Page 32 of Quinn, By Design

She never allowed herself to care too much for the men she bedded. Not because of her mum’s experience, but because she wasn’t built for permanence and happy families. She’d forgotten for a while with Doug, a banker who’d stumbled into McTavish’s one day looking for an investment and decided she was it. Never again.

“I’ve packed both sets.” Lucy opened the van doors and pointed at two boxes, strapped in to prevent them from rolling in the otherwise empty van. “We can sit them in the storeroom and consider our options.”

Without a word, he climbed in, released the straps and pushed one toward her. “I’ll bring the second.”

“Have you got the keys for Grandpa’s locker with you?” She stopped outside the storage door.

“You wanted to come via the loading bay.” He shifted the large box labelledfragileto one arm and shoved his free hand in his pocket. Unlocking the door, he flicked on a light switch. “After you.”

“We don’t have to discuss this tonight—"

“Praise the saints,” he said to the rafters.

“—but I thought if we lived with both sets for a while, we’d have made a decision by the time the sideboard is finished.” She’d just left herself without an excuse to stay.

“The sideboard won’t be finished for two weeks at least.” He locked the doors behind them. “Time for a cup of tea?”

Lucy glanced surreptitiously at her watch. “Maybe I could take you out for a drink? It’s after seven. I thought you’d be finished for the day.”

“I’m a bit behind on a commitment. I was planning to work tonight.”

She made herself smile, a skill she’d developed at her mother’s knee, an all-purpose squeezing of the facial muscles that covered “It doesn’t matter that you forgot my birthday,” or“my class play”or“my sports carnival.” “You don’t have to be kind.” She looked everywhere but at him. “Someone’s probably expecting you.”

“No one’s expecting me, Liùsaidh. I said I planned to work. That’s the truth, but I can take a break.”

“Please. Not on my account.” Her arms prickled with goose bumps, his practical compassion tangible enough for her to reach out and touch.

“Don’t go coy on me now. It doesn’t suit you,” he growled. “Will a beer do? Or I might have some red wine somewhere.”

“A beer’ll be fine.” Relief filtered through her system.

“Drive your van out and park by the house. I’ll lock up here and meet you at my door.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Something was wrong. Niall was beginning to know her, to read her moods. It had taken him a while to figure out she was lonely. Like him. Not just the loneliness of loss, but a sense of separateness he recognised because it was the backbeat of his life. She demanded very little for herself. She’d made herself useful on the Mondays she’d been in the workshop. The drop-ins outside their agreed hours had been okay as well. He was beginning to look forward to her smile, to her serious expression when he explained a technical issue to her, and the frown lines screwing up her forehead when she was concentrating.

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