Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “Evans, I’d like to speak with you in your mudroom,” Quinn said.

  Evans clamped a hand on his shoulder as they walked toward a small room adjacent to the kitchen. Quinn closed the door behind them.

  Cindy frowned. “Anything new, Carl?”

  “No.” Gaze averted, Carl walked halfway between the mudroom and the island. The man was an eavesdropper.

  Quinn was more upset by her visit to his office than she’d foreseen.

  “Cindy, would you mind taking me home?” Katherine asked. “Professor Benton’s obviously uncomfortable with my presence.”

  “Let’s go to the living room.” Cindy smiled.

  They left Carl in the kitchen. “Quinn always sits there.” Cindy motioned to a burgundy Queen Anne chair. A gold loveseat sat beneath a heavily framed oil painting of a lake surrounded by spring foliage. On the right side of the boxy room sat a matching gold couch. “Dennis prefers the couch; which leaves the loveseat for Carl and you.”

  “Uh . . . Cindy, is there any chance you could bring me home? I…”

  “Carl . . .” Cindy smiled as he entered the room. “I was just telling Katherine that Quinn usually sits in that chair, and Dennis here.” She patted the cushion beside her.

  Cindy and Evans were teaming up against her.

  “Do you and Benton have a history?” Carl asked, sitting down on the right side of the loveseat.

  How could he think such a thing?

  Evans entered, carrying a large tray with a teapot, mugs, and a package of Mother’s Taffy Cookies into the room, and set them on the chunky square coffee table.

  “Absolutely not,” Quinn said, sitting in his usual chair. “She’s one of my students.”

  “You missed her wide-eyed look of alarm.” Carl chuckled.

  Why in the world had Evans invited her?

  “So Evans was telling me that you’re from Vancouver?” Carl asked.

  “Yes, Washington.” The University of Idaho was just close enough to the Canadian border that her answer commonly required a clarifier.

  “She lives with her grandmother here in town,” Evans said.

  “A few blocks off the Troy highway,” Cindy added.

  “What street?” Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Should she tell him? “Logan.”

  He exhaled, apparently relieved. “I believe you’re one, maybe two blocks west of me.”

  If Grandma found out, she’d consider them neighbors and bake him something to welcome him to the neighborhood. Just like with the judges at the fair, Grandma’s baking wouldn’t win his affection. Or had it already? The heart tug wasn’t mutual. Was it?

  “You’re neighbors.” Evans chuckled and slapped his knee.

  “Did I miss something?” Carl asked.

  “Unfortunately, our dear friends started off on the wrong foot,” Evans said. “Benton gave Katherine her first college B, and she’s in the final semester of her master’s.”

  “She recently visited my office—” Quinn cleared his throat—“and so has her grandmother.”

  “I see.” Carl smiled Katherine’s direction.

  “I don’t think you do.” Quinn took a sip from his mug; a tea label hung over the side. “Ethel delivered cinnamon rolls to me the next day to soften Katherine’s…”

  “Lack of diplomacy,” Katherine said it for him. “I want you to know that I had no idea she’d made the delivery.”

  “I could tell.” He smiled.

  He meant yesterday in class.

  “What do you mean, Benton?” Evans asked. “You can’t bring this up in front of everyone and not expect us to be curious.”

  “He ate one of my grandmother’s cinnamon rolls in front of the class. Right in the middle of his lecture.” She glanced from Evans to Quinn.

  “I was under the impression Katherine didn’t know, and I was informing her.” His cheeks bunched.

  “Interesting use of your lecture time,” Evans said.

  “And I must say, Katherine . . .” Quinn said.

  Oh, he’d actually called her by her first name. So that’s how it was—outside of class she was Katherine?

  “So far this semester, your grandmother’s visit has been the highlight.”

  “Just remember it wasn’t my idea.”

  He chuckled.

  How to stop a giant boulder from rolling downhill? Katherine stared at the coffee table. Heaven forbid the heart tug between Grandma and Quinn had been mutual. She would never tell Grandma.

  “You’ll have to tell me later how undiplomatic you were,” Carl whispered, leaning her direction.

  Later . . . ? Katherine’s stomach knotted. He was very good looking and well educated, but there was just something rather snake oil-ish about him. Was she wrong?

  “I’ll tell you later, Carl.” Quinn leaned toward the coffee table and refilled his teacup.

  Yes, she was sure he would.

  “Before it gets too late, I’m ready to tell you about my date from…” Quinn paused and looked at Cindy. “Colfax.”

  Evans shook his head. “I had such high hopes for you. I must say Julia, or whatever her name is, sounded perfect.”

  “How many blind dates have there been?” Carl asked, toying with his left eyebrow.

  “This is the fourth, maybe fifth. I want to vent, not count.”

  If Katherine didn’t look to her left at Mr. Snake Oil or straight ahead at Professor Benton, she’d feel perfectly at home in Evans and Cindy’s company.

  “Get comfortable. On Friday nights, Benton is unusually longwinded.” Evans tucked a pillow behind his back and crossed one leg over the other.

  Katherine nestled deeper into the corner of the loveseat and held her warm mug of cocoa beneath her chin.

  “I’ll call her Alberta. I feel a tad uncomfortable talking bad about a woman in front of women,” Quinn began. “Julia, I mean Alberta, is from Colfax. I wanted to meet in Pullman—which is almost a halfway mark—nine miles for me, sixteen miles for her—but she wasn’t game. At first, I saw this as a bad sign, and I was right.”

  Carl chuckled under his breath.

  “Yes, what you’re seeing is the norm,” Evans said.

  After the university town of Pullman, Washington, Colfax was the next town Katherine drove through on her way home to Vancouver. The small farming town was nestled in the middle of rolling wheat fields, twenty-five miles west of Moscow.

  “Alberta’s married to her business—Colfax Antiques, on Main Street. It’s on the right- hand side as you drive through town.”

  “I could swear Charlene Strauss told me Alberta’s a masseuse,” Cindy said, muffling a yawn.

  “Charlene is the department chair,” Evans informed the group. “She’s this week’s matchmaker.”

  “Tonight confirmed that Charlene does not like me.” Quinn sighed. “Which surprised me; I helped her once with the plumbing in one of her rentals, which probably accounts for why Alberta thought I was a plumber. My father was a plumber, so I know more than I care to admit.” Quinn set his mug down on a round marble-topped side table.

  “She likes you, Quinn,” Cindy said. “She’s just not a good matchmaker.”

  How did the son of a plumber from Kellogg, Idaho, end up attending Duke?

  “Never let people know you have a trade.” Evans shook his head. “By the way, the sink in my laundry room has a small leak.”

  “Could be the drain, the faucet, or one of the water line fittings,” Quinn said.

  Maybe he did know what he was talking about.

  “Wait, is or isn’t Alberta a masseuse?” Cindy asked.

  “No, Charlene Strauss met Alberta at a one-hour community ed. massage class. If I had to guess, Alberta was the one getting a massage.”

  Evans chuckled. “Did she make you dinner?”

  “No. We dined on takeout from Taco Time on old china over candlelight in the upstairs loft of her antique shop.”

  “What type of china?” Cindy asked.

  “
I turned a plate over just for you. Blue and white Currier and Ives.”

  “We often frequent the antique stores,” Evans informed Katherine and Carl as if they were a couple because they were seated together on the loveseat.

  “The tablecloth was white. She played some seventy-eight records on an upright Victrola.”

  “Sounds romantic. Does she rent out the shop after hours?” Evans asked.

  Was he thinking of asking Cindy out? They were both seated in the middle of their own couch cushion.

  “I’ll never call the woman again, but I can give you her number. The shop definitely held the potential for romance. If there’d been a home-cooked meal, and we’d talked about things other than plumbing, and she’d worn her hair differently.” Quinn frowned. “She did insist on paying for our meal, most likely due to her ulterior motive—three hours spent plumbing her public bathroom.”

  “No!” Evans moaned.

  “One bite into my crispy taco, she informs me that there’s a drip, and she was told it was probably the wax ring. Usually small-town hardware stores close by seven, but as my luck goes, she’d already purchased the ring. Taking a toilet apart is not my idea of a great date.”

  At Quinn’s expense, Katherine along with everyone else had a good laugh. Were all his Friday night recaps this entertaining? This was a side of Quinn Benton she didn’t know: the funny side, the side that could laugh at himself. Or was he laughing? It was difficult to tell. Red crept up his thick neck into his broad cheekbones.

  “Charlene set you up?” Cindy asked, setting her teacup on the coffee table.

  “Charlene Strauss.” He nodded. “I think I’ll buy her a gift certificate to the Chinese restaurant where I’m quite certain I got food poisoning last week.”

  “You wouldn’t?” Katherine asked, staring.

  “No, but you have to admit, she deserves it.”

  “What did Alberta look like?” Carl asked.

  Katherine found herself curious too.

  “I was told she was twenty-nine, but due to her weight, she looked much older. She’s not someone I would see in town and think she’s attractive. People often become more or less attractive when you spend time with them. After four-plus hours in her company, her personality did not warm in my eyes.”

  “Very well put, Quinn,” Cindy said. “I’m proud of you.”

  Katherine also found herself agreeing with his philosophy. At first, she’d thought Joe was very attractive, and as she spent more time with him, she realized he was more brawn than brains.

  “Looks and body weight are difficult questions to address when you’re speaking on the phone to a woman you’ve never met. You have to trust that the friend—who’s arranged for the two of you to meet—has some iota of common sense.” Quinn frowned. “In summary, tonight was very disappointing.”

  As the evening drew to a close, Katherine carried the mugs to the sink and rinsed them. Cindy nudged her and motioned for her to follow her.

  Katherine grabbed a dishtowel. What was going on?

  In the dining nook area, Cindy glanced toward the doorway to the living room. “Evans wants me to stay another hour or so,” she whispered. “We’re planning out next week’s lectures for Lewis and Clark.”

  The two were night owls.

  “It’s more work than he anticipated for summer. Carl wants to drive you home. Quinn lives in your neighborhood. I thought I’d warn you of your options.”

  “Oh.” Wide-eyed, Katherine weighed driving home with Carl and possibly having to tell him no versus driving home with Quinn. She tossed the towel on the counter and started for the entry. She’d much rather have Quinn take her home than ward off a possible suitor.

  Quinn stood near the front door, putting on his jacket. In the living room, Carl rose from the loveseat. She had to be quick.

  “Mr. Benton, could you give me a ride home? Cindy plans to stay an hour longer than I anticipated.”

  Head bent, he zipped up his jacket. “No, I think Carl plans to drive you home.”

  “Yes, but you and I are practically neighbors.” She didn’t mask the urgency in her voice.

  Reaching the entry, Carl ran a hand through his hair and grinned. “I was wondering if I could drive you home, Katherine.”

  It was one fifteen in the morning, and a man she’d just met wanted to drive her home.

  “Thank you . . . but Mr. Benton lives a block from me.” Her cheeks warmed as Carl’s gaze settled on her.

  “It’s more like two or three blocks.” Quinn wrestled on the final shoe.

  “When’s your next date, Benton?” Carl asked.

  “Next Friday, a gal in Troy who works for the school district. Cindy set it up.”

  “Will you be here, Katherine?” Carl slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and nodded toward the living room. “Tonight was fun.”

  Joe often used the word fun. It was one of the most overused words in his vocabulary. Though she loved Joe—as a friend, of course—similar characteristics were now a red flag.

  “I enjoyed tonight, but . . .” She glanced at Quinn. He looked tired, perhaps a bit agitated. “Whether or not I’ll be invited again is the real question.”

  “Of course, you’ll be,” Evans bellowed from the living room. “Don’t listen to Benton.”

  “I’ll be here, then.” She smiled, glad.

  Despite Carl’s fervent gaze, she didn’t feel bad about her decision to ride home with Quinn, provided he’d take her.

  “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Katherine.”

  She politely met his jade-green eyes. “Thank you; you also.”

  As soon as Quinn stepped away from the door, Katherine slipped past him, turned the knob, and stepped out into the brisk, early morning air.

  “I’ll meet you guys at The Breakfast Club at ten, and I’m not taking her home.” He pulled the door closed behind him.

  The front porch light lit the curved brick walkway. She walked ahead of him to where the sidewalk met the aggregate driveway. What did he mean—not taking her home? A dark, older Volvo sat parked near Evans’s brick-enclosed mailbox.

  “Why did you decline Carl’s offer?” His voice dampened the fog-ridden night.

  “I don’t have time for a relationship . . . Professor Benton.”

  “Then why’d you come tonight?”

  “Evans referred to it as a get-together. He didn’t tell me he was matchmaking—when he knows perfectly well I have nine credits in the master’s program.” She tended to ramble when she was extremely tired.

  Quinn huffed. “You just declined a decent human being.”

  She continued toward the Volvo.

  “I am not taking you home, and Carl wants to take you home.” He walked with both hands stuffed in the front pockets of his warm-up jacket. “I’m your professor. He isn’t.”

  “I don’t even know him.” Had both Evans and Quinn teamed up for her to go out with Carl? “I don’t want to stay another two hours, or however long Cindy will be.”

  “I can’t take you home. You’re one of my students.”

  “I’ll sit down in the seat. No one will see me.” A lantern-lamp post, encased in brick and a rambling of ivy, lit the edge of the drive.

  “No.” His jaw muscle twitched.

  “I’ll walk, then.”

  “You’re not walking. It’s dark, and—”

  “I walk all the time after dark.” She wouldn’t tell him it was always a half walk, half jog, because of her over-active imagination.

  “Well, you shouldn’t. Moscow’s a sweet little town, but it’s not perfect.” He spun a wad of keys around his pointer finger.

  “It’s Carl, or you can always wait for Cindy. You’re not walking home this late at night.” He opened the driver’s side of his car.

  “I guess I’ll wait for Cindy, then.” She strode back toward Evans’s front door and the porch light that attracted a thousand moths. She slid her shoes off in the entry and hoped she wouldn’t run into Car
l.

  Chapter Seven

  Quinn found himself with an hour to kill before he’d meet the guys at The Breakfast Club. Despite the windy elements, Harold, his elderly tenant, was outside doing working on his side of the duplex. Over the past year, Saturday mornings had become their time to work together in the yard. Afterward, they’d share a cup of coffee.

  “You’re late,” Harold grumbled.

  “I was out late last night.”

  “Another blind date?”

  “Yes, my date ended early, but the professors’ group recap went late. They kept me out till almost two.”

  “How was the date?” Harold hoed the pesky red clover that had invaded the front bed.

  “No chemistry. I believe all we have in common is our marital status.”

  “That bad?”

  Quinn nodded and pulled his vibrating phone out of his back pocket.

  “Hello.”

  “Quinn, it’s Cindy. Dennis wanted me to get the scoop from you before the guys meet at The Breakfast Club this morning.”

  “What do you mean?” He nodded and took a few steps away from Harold.

  “He wants to know why you wouldn’t take Katherine home last night.”

  “She’s one of my students.”

  “One mile, Quinn. Get real.”

  “I don’t want to be seen driving one of my students around town. Ever. Especially at one thirty in the morning.”

  “Do you know she fell asleep on Dennis’s couch? We had no idea she was there until I went to go home. It was past two thirty. And then she somewhat sleepwalked to the car. What’s the real reason you didn’t take her home?”

  Didn’t Cindy remember this was the woman he referred to as Miss A-nnoying?

  “She’s not interested in Carl. Evans’s matchmaking backfired,” Quinn said. Nearby Harold leaned on the wooden handle of his hoe. He lived alone, had little company, and in his own way enjoyed ribbing Quinn about anything he could.

  “I agree, Dennis is a terrible matchmaker.” Cindy sighed. “Katherine’s a Christian, and you and I know that Carl is not a saint. I hope she doesn’t fall for his charm.”

  Was Katherine saved? He would never have guessed it from her visit to his office. Yet there’d been such a sweetness about Ethel. He felt raindrops. He peered overhead at the dark, threatening sky.