One Little Thing by Kimberly Lang Read Free Book Online Page A

air, and in a big change from this morning, a large number of boxes were piled around the room, some with their tops open and packing material falling out.
    Sophie had been busy today.
    That was just another reason why he probably shouldn’t be sniffing around Sophie right now. The woman was trying to get her business open; she probably didn’t have time to do much of anything else.
    But she’d come out last night, he reminded himself, so Sophie wasn’t all work and no play, and honestly, she lookedlike she was making good progress—not that he had a lot of inn-keeping experience to base that judgment on.
    The only piece of furniture in the room was a roll-top desk with mock-ups of brochures and key rings that had “The Old Palmer House Inn” imprinted on them. He smiled at the name. Last night she’d laughed and said, “Like anyone in this town is ever going to call it anything
other
than ‘the old Palmer house.’ It’s less confusing this way.”
    Hard on that thought, he heard her feet on the stairs and he stepped back from the desk, shoving his hands into his pockets.
    â€œSorry to keep you waiting,” she said as she rounded the newel post. She was barefoot, wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, making him wonder if he’d interrupted some kind of exercise or meditation. Then he noticed that her hair was damp, curling softly around her face and shoulders, and a whiff of citrus hit his nose. Coupled with the rosy tint to her cheeks, he realized she’d just gotten out of the shower, and that felt like intimately erotic knowledge somehow. He cleared his throat and told his mind not to wander off inappropriately.
    It wasn’t quite listening.
    Sophie, though, didn’t seem the least bit bothered. “So what brings you by?”
    â€œI’m hungry.”
    Her eyebrows pulled together. “Excuse me?”
    Good God, I’m such a dork.
“I meant, I’m on my way to get some dinner. I thought I’d see if you wanted to come with. Me,” he added a little lamely, wanting to smack himself with something hard and spiky.
    â€œI’m not really dressed to go anywhere . . .”
    He nodded, and started moving toward the door. “Maybe some other—”
    â€œBut I have some corn and potato chowder warming on the stove. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s filling. And you’re welcome to join me.” She smiled shyly at the end of that statement, and Quinn felt a little less lame and a little more confident in his plan in general.
    They ate on the back porch, looking out over the water, and while Sophie was a damn good cook, he lost interest in the soup after the first few bites. She was animated and smiling, carrying most of the conversation with her observations on Magnolia Beach and her plans for the B&B—which was good, because he was too busy watching the light play over her features and catch in the curls of her hair to add much.
    Finally, she laughed and sat back in her chair, propping her feet on the porch rail. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”
    â€œIt’s fine. Actually, it’s nice to hear you so excited about it.”
    â€œI have to be.”
    â€œHave to?”
    Sophie played with the hem of her shirt. “It keeps me from worrying myself gray-headed. Every dime I have is invested in this place, and I’ve mortgaged everything short of my first-born child. The excitement helps me ignore the eyeball-deep debt and think positively.”
    â€œIf it makes you feel any better, I think you’ve got a winner on your hands.”
    â€œThanks. Can I ask how you’re keeping a newspaper afloat in this day and age?”
    â€œBlack magic.”
    Sophie laughed. “No, really.”
    He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a small town, and we focus on what goes on inside our borders. The older population still likes an actual newspaper, and people still