Page 12 of Loving You

I'm not blind, all right. I’m aware that I checked her out when she walked up. I’m aware that my body is attracted to her every single time she steps back into this town. I’m aware that, given different circumstances, I’d be asking her out and attempting to get to know her as more than friends or acquaintances or whatever you want to call it.

But that is not what’s happening here.

What’s happening is she obviously needs a place to stay for the summer, and I’ve already decided that the apartment is not going to be a tourist destination.

“I don’t rent to tourists,” I say, cutting off any hope she might have of winning me over.

She follows me into my office.

I move the stack of papers and sit behind the desk, leaning back in the chair.

Quinn crosses her arms and cocks her hip.

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself a tourist at this point.”

“Do you live here permanently?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes. “No.”

“Do you own a business here?”

“No.”

“Do you own anything here?”

She rolls her eyes at that one.

“No.”

“Then, by definition, you are a tourist.”

“What dictionary is that from? Miles Asher is a pompous prick?”

Ah, so she can read a room.

“Is that your way of convincing me to say yes?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“No.”

“Tell me the real reason you won’t rent to me. You know my grandmother and my brother. My family lives here, works here, andownsmore than onebusiness here. That has to count for something, right?”

I twist my lips as I think over her response.

“Maybe it means I’m half local,” she adds quickly.

“That’s not a thing. I said no. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

I get up and walk right past her, back to the garage.

I was convinced that walking into my office would make her think I was busy, but that didn’t work. So here I am, actually getting to work to make her go away.

I glance at her as she steps out of the office and heads out of the garage. But she stops, turns, and faces me over the two cars between us. I stand a little taller, waiting to hear her final argument.

“Why don’t you like me?” she asks. Her voice is smooth and without emotion. She’s not asking because she’s sad or mad that I refused to let her rent my apartment. No, she’s asking out of pure curiosity. It’s the first time in years she’s come right out and asked me about it, so it takes me by surprise.

I let out a small laugh and shake my head.

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