“Right? That’s what I told my sister.”
I start filling my plate when Dean walks over. Archer is with him, and I don’t have to look up to know. The scent of his cologne fills my nose, causing me to tense. Not because it smells bad, but because it reminds me of last night.
“What are you talking about?” Dean wraps his arms around Kara.
“Boobs,” Kara responds.
“This is a conversation I can get behind.” Dean slides his hands up Kara’s waist.
She takes his hands in hers. “I was specifically talking about Quinn’s. I’d kill for a set like that. I mean, they’re perfect, aren’t they?”
Dean’s face contorts and he shakes his head. “She’s my sister. As far as I’m concerned, she’s never had any.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve had big boobs since I was thirteen. It’s the Dawson curse.”
“That’s not a curse,” Kara laughs. “Oh, there’s my aunt Jessica. Remember, she’s the one who’s going to try to get you to campaign with her.”
“The conservative one?”
“Yes. And if she asks—and she probably will—we’re waiting until marriage.”
“For what?” Dean asks, looking at Kara like he’s serious.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Kara mutters before putting on a fake smile. She takes Dean’s hand and goes to greet her aunt.
“Want a plate?” I ask Archer, casting my eyes up to him for half a second. His face is set, dark stubble covering his jaw. I might not know Archer Jones at all, but I know for a fact he’s not one to turn down food.
“Sure.”
I hand him one and move around the table. The tension between us is thick and heavy, and I don’t understand why it’s there at all. I look at Archer again, wishing I could crack him open and take a look at his internal codes to find out what makes him tick. And to also find out what the hell is wrong with him.
There’s a reason I like to work with computers and not people.
I take my plate and turn on my heel, ignoring the sexy, brooding man in front of me, and almost run over my grandma. She’s headed in the direction I just came from and wants company. I don’t want to step back into the ice storm Archer has raging around him, but it’s my nana.
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” Archer says, offering a polite smile. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?”
Nana smiles. “Archer Jones. My, it has been a while! I’ve been good, busy with my garden and the choir.”
“Has Shelly Nicolson stepped aside yet and let you take the lead?”
Nana beams. “You remembered! And yes, she has, but only because she got cancer.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Nana leans in. “Between you and me, she deserved it!”
“Nana!” I say, eyes widening.
“The stories I could tell about that woman!” Nana turns to me. “But not here. We’ll save those for the bachelorette party.” She gets herself a plate. “I hear you’re a doctor now, Archer.”
“Yes, I am. I finish my residency this year.”
“Are you hoping to start your own private practice?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a surgeon, so I’ll be staying at a hospital.”
“Ohhh,” Nana coos. “A surgeon. You must be good with your hands.” She winks at Archer. “And I bet you look dashing in that white doctor coat. You know I’m single, don’t you?” Nana puts a few appetizers on her plate. “Oh, Barbara, dear!” She waves to one of her friends and takes off.
I push a stuffed mushroom around on my plate. It’s too hot to eat but standing here without something in my mouth leaves me at risk of talking. Archer steps closer. Speaking of things to put in my mouth…
“Maybe I’m reading into this too much,” Archer starts, looking perturbed. “But was your grandma just hitting on me?”
The effort to control my smile fails me. “She’s gotten a little, how should I say it—crude. Her memory is all there and she drives and lives alone, but she kinda says whatever is on her mind now.”
Archer laughs. “I’ll take it as a compliment then. And you do look nice tonight, Quinn.” He swallows hard, looking me over for a brief moment.
“Thanks. And you do too.” I look at him and he looks away, and we’re left standing there in awkward silence.
“Everything turned out nice.”
“Yeah, it did,” I agree, internally wincing. I didn’t think anything could be worse than not talking but making forced small talk is.
“The stuffed mushrooms are good.”
Shoot me now. “It’s Nana’s recipe.”
Archer nods. “Well, I should go find Dean.”
“He’s right there, still talking to Kara’s crazy aunt.”
“Oh, right.” Archer steps back from the table, letting another partygoer get some food. My mind flashes to my dream about Archer last night, and as annoyed with him as I am, there’s no denying how fucking sexy he looks in dress pants and a button-down shirt.
“I should, uh, go check on the chickens,” I blurt.
“The ones outside?”
“Yeah.” Cursing myself, I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. I get a mouthful down when Mom comes in, carrying a stack of dirty plates.
“This is so much fun,” she says with a broad smile. “Just think of how much more fun it’ll be when it’s you getting married. I get to plan the whole thing!”
Kara threw Mom a bone by letting her plan tonight’s party since it’ll be her family taking care of the bridal shower and then the wedding.
“Someday.”
“Oh, it’ll happen, sweetheart. You are looking for someone, right?”
“In a sense.”
“Whatever happened to that guy two floors down?”
“Our first date didn’t go so well.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re being picky.”
“He ate nachos with a fork. A fork, Mom. You can’t stab a chip with a fork.”
“He didn’t want to get his hands dirty.” She smiles then quickly changes her mind. “What kind of first date did you go on where you were ordering nachos?”
“A Cubs game. He has really good seats too. I might have been able to let the fork thing go, but then he put ketchup on a hot dog.”
“Chicago has changed you. What about your new intern?”
“Mom, he’s my intern.”
She opens the cabinet and takes out her own wine glass. “So he’s not good enough for you because he’s an intern?”
“He’s a lot younger than me because he’s my intern.”
“A younger man isn’t a bad thing, you know. Men typically die first. This could be your insurance you don’t end up a widow.”
I take another gulp of wine. “You’re not much better than Nana,” I mutter and set my wine down and wrap my fingers around my wrist. “Do you have any Advil?”
“There’s some in the cabinet next to the fridge. Is your wrist hurting again?”
“Yeah, that dull ache is back and it’s traveling up my arm when I extend it.” I make a face and shake out my hand. “I’m sore from being on my computer for hours every day.”
“You should get it checked out. My girlfriend Gloria had something similar, always in pain, then had some sort of surgery done. I can ask her—wait! We have a surgeon here with us! Let me go find Archer.”
“Mom, no, he’s not here—” And she’s out of the kitchen. “To work,” I say to myself. I grab the Advil and pop a pill in my mouth, washing it down with wine.
“Are you taking painkillers with alcohol?” Archer gives me a smug smirk.
“Relax, Dr. Fuddy-Duddy. It’s just an Advil.”
“You still shouldn’t do that.”
“Noted.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Your mom asked me to come in here because you’re in pain.”
I wave my hand in the air. “I’m fine. It’s just random shooting pains in my arm that go up to my shoulder.”
“Which arm?”