Quinn set his jaw.
A short, stifled growl escaped Connor. “You heard the question. Now, tell us!”
“I’ve already told you. We didn’t like each other that way.”
Taking the mug she offered, Connor sat next to the youth. “Okay, hotshot. If everything was on the up-and-up, why didn’t Lark bring you around? She brought lots of friends to the house.”
“She knew you wouldn’t approve. Because I was older than her. She thought . . . well.” Quinn wrapped his hands around the mug Rae set before him. He looked frightened, wary, like a cornered animal. But his gaze flashed when it lifted. “She figured you’d think we were messing around. That’s what everyone thought at school. Like you must be dating if you’re hanging out. Why do people assume a guy always has an agenda? There’s nothing wrong with being friends with a girl. Not if you have the same interests.”
The same interests. With a start, Rae understood. “Last year . . . were you enrolled in classes at the craft emporium?” Lark had repeatedly taken Yuna’s classes for teens. A course on portrait drawing. Other courses, on painting with acrylics and an introduction to sculpture.
“Yeah, we started hanging out during Yuna’s classes. Last spring. Yuna let me help around her shop instead of paying for the courses. She knew I couldn’t afford them.”
“You weren’t friends with my daughter before then?”
“Only a little. Whenever I saw Lark on Chardon Square, she was cool. Nicer than most girls. Lots more friendly than the dudes. She never picked on kids, you know?”
“I’d hope not,” Connor grumbled. “We raised her better than that.”
“We did,” Rae softly agreed.
Quinn began to add something else. Instead, he hesitated. The tension melted from his features. The change in his demeanor from defensive to delighted was abrupt, confusing. Like daylight breaking on a cold midnight.
Smiling, he pushed his coffee aside. When he reached for the art stacked beside the napkin holder, Rae’s breath snagged.
Gingerly, he slid one of Lark’s recipes near. The cardstock was flamboyantly decorated. Two recipes were listed, the ingredients in different colors. The border surrounding them was a vibrant blend of mixed media—bits of glitter, old buttons, and tiny stars Lark had painted in blue and gold. The heavy cardstock seemed a lifeline, and Quinn held on tight.
“Avocado toast and blueberry quinoa.” Despite the perspiration slicking his brow, he laughed. “I taught Lark these recipes. She loved them.”
Connor grunted. “I didn’t. Like eating birdseed and slimy crap on toast. When did avocados win the popularity contest? They’re worse than quinoa.”
Rae shushed him. “Quinn, how did you teach Lark the recipes? Were you in my house?”
“Only when you and Mr. Langdon weren’t around! Me and Lark cooked stuff together. That’s all we did—cook, eat, and get out.”
A child’s answer, desperate and silly. Too genuine to mask lies.
Whatever the specifics of their relationship, it hadn’t been sexual. Apparently, her father had reached the same conclusion. With frustration Connor fell back in his chair. Beneath the lengthening silence, Quinn tapped his feet. The thunk of one boot hitting the floor, then the other. A prisoner awaiting the verdict of two bewildered judges.
Connor noticed the duct tape coming loose from Quinn’s boot. “That’s one fine mess, son.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why don’t you buy new boots?”
“Money’s tight. The insurance on my truck comes due soon.”
“You pay your own insurance? That’s responsible.”
“I pay my own everything.” Quinn shrugged. “That’s the rule.”
The remark stirred the suspicion Connor wasn’t ready to dispel. “You work part-time for Rae’s friend,” he said. “Those wages can’t amount to much. How do you pay for everything?”
“Side jobs for people I know. Not all dudes my age sit around playing video games. Most of those games are too violent anyway. I’d rather be doing something useful.” With a dash of pride, Quinn added, “I’ve got skills. I’ve learned how to fix lots of stuff.”
Connor’s expression shifted. “Your mighty maid routine in the barn was nice. What do I owe you for the cleanup?”
“Nothing, sir. It was my pleasure.”
The remark’s sincerity eased the tension-filled air.