Just Desserts Read Online Free PDF Page B

patina copper tiles.” He tried hard not to sound like he was at work, or worse, that he had to schmoose the client’s daughter.
    Sadie held the one side of swinging saloon doors open for him. “This house has a lot of charm, but the kitchen is truly the heart.”
    When he stepped past Sadie, Quinn felt as though he entered the private sanctum of Ms. Katie’s Diner. Quinn understood quickly that Sadie would fight him to the death to hang on to the diner.
    An oak and walnut striped cutting block with gashes marred in the surface from years of use grounded the kitchen. The honey-stained cork floor looked warmer than the gargantuan hearth in the front room. A pantry door in the corner had been painted with black chalkboard paint. A list of the diner’s daily desserts, in girly-curly lettering with pink chalk, filled the blackboard.
    Mon-Peaches w/basil cream
    Tues-Strawberry rhubarb pie
    Wed-figs drizzled w/raspberry sauce
    Thurs-vanilla ice cream with tart cherries
    Fri-Ginger lime shortbread
    Saturday- Dad?
    A large smile face was drawn next to it with red chalk.
    As Sadie went to wash her hands at the farmhouse sink, her dress swirled around her legs. Quinn admired her bare feet and tangerine-color painted toenails. The tattoo bracelet around her left ankle, a ring of ivy, stuck out from her pale skin. He leaned against the door jam and forced himself to look about the kitchen, not gawk at her beautiful legs like a creep.
    “Hey! Heads up.”
    Quinn turned and a ball of dough, layered in cling wrap dusted in flour, flew at him. He caught it just in time.
    “Sit down and start rolling it into one-inch balls.” Sadie started up the mixer on the marble countertop. “I’m going to mix up some more dough.”
    He dropped the dough on the stainless jelly roll sheet and went to the sink to scrub his hands, never one to be completely comfortable in a kitchen unless he installed cabinets or tiled countertops, but he definitely didn’t want to be accused of dirty fingernails.
    “Are you always a drill sergeant in the kitchen?”
    She scraped the side of the mixing bowl and turned to him. Her brows lifted. “I guess no. Not until after my mom died did I even feel the need to even be in here. Her domain I suppose. And now that she’s gone I’m a shadow, fade in and out. My dad and I eat at the diner most of the time.”
    Quinn sat down on a bench beside the long Ash wood table. He set about the laborious task of turning one giant ball of sticky peanut butter dough into many one-inch babies. He pinched off a bit to try and make it into a ball. Sadie giggled, so he stopped.
    “What? Is there some secret? Please enlighten me, black damselfly.”
    She sat next to him, snuggly, and took his hands between her delicate fingers to guide him. Rolling the dough in circles, his rough calloused hands felt like Shrek’s.
    He watched her face as she concentrated wholeheartedly on his hands to manipulate them into making a ball of dough. Sadie’s beautiful grassy green eyes, so focused on helping him, swallowed him up. His breath quickened, and just like in the diner with her father, he felt like a randy teenager. And then the diner…a picture of the neon sign at Ms. Katie’s Diner burst like a firework in his head. He retreated like a Catholic schoolboy caught masturbating and jerked his hands away from hers.
    “What? Did I hurt you?” She smiled mischievously, grabbed his hands back, and steeled them in a grid-iron lock he’d never expect from such dainty fingers.
    “I’m not the greedy asshole you think I am, Sadie.”
    She dropped his hands. “Oh, I know that. But you’re a player. And losing isn’t in your game plan. I can tell you want my mother’s place, but I won’t let you woo my dad into selling it to you. Don’t even think of discussing it with him.”
    He didn’t say anything.
    She straddled the bench lifting the hem of her long dress to expose the miles of her gorgeous legs. Then she clasped her knees and