also, before now, I’ve never shown much interest in one guy, so Mom’s only practicing due diligence. I’m sure Quinn’s Dad-like tattoos don’t help her to completely trust him, either. Letting him loose in the diner is one thing, but carrying on with your own daughter? Pretty much another.

I text her back.

Having fun for once.

Mom: Glad to hear it. You returning tomorrow?

Gwen: Quinn will be working, so that’s a yes.

Mom: I’ve been going through my cookbooks like I used to when I was a kid. I’m getting up early to prep for a big Italian-style lunch. You in?

Gwen: YES!

Maybe Quinn can even join us during his break. But before I bring that up, I realize that Mom hasn’t gotten excited about cooking for years. She used to love it before the diner took over our lives and she had to cook what was on the menu all the time.

It looks like she’s having a fine staycation, too.

I wish her goodnight and tell her I love her. She does the same, and then I get back to reading. I’m thinking of the moment when Quinn will get back here tonight and how it’s starting to feel as if we’re a couple who waits up for each other all the time. He might even come over to hang with the fam tomorrow. Is something happening with us?

I roll to my side. Jump the gun much, Gwen? I’m going to have to keep reminding myself this is only a fling.

Once more, I go back to reading, but the words on the page keep blurring into fantasy about a future with him. Ergh, screw reading. My eyelids are heavy, anyway, so I put down my book, thinking I’ll sleep for a while, just until he returns …

The next time I open my eyes, pre-dawn is inching across the sky through the windows. I’m still on the couch, and my mind is foggy until I realize that I’m in the guesthouse … and it’s awfully silent.

“Quinn?”

No answer.

I rise to my feet to take a look around, only to find he’s not here. Shouldn’t he be back by now? I grab my phone to call him. No answer.

Concern is starting to swell inside me because he said he’d be back “tonight,” so I send him a text. When he responds, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I’m sorry about this. I swear, I’ll explain what happened when I can. Go about your day, and no worries, okay?

No worries? All right, but there’s still a thread of concern pulling at me. What could’ve kept him out all darn night with this mysterious friend?

But … no worries. Breathe in, breathe out. I’m going to trust Quinn on this. I’m going to be the trustingest truster to ever trust, so I get myself together. Then Mom texts.

Is Quinn coming to lunch?

She read my mind. Also, what’s she doing up this early? She must be really stoked about cooking something new today.

Gwen: I’ll see if he can make it.

But that pit in my stomach says not to get my hopes up. Still, now that I know he won’t be showing up in the guesthouse any time soon, I realize that I might want to get off the property before the building crew shows up. I text Mom again.

Would you be able to pick me up at Climax? There’s a guesthouse at the end of the road.

She says yes, so I get myself together and head out the door. And, wouldn’t you know it, the minute I step outside into the cool spring morning, someone catches me.

She’s a tall, shapely woman with curly blondish-brown hair, and she’s dressed in a flowy boho skirt and a canvas jacket. She’s just getting out of her fancy SUV with the sexy logo for Climax Vineyards emblazoned on the door. There’s a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, and I think she works here, because she’s staring at me like Who the everlovin’ hell are you???

Great. Before she calls the sheriff about a trespasser who freeloaded in the guesthouse, I awkwardly wave, then tramp on over to her. If there’s a time to be straightforward, it’s now.

“Hi,” I say. “Quinn had to take off for some business and he’ll be back, but we stayed in the guesthouse last night.” For some dingy reason, I add, “I’m with him.”

Something buzzes around my stomach, because yeah — I’m with him. I smile, and this woman must see how slaphappy and stunned I am to admit that I’m with someone. With Quinn Maxwell. At least for the time being …

The tall woman looks very intrigued by my presence. “So Quinn’s finally making good use of the guesthouse, huh?”

Am I wrong to think that I’m his first overnight visitor here? Excellent. I stick out my hand for a shake. “I’m Gwen Milton from Milton’s Diner.”

Sympathy takes over her green eyes. “I’m Mattie Hollister, co-owner of Climax. I’m so sorry to hear about the fire.”

“Thanks. We really appreciate how you loaned us Quinn and a couple of guys from your crew to get things back in shape. You saved our butts, big time.”

Mattie shrugs. “I’m only glad we could help.”

“When we reopen, you can bet we’ll be recommending Climax Vineyards to everyone.”

Mattie’s smile grows. “That’s wonderful. Thank you.”

We both stand there for a few moments, and I know she’s dying to ask me more about this soap opera I have going on with Quinn. Then she shuffles her nice boots and jerks her thumb toward the main building.

“I’m starting to get the office together. I’m a bit of an insomniac, so instead of fighting sleep, I came here early today.”

And she was just in time to catch the nympho who’s running around with the guy in charge of the Climax build. My timing is amazing.

More awkwardness ensues. Then I say, “You’re coming to the next Chamber of Commerce gathering?”

“It’ll be our first. My brother and I are looking forward to meeting everyone.”

We both just kind of nod our heads, then bask in more clumsy silence. Mattie points to the main building again.

“I should really go.”

“Sure. Yeah. It was good to meet you.”

“You, too.”

With one last wave, she walks away from me, probably wondering if she’s going to have to rent the guesthouse out by the hour from now on.

Maybe after Quinn gets back, I’ll see if he thinks I’m that kind of woman — or if all my girlfriend fantasies are about to come true.