A Little Combustible Chemistry (Cactus Creek 0.5)(14)

Oh, mystery solved—there was a card. She felt her lips curve up in a smile as she read it.



To: Dani (err, fill in the blank because I’m an idiot)

I’ve discovered that calling you to schedule our first date is just slightly more challenging without your phone number, or a way to look you up without your last name. (That one, I’m really sorry for). I apologize for my utter lack of game. My number’s on the back of this card. Hope to hear from you soon.



She laughed in delight at the ‘This is Luke, by the way’ signature.

So it hadn’t been a onetime thing for him. Blushing over that news and admiring the cactus with a touch of wonder, she marveled at Luke’s choice of this prickly plant over the more obvious rose bouquet most guys would have opted for.

The unbidden appraisal of how un-cliché he was made her lace her fingers together to restrain herself from calling him right then and there. As she’d discovered more times than she cared to admit, making a call when she was this tired was about as bad as drunk-dialing.

Cat-yawning again, she dropped down onto the sofa. Nope, definitely a nap first.

Burrowing against the cushions, relaxation swiftly draped over her. Soon, she was drifting in and out as she peeked at the cactus one last time.

So sweet, she thought hazily before dragging her phone out of her pocket. The ‘no sleep dialing’ rule didn’t apply to texting, she reasoned with drowsy clarity. Oh, or sexting. Even better. Blinking slowly, she sexted Luke the first wayward thought floating in her head and hit send.

A devilish grin tugged at her lips. She’d close her eyes for just a sec until he...

Dani was asleep before she even completed her thought.



*



IT WAS past noon when Quinn headed back to Desert Confections after finishing the corporate deliveries along with the drop-offs for their growing local distributor base around the county they’d managed to keep even throughout the move from Mesa to Cactus Creek.

All morning, she’d deliberately detoured through every main bar district in the neighboring areas as her vision for the Valentine’s Day marketing plan took firmer shape. Sadly, none of the establishments she saw fit the video vibe she had in mind for their ad launch.

Only one business would do, really.

Driving past Ocotillos, she decided then and there to go with her first instincts. The brewpub had the exact look and patronage she was going for. With that decision out of the way, she quickly got the ball rolling by first calling in a favor to a friend who worked freelance as a video graphics designer. Evan was the perfect guy to handle the footage she wanted to squeeze in today.

By the time she finished coming up with the interview questions she wanted to ask during the video, Evan was ready and waiting with his equipment set up on the busy walkway as she’d requested. Twenty-and thirty-something year-olds were steadily filing in and out of Ocotillos for lunch. Perfect.

Luckily, she’d worn one of her less severe skirt suits today—one that made her look less like a tired single-mom and more like one of those reporters who did field-side NFL interviews. Taking a breath, she spotted what looked like older grad students—cool, attractive guys in their mid-to late-twenties. The ideal interviewees. Encouraged, she flashed them a radiant smile and waved them over with the kind of charm she’d forgotten she possessed.

“Hey guys,” she grinned conspiratorially. “I just have a few questions about Valentine’s Day. My shop partner and I are thinking about doing a little V-Day overhaul. Wanna help us out?”

And the answers began rolling in.

Almost an hour later, after finishing her tenth slam-dunk interview, Quinn decided to wrap it up. All the young business professionals and college students she’d videotaped had been fantastic, both with their candid answers and their genuine enthusiasm when she explained the concept of Valentine’s Day and White Chocolate Day. The responses she’d gathered were priceless.

The pleased high she was on faded fast, however, when she glanced up and saw a woman in a black Ocotillos t-shirt stalking toward them in what could only be described as barely contained fury. With the angry scowl she was wearing, the cute pixie-looking woman somehow managed to look like an enraged mama bear jolted out of hibernation. The paradoxical contrast should’ve been funny.

It wasn’t.

“Why the hell are you videotaping out here without our consent?” demanded the woman.

Quinn went into damage control mode real quick. “We were just interviewing people for a short video ad for our new chocolate shop next door.” She pointed over at their cheerful storefront window the next building over while her eyes told Evan to start packing up the camera equipment like his life depended on it.

She kept her all-business mask on, hoping the cool smile and no-nonsense reply would mollify the woman with murder in her glare and send her on her away.

No such luck.

The woman’s eyes narrowed on the Desert Confections sign and then zoomed back on her. “So why are you harassing people coming into our brewpub instead of filming outside your own shop?” she asked finally, her voice now a little calmer.

But still basically terrifying.

“Well, we uh had very specific questions to ask...for a very specific interviewee group— young business folk and older college students mostly,” replied Quinn, surprised to hear the tiny stutter in her own voice. Her inner wicked witch was actually intimidated by the woman from Ocotillos. An impressive feat. If she hadn’t been so busy watching the woman’s fist to make sure it didn’t come barreling her way, she would’ve complimented her and asked if they could be twitter friends, their kind needing to stick together and all.