Quincy by Delilah Devlin

Author:Delilah Devlin [Devlin, Delilah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07VH5YN41
Goodreads: 47621027
Published: 2019-09-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Quincy knew his place was a fixer-upper—which he’d failed, so far, to fix up. He’d had great intentions when he’d toured the little house with the pushy real estate agent, nodding over the “good bones” of the place, but the fact was, a demolition team was needed to make it look like something a woman would ever conceive of as a home.

The exterior was in need of a thorough pressure wash and a fresh coat of paint. The grass was patchy, and the bushes overgrown. Only the tall trees in the front and back yard, a mix of blue juniper, Norway spruce, poplars, and aspens, offered any bright spots to his yard. Looking at his house through the front windshield, he hoped she wasn’t disappointed.

“You have trees,” she said and gave him a smile. “When the leaves turn on those aspens, I bet they’re gorgeous.”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve only been in the house a few months.” He cut the engine. “Why don’t you come inside? It’s not much. Not yet, anyway.”

“A work in progress?” Her expression brightened instantly. “Maybe I can help with that, seeing as I’ll have plenty of time on my hands.”

Surprised by her enthusiasm, he stared. “Don’t feel like you have to earn your keep.”

“I like keeping busy. Since it’s going to take some time to find a job, I’ll need something to do. How do you feel about color?”

Color? Quincy didn’t answer, but apparently, she didn’t need one because she exited the SUV and headed straight toward the porch. Her gaze snagged on the formerly white lattice that stretched from under the edge of the porch to the ground. He could almost see her mentally adding a note.

Quincy unlocked the door and waved a hand for her to precede him.

She entered slowly, her gaze dropping to the dull wood floor then rising to the popcorn ceiling before scanning around the living room. Most of his furniture was rented, accented by a few junkyard finds. He didn’t know why he felt nervous. Decorating wasn’t in his wheelhouse of talents.

“Goody,” she said, “there’s so much to do.” Then her eyes widened, and she gave him a quick glance and a little smile. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

He grinned. “No, I think you’ve got it just right. I bought the place for a song, because it needs so much work. I just haven’t had enough downtime to tackle anything.”

“Well, if you don’t mind,” she said, moving closer to him, “you could set a budget. I’ll assess what needs to be done first and come up with a list of things I think I can do.”

He sighed and reached for her hips, pulling her body close enough their bellies met. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do anything, I know. You told me so last night,” she said, rubbing against him.

He certainly had—right before he’d gone down on her. “You really want to do this? Hell, you haven’t seen the rest of the place.

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