Just Desserts by Tricia Quinnies Page B

father. I’m not a broker-type. When I met Bridget, she made it. I don’t know. Better.”
    “Not my problem.” Sadie tightened her helmet strap so hard that it pinched her gullet.
    “Well. I am sorry. And you, you’re with him? The Wrigley dude?”
    “No. Yes. None of your business.” Sadie shoved her foot in the pedal bracket and pushed off to get away from him. She rode into the street and sped up to get ahead of an oncoming car. It honked as she cruised past the pier. Once she cleared Main Street, she slowed down and glanced behind her shoulder. Bryan was gone.
    Getting dumped twice in twenty-four hours. Must be a record. She started riding again and pumped the pedals hard to get home and check on her dad.
    She should have known better. Bryan and his family were crazy prominent in Chicago. His father held several seats on the Board of Trade. Bryan spoke of his dad’s accomplishments more often than his own. It irritated her. Weren’t parents supposed to be the ones to put their kids up on pedestals? Maybe she was spoiled by her ever-loving and supportive mom and dad. The wealthy must view family differently. Either way, Bryan was a mess. Lesson learned.
    Pedaling up the last hill, and the steepest, every muscle in Sadie’s thighs burned. At the foot of the porch steps, she dropped the mountain bike and yanked off her helmet. Sitting on the top step, she massaged her legs until the sting faded.
    Quinn’s Jeep was nowhere.
    She listened to hear for her dad inside, figuring that he had come out of his Jameson stupor. Sadie karate chopped her legs to get the blood flowing and waited another minute before she went in to see her embarrassed and, she hoped, remorseful father.
    “Pop?”
    His cell and keys were on the dining room table; she dropped her fringed saddle bag next to them.
    Sadie glanced in the living room and none of her mom’s quilts had been strewn over the couch. He hadn’t crashed on the sofa.
    “In the kitchen.” He sounded like his mouth was stuffed with cotton.
    Opening one of the swinging saloon doors, she peeked in, terrified to see him in his hungover condition. The kitchen table sparkled from the treacherous western sunlight beaming in the window and spotlighting the rock sugar from last night. The day-old glittery mess temporarily stunned her.
    “Sadie, honey, I’m down here.” He jarred her back to the present.
    She turned to see her dad lying on his back on the floor with a screwdriver in his mouth, a wrench in one hand, and a flashlight in the other as he gazed into the under belly of the old Jewel Tone oven in the corner of the kitchen. It was her mom’s idea to use it in the diner, but when the cast iron stove couldn’t heat up, it turned out to be a beautiful pink antique storage bin.
    “Quinn.” He stretched out on the floor in front of the oven. “He took a look at it with me when he brought me home. There’s a good chance we can bring this baby back to life.”
    “Back to life?” Sadie parroted. “Looks like it’s not the only one that’s getting back in working condition. What happened to you? I expected you to still be sleeping and dreaming of whiskey snorts!”
    So what if she sounded snarky? But blasted, she was spent. He had no right to be so perky or cheerful after what he put her through today. Sadie wanted him to be miserable, like her. Damn. He’d showered, shaved, and looked fresh and clean. She even caught a whiff of his Old Spice as he sat next to her at the table. If an alien crashed down in the kitchen at that moment, it would never know that this man was the same one who had reeked of sour barley and drooled onto the table that morning.
    “I’m better than I’ve been in the past six months.” He held her hand. “I needed last night. I’m sorry for the hell I put you through today. But, with my mate Mr. Jameson, I made some vital decisions.”
    Brushing the specks of sugar off the table, she said plainly, “You’re selling the diner to