Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

one. Quinn is going to talk to some of his contacts in the building business and see what he can find out, so try not to worry.”

“I should… I think I should come home and deal with this myself.”

Quinn came out onto the patio and handed Abby a cup of coffee before sitting on the end of the chaise. He held out a hand for the phone. “Let me talk to her.” Abby gladly gave up the phone. She hadn’t known what to say anyway. Georgia hopped into her lap, and she stroked the little dog’s fur.

“Hey, Reva,” he said. “It’s Quinn Lockhart, your new neighbor.” He immediately stood and started pacing while he listened to Reva and then responded. “No, I don’t think so. The next meeting isn’t for another month. Why don’t you hold off at least until then? We’ll keep in touch and let you know of any new developments.…” He paced to the other side of the pool. “No, I don’t think they’ll make any decisions at that meeting. Maybe you should ask Mack, though…”

As Quinn talked with Reva, Abby closed her eyes and soaked up the sunlight, letting his voice wrap around her while his words drifted from her consciousness. Something soft brushed her arm, and she felt Georgia wiggle with excitement. She opened her eyes, and there stood Wolf! Slowly, Abby reached out, and though Wolf panted with anxiety, he finally let her touch him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Then he backed away and sat, just out of reach.

Out of reach again, but at least this time he didn’t disappear.

Chapter 21

To celebrate the removal of Abby’s cast, Quinn surprised her with a night on the town in New Orleans. They had even taken the motorcycle—an exhilarating ride, and something she’d never before experienced.

Now, she clutched his arm as they walked up the stairs of the Saenger Theater, but not because she needed him for support. “This is so exciting!” She hung on to his arm and squeezed. “I can’t believe you got these tickets!” She hadn’t even mentioned the name of her favorite band, but apparently he’d been paying attention.

She liked a man who paid attention, not only under the sheets but outside them. She gave his bicep another squeeze. His hard-muscled arm felt like a fortress under her fingertips. She didn’t need protection, but if she ever did, she knew where to go.

After the concert, they had dinner at Muriel’s on Jackson Square, then noodled through the French Quarter. After picking up a couple of five-dollar hurricanes, they walked hand in hand along the paved sidewalk that bordered the Mississippi, then settled on a bench where they could watch the river’s wide brown waters cruise past. “How’s your foot feeling?” Quinn asked. “I’m not tiring you out too much, am I?”

“My foot’s fine,” she answered, leaning her head against his shoulder. Actually, her foot ached a little, but she wasn’t about to admit that. A horse-drawn carriage clopped along the street; a backup plan for getting back to the parking garage if her foot failed her. “But if I start to feel faint, you might have to take me to the Café Du Monde for a pick-me-up.”

Quinn smirked. “Beignets and café au lait cures everything, right?”

“Might not fix everything, but I can attest that sugar and caffeine work for a variety of ailments.”

Quinn rested his arm along the bench’s metal back, and Abby leaned into the curve of his arm. “This is nice.”

He brushed her shoulder with his fingertips. “I’m going to miss spending time with you at the farm.”

A pang of disappointment tugged at Abby’s heart. She had known, of course, that once she got the cast removed, Quinn would go back to doing his thing, and she’d go back to doing hers. But she had gotten used to having him around, and she hoped he felt the same, at least a little. She tipped her head back to look at him. Moonlight—or the streetlight behind them—brushed the strong planes of his face in gold and made his blue eyes shine dark as midnight. She could almost imagine herself saying I love you. “Maybe you could still eat dinner with me and spend the night? At least some of the time? Aunt Reva won’t be back for another four weeks, unless she comes home early for the town hall meeting.”

He smiled, a gentle softening of his lips. “I’d like that.”

She snuggled into his side again. “That’s good.”

A lonely trumpet in the distance played a bluesy jazz tune, and Abby reflected on the strange thought she’d had about saying I love you to Quinn. Did she love him? She loved having him around. She loved having him in her bed. She loved his many good qualities—his work ethic, his kindness to her and the animals at the farm, the love he showed to his son, and even the respect he gave his ex-wife.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said. “You’re not worried about the next meeting, are you?”

“I worry about everything, Quinn.” She even worried about the possibility of falling in love with him. What if she let herself love him? What if she already did? “I even worry about things that most people wish would happen.”

“Tell me.” He tucked her closer and put his chin on the top of her head. With her head on his chest, she could hear his slow, even breaths, feel his ribs expanding against her side. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.”

He always said that: Whatever it is, we’ll work it out. And whenever he said it, she always felt better. Like nothing that could happen was insurmountable as long as they handled it together. She looked out at the Mississippi River, its whitecaps silver in the moonlight as it churned past, a silent, mysterious sheet of dark water, ever moving toward some unseen end. “I’m worried that I might be falling in love with you, and I don’t know if I want that. I’m not sure I