A crack, a whoosh. And down.
There's a bang. Awful, awful pain, and jolt of something else; a sick feeling of something gone wrong; a head smacked into a cupboard door; a bitten tongue.
Screams then, and I see Daddy. His eyes are scared, and something else is hiding behind them. He scoops me up in his arms and runs with me. "I got you, baby. Daddy's got you."
"Lucy." Quinn's voice was low in her ear, and she stirred. "Did I fall asleep?" she murmured, raising her head from his strong chest and hoping she hadn't drooled on him. She was having the dream again. Why, after all these years, did she keep dreaming about falling out of the tree when she was ten?
"If the snoring was any indication, I'd say yes," Quinn said gently.
"Oh God," she said, mortified. She sat up a bit more and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sorry." She rubbed her eyes as the car sped along the dark highway.
"Why do you Canadians say sorry all the time?" Quinn pulled Lucy back to him and put his arm around her.
"I'm sorry, that's a complete generalization," Lucy said with a wry smile, resting her head on his shoulder. "Are Canadians really that different from you Americans?"
"Not really. I do notice the 'sorry' thing a lot, even though it's a stereotype. As they say, some stereotypes exist for a reason; there's some truth to them," he said.
"We're almost home, it's about another five minutes," he told the driver.
Quinn felt at home in Port Ross as soon as he arrived in town to host Canada's Worst Restaurant, the reality TV contest that brought them together. Everyone in turn welcomed the Michelin-star chef with open arms, embracing his warm and unpretentious personality. Despite having been all over the world and living in London for the past few years, Quinn and the small town by the sea just fit.
Sometimes Lucy wondered if the neighbours and friends she grew up with actually preferred Quinn, the 'Come From Away,' to her, the hometown girl. Admittedly, her arrival in Port Ross did not go smoothly. Her first week back, she had the audacity to honk the horn at some slow-moving folks on the road. This earned her the reputation of being 'too big for her britches' after living in Toronto for five years, and everyone started calling her Bossy Boots. It even became the name of her up-and-coming restaurant.
She remembered how much she hated being back in her hometown months ago, how desperate she was to get back to Toronto and to Trent after her ex-fiancé broke her heart. So much had changed since then.
"I can't wait to go to bed. I'm exhausted," she said, stifling a yawn.
"Come back to the barn with me, just to sleep," Quinn said, nuzzling her ear. She looked up at him with a puzzled smile, warmed by the thought. "But I only live 10 minutes away."
"I know. But I like sleeping with you," he said simply. Quinn always said what was on his mind, and never played games. He knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to say it — and he wanted her. It was refreshing. She was used to her ex-boyfriend: critical, controlling, evasive Trent — a guy who never said what he meant, and kept her guessing about what he felt about her. This was different. Quinn was different — from anyone she'd ever met. What they had was special, she knew. And more than a bit scary.
"Sure," she said, pushing dark thoughts aside. "But I'm not going to be much fun, I'm too sleepy. And I'm going to have to leave early in the morning to get ready for work; I don't have any good clothes at your place."
"That's why I keep telling you to keep some stuff there. I've cleared out a whole closet and dresser for you in that giant master bedroom," he said. Tiny alarm bells went off in her head. It's much too early for that.
YOU ARE READING
Local Flavour: Playing With Fire (Book 2, the Local Flavour Series)
RomanceLucy McLean and TV chef Quinn Allen are closer than ever, but after a fire at the restaurant and possible insurance fraud, Quinn's manager wants Lucy gone. ***** Things are heati...
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