“Never mind, then. Just ignore the starving guest in the corner. The one who’s helping prepare the meal.” Tess heaved a theatrical sigh and sawed through another length of sourdough. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Two minutes since the last time you asked.” Charlie wiped her hands with a dish towel and crossed the room to gaze through the window. No doubt she was checking on Jack, who’d been sent to scrub the grill under Hardy’s supervision. “Quinn can’t help it if he’s running late. He had to arrange for dinner and a sitter for his daughter, and he said he wanted to swing by the site to check on things again on his way here.”

His daughter. Tess struggled for a moment, caught between stubborn pride and curiosity. Only for a moment. “How old is she?”

“Quinn’s daughter?”

“No. The sitter.” Tess rolled her eyes. “Is she in elementary school? Junior high?”

“Elementary. Nine? Ten, maybe?” Charlie returned to the sink and picked up another potato. “You know, you could always ask him when he gets here.”

“It doesn’t matter. What?” Tess asked when Charlie’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “What are you thinking?”

“That you have this strange and complicated thing for Quinn.”

“That’s absurd. The man’s a walking minefield.”

“I know. That’s why you’re attracted to him.”

Tess sighed again and reached for the mozzarella. “I hate to be so predictable.”

“It’s better than being complicated.” Charlie dumped the potatoes on a baking dish. “Or touching off an explosion that might maim a couple of innocent bystanders.”

Tess set aside the knife. “You don’t approve.”

Charlie’s lips pressed in a thin, straight line. “I like you both. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

“Why would I get hurt?” Tess began to arrange the sliced bread on a cookie sheet. “I’m the one in charge in this situation, and Quinn knows it.”

“I’m not talking about the work.”

“You can’t seriously be talking about anything else.” She drizzled olive oil over the slices. “Because there isn’t anything else worth discussing. And there won’t be.”

“All right. Fine.”

“I don’t go looking for complicated, you know.” Tess stole a sliver of cheese while Charlie wasn’t looking and popped it into her mouth. “I prefer to love ’em and leave ’em on friendly terms. It’s so easy with the easy men, the guys who are looking for an uncomplicated time with an uncomplicated woman. I just get bored sometimes with the same old, same old. I like a challenge every once in a while.”

Charlie’s frown deepened. “Which makes me think you’re suddenly interested in a certain difficult single father.”

“Which makes me wonder why you invited us both to dinner tonight.”

“Jack’s idea.” Charlie leaned an elbow on the counter and watched Tess layer thin cheese and tomato slices over the crushed herbs and sea salt she’d sprinkled on the bread. “Although we both figure you know what you’re doing. If anyone knows how to handle a challenging professional relationship with a complicated, attractive man, it’s you.”

“Nothing like a little pressure.”

Charlie grinned. “What are friends for?”

Hardy raced around the side of the house, barking with his stranger-near-the-gate voice. Seconds after, Jack strode inside and grabbed the platter heaped with steaks. “According to the alarm dog, our other guest has arrived,” he said on his way back toward the patio. “I’ll get these started and be right in.”

“I’d better get the door,” Charlie said.

“Wait.” Tess pushed the baking sheet into her hands. “Stick this under the broiler and set the timer for a couple of minutes. Then go see if Jack needs any help outside.”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m going to handle the uncomplicated social duties and answer the door.”

Tess smiled as she passed through the high-wainscoted dining room, noticing Charlie’s attempts to improve her surroundings. The antique oak table looked fairly presentable tonight, set with china instead of the usual paper plates. The front room’s walls had been freshened with a pretty sage green and the windows hung with new tab curtains. A group of large throw pillows did their best to dress up the dull brown sofa.

Tess straightened the hem of her sweater, testing and rejecting a few snotty greetings as she neared the door. But then she remembered her intention to be charming, and she plastered a cordial expression on her face to hide her misgivings about the evening’s possibilities.

As soon as she opened the door, her negative attitude evaporated. Quinn stood in the center of Charlie’s tiny front porch, a bottle of wine in one hand and a grocery-stand bundle of pastel-blue irises in the other. He treated her to one of his long, penetrating looks, and she stared right back, noting the shower-damp hair curling at the ends, his freshly shaved jaw and a trace of some woodsy cologne. In his faded chamois shirt and worn leather jacket, he looked as sinfully delicious as a dark chocolate truffle with a buttercream center.

“You changed,” she said.

“Not entirely.” He edged past her, into the front room. “I’m still the same thorn in your side I’ve always been.”

“The flowers are beautiful.”

“They’re not for you,” he said when Tess reached for them.

“I figured.” She gently pried the ribbony blooms from his grip. “I’ll put these in water for Charlie. She’s got her hands full.” She glanced up at his shuttered expression. “Thoughtful of you.”

He grunted in response.

“Hey, Quinn.” Charlie walked into the room wearing one of her sunny grins and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invitation.” He handed her the wine. “Stan Kessler recommended this.”

“Then I’m sure it’ll be great. Thanks.” She studied the label. “I guess I’ll go ahead and open this. Let it breathe awhile. We can have it with dinner.”

“None for me,” Quinn said. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Okay. More for Jack and me.” Charlie glanced at the stems in Tess’s hands, and her grin widened. “Flowers?”

Quinn cleared his throat. “They’re for you.”

“Did Stan recommend these, too?” Tess asked sweetly.

Charlie shot her a warning look.

“They’re great.” Charlie said. “Thanks, Quinn. What can I get you to drink?”

“Water.”

“Ice?”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” he said.

“No trouble. I have to add it to Tess’s, anyway.”

“You’re not having any wine?” Quinn asked Tess when Charlie had left the room.

“I rarely do. Long story.”

Tess led him into the kitchen. Charlie handed him a glass and then pulled the bruschetta from the oven. “I’ll be right back. Jack’s nearly finished at the grill.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Quinn asked.

“Got it under control, thanks.” Charlie stepped outside.

Tess rummaged through Charlie’s odds-and-ends drawer, looking for some scissors. “I hear you have a daughter,” she mentioned casually. The statement was a legitimate conversation starter. Not an interrogation.

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“Ten.”

Tess waited for him to offer more information, but it wasn’t coming. She found a pair of shears and glanced around the room, wondering where Charlie kept her vases. No use spending too much time looking. Charlie probably didn’t own a vase.

Tess searched the cupboards, hoping for a pitcher or a jar. “What’s her name?”

“Rosie.”

“Rosie Quinn. I like it.” She discovered a fat ceramic mug and decided she could cut the stems shorter than usual for a compact bouquet. “Where is she tonight?” Tess asked in an offhand manner.

“With a friend.”

Tess wondered if the friend was a classmate of his daughter’s or a grown-up acquaintance of Quinn’s, and then she decided she didn’t really care. She didn’t need to know all the details of his personal life in order to work with him. And she didn’t like to snoop, not really. It wasn’t her style.