Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery

kitchen, she half expected to find Quinn had gone. But he’d pulled up one of the stools by the counter as if he planned to stay. She did the same, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them.

      “Oh, there are cookies, too,” she said. “If you want some.”

      “No, thanks. This is enough.”

      Not a philosophy she could get behind, but now she wasn’t comfortable adding a couple of crushed cookies to her bowl. Later, she promised herself. She would take them up to her room.

      “You’re up late,” he commented.

      “I like the hotel at night. It’s quiet. All the guests are asleep. Or at least not wandering around, making trouble.”

      “Is that how you see them?”

      “You’ve never cleaned up a hotel room after a rowdy party.”

      “That’s true.”

      They ate in silence for a few seconds. Courtney found the moment surreal. Quinn might not be an actual rock star, but he was famous for discovering musical talent of all kinds and taking those talents to the top of the charts.

      “A fan?” he asked, nodding toward her.

      It took her a second to realize he meant her sweatshirt. She glanced down at the USC college logo. “Not really. One of the guests left it behind and it was way too nice to throw out.”

      She remembered the pretty but tearful coed who’d tossed the sweatshirt at her, demanding it be burned.

      “It had been her fiancé’s, and it turned out he’d slept with one of the strippers hired for his bachelor party.” She licked her spoon. “I’ll never understand the whole concept of inviting trouble a few days before you commit yourself to someone for the rest of your life. But weddings are all about drama.” She eyed him. “Are you really moving back to Los Lobos?”

      He nodded.

      “But you live in LA.”

      “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

      “Isn’t your business there?”

      “It’s mobile. I’m ready for a change.”

      She wondered if any part of his decision was about his grandmother. “She’s doing fine, you know. Mentally and physically.”

      “Thanks for the update. She’s not the only reason, but she’s one of them.” He paused.

      Courtney took a bite of ice cream. As if he’d been waiting for her to be in that delicate act of swallowing, he then said, “She’s trying to fix us up.”

      Courtney began to choke.

      He waited until she’d regained control to add, “Or have me take you on as a project. Which makes me wonder why you need fixing.”

      The door was so far away, Courtney thought longingly as she glanced toward the exit. She ignored the heat burning her cheeks. There was no pretending that wasn’t happening, not with the overhead lights blaring down. In a matter of seconds, she knew her face was as brightly colored as her sweatshirt.

      “You’re imagining things, I’m sure,” she managed, thinking that as much as she loved her boss, she was going to have to kill her. There was no other response that was appropriate.

      He waited.

      She sucked in a breath. “I don’t need fixing. I’m doing great. I’m only two semesters from graduating with my bachelor’s in hotel management. I have a good job and lots of friends.”

      “You’re twenty-seven.”

      She was torn between wondering how he knew that and the relevancy of the statement.

      “So?”

      “You waited a while to go to college.”

      A statement, not a question. Yet she was somehow compelled to explain. Maybe it was the way his dark blue gaze settled on her face. Maybe it was the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. Maybe it was a latent babbling gene choosing this inopportune moment to surface. Regardless, she started speaking and then couldn’t seem to stop.

      “Not everyone makes it to college out of high school,” she began. “Did you know that returning female students are the most successful demographic in college?”

      “I did not.”

      “It’s true. My theory is they’ve tasted fear. They know what it’s like to try to survive without a good education and it’s not easy.”

      “Because you’ve done it?”

      “Uh-huh. I left high school when I turned eighteen. I was only in eleventh grade because I got held back a couple of times. I didn’t wait for the semester to end or anything. I legally became an adult and I was gone.” She licked her spoon. “It wasn’t so much about everything happening at home, although that was a part of it. Mostly I couldn’t stand being two years older and labeled as dumb.” She glanced at him, then back at her ice cream. “I had a learning disability that didn’t get diagnosed until I was nearly ten.”

      She didn’t bother with the whys of that. No reason to go over that material.

      “After I left high school, I got a job at Happy Burger.”

      “I love Happy Burger,” he told her.

      “Everyone does. I rented a room in a house on the edge of town and supported myself.” Which was mostly true. She’d been forced into a series of second jobs to make ends meet, had cut off ties with her family for nearly a year because she was eighteen and angry and needed to grow up, and had taken up with a series of really bad-for-her guys.

      “I was going nowhere. Around the time I turned twenty, two things happened. I got a job here as a maid, and the manager of Happy Burger told me that if I earned my GED, he would recommend me for a management position. He told me that I had a real future at Happy Burger.”

      “Was that good news or bad news?”

      “It was the worst. I didn’t want to spend my life at Happy Burger. But it was the wake-up call I needed. I got my GED and started at community college. Along the way, I quit the burger job.”

      “And now you’re two semesters away from your bachelor’s.”

      She waved her spoon. “You know it.”

      “Impressive.”

      “The info dump?”

      He flashed her a sexy smile. She was sure he didn’t mean it to be sexy, but he probably couldn’t help it. Quinn was just that kind of guy. It wasn’t in the way he moved, because right now he was sitting still. But whatever it was still existed. Maybe it was a confidence thing, or a pheromone thing. Either way, she found herself wanting to lean closer and sigh.

      “You’re impressive,” he clarified. “Look at where you started and where you ended up. I respect that. I work with a lot of talented people. Most of them don’t follow traditional paths to success. Good for you for doing the work.” He smiled again. “You’re right. You don’t need fixing.”

      His words made her beam as a warm glow filled her. A glow that lasted all of eight seconds, right until ice cream dripped off her spoon and onto her sweatshirt. She held in a groan and wiped at it with her finger.

      Couldn’t she just once be sophisticated and elegant? Or even casual and coordinated? Did she always have to be spilling, bumping and dropping?

      This was what her sister Sienna would call “pulling a Courtney”—a phrase Courtney had always hated but had to admit existed for a reason. And speaking of her family—

      “You can’t tell anyone what I told you,” she said quickly. “About the college stuff.”

      Quinn frowned. His eyebrows drew together and little lines formed. It was