The Mighty Quinns: Jamie. Kate Hoffmann
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the hallway and followed her down the wide steps to the lower floor. They walked directly to the kitchen, and when they got there Regan opened the freezer drawer.
“My grandmother’s crazy for ice cream, so she usually has six or seven flavors to choose from. Do you like ice cream?”
“Who doesn’t?” Jamie said, choosing the cherry flavor. “I used to dream about it as a kid.”
“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” she said, taking out a carton for herself. “For assuming you were here to take advantage of my grandmother. I looked you up on the internet and your company is real and it’s doing good things.”
“No, you had every right to be suspicious. These days, you never know who to trust. I would’ve done the same thing with my own grandmother.”
“Do you see her often?”
“My brothers and I have Sunday dinner with her at her house once a month,” he said. “And I stop by to mow the lawn or shovel snow occasionally.”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without my grandmother,” Regan said. “She helped me through some tough times.”
“Mine, too,” Jamie said. “We lived with her after my parents split up.”
It was his customary way to explain his childhood, and though it was a lie, it usually didn’t elicit more questions. His parents really hadn’t split up. His father had been killed trying to rob a gas station. And his mother, caught up in a drug addiction, had been in and out of jail.
“How old were you when they divorced?”
“They never divorced. They just...well, they just went their separate ways. We—my brothers and I—were left to raise ourselves.”
“You don’t need to tell me. It’s none of my business.”
No one ever wanted to hear about an unhappy childhood. That’s why Jamie never revealed the whole truth.
She gave them each a spoon and started eating out of the carton. He took a bite of the ice cream and smiled. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “They were better off apart. And my brothers and I got along just fine.”
“Do you see much of your parents?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. I guess you could say we’re estranged. But it’s for the best.”
Regan let out a long sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
That was the reaction he hated the most. Pity. He never felt sorry for himself, and he didn’t expect others to, either. “It’s all in the past. I don’t think about it a lot.”
“Tell me more about the project you’re working on,” Regan asked.
“I’m really excited about all the applications the homes will have. They’re packed into modules that are easy to ship. So you can load them on a truck and take them to a hurricane zone or a flood zone. Wherever temporary housing is needed. They can also be used for portable classrooms and other temporary space. Think about what our company could have done in Haiti if we’d been up and running.”
He put the cherry ice cream back in line with the others and chose a new flavor, toffee caramel. “We’ve got some investors interested in giving us a nice chunk of money, but they want to see the modules built out. That’s why we’re building this cottage model on Pickett Lake. Once we have the investment secure, we can ramp up production and start to take orders. And I’ll start traveling around the country promoting the homeless project. We’ve had a good response so far and I hope the concept won’t be too hard to sell, especially since a lot of it is made of recycled materials. Green is a very big selling point these days.”
Regan stared at him, shaking her head.
“What? I know, once I get talking about it, I can’t seem to stop. My partners tell me I have to streamline my sales pitch, but I always want to put it all in there. And I didn’t even mention the applications this has for the elderly.”
“No, it was a very good pitch. And I’m convinced that you aren’t some kind of con man who preys on elderly women. I was wrong. I’m sorry for being so suspicious.”
“I forgive you,” Jamie teased, pleased that she’d finally seen the light. “People make that mistake all the time.” He took another bite of his ice cream. “Now it’s your turn. Your grandmother tells me you’re a photographer. Besides photographs of runaway foxes, what do you shoot?”
“Weddings, babies,” Regan said. “Happy occasions. I have a small studio in town, but almost all my photos are taken on-site. I work here during the summer and then go south with Ceci to Arizona for the winter.”
“Would you show me your photos?” he said.
“I have a really nice one of a guy who scared away those foxes. You might recognize him.”
Chuckling, Jamie put the top back on the carton and then got up and circled the granite-covered island. He handed her the carton. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Me, too,” she replied, gathering up the cartons and returning them to the freezer.
They walked together toward the stairs. Regan faced him, her hand resting on the newel post. “I am attracted to you.” A wicked smile curled the corners of her mouth. “But I’m still not sure it’s a good idea to explore that.”
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