“You Barney-style all you want,” he said. It was Monday morning. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and he needed more coffee. Having Wayne walk him through the details just might be entertaining enough to make him forget his lack of caffeine.
“It’s not a verb,” Wayne grumbled. “You’re getting the phrase all wrong. Damned civilians.”
Quinn held out his hand. Zealand groaned, then handed over five bucks. Because whoever got Wayne to complain about the world not being “marine enough” first won five dollars.
Quinn pocketed it, then nodded at Wayne. “Tell me why this isn’t a good idea.”
Wayne swore under his breath. “There’s not enough parking,” his assistant began. “We could pave over the grass, but you know the neighbors are going to complain. All those windows—” He pointed to the front of the house. “Every one of those is a place for noise to get in from the street and out from the studio.”
“I produce music, not noise,” Quinn protested.
“That’s what you call it. The folks who live in the neighborhood won’t agree. What are you going to do? Cover the windows and put up soundproofing?”
Quinn looked at Zealand, who shrugged.
“Then why have windows?” Wayne asked. “You’re running a business that goes late into the night. You can’t have bands coming and going at two in the morning. This is a small town, boss. They have their ways.”
“What do you know about small towns?” Quinn asked.
“Enough.”
“I take it you’re not a fan.”
“Not really. But you said you wanted to move here, so here I am.”
“Poor Wayne.”
“Yeah, I’m suffering.”
Zealand chuckled.
Quinn thought about what his assistant had said. “You’re right. A house doesn’t make sense. Why don’t the two of you go check out some industrial spaces? But they have to be relatively quiet. We can’t be next to some factory that bangs all day and night.”
“Right. Because only the bands can do that.”
Quinn looked at him. “Which kind of banging do you mean?”
Wayne frowned. “Both, I guess.”
“You’ve learned our ways well, young Obi-Wan.”
Wayne sighed again. “You’re really moving here.”
“I am. You’ll learn to love it. There’s a boardwalk and a pier. It’s over a hundred years old.”
“Piers do not get better with time.”
“Lots of families with kids. Teenagers during spring break. What could be more perfect?”
Wayne started for the car. “Are you talking? Because all I hear is a buzzing sound.”
“Speaking of buzzing, there’s a very famous honeybee that summers here sometimes.”
“You say one more word about the bees and I’m going back to LA. I mean it. I’ll quit.”
Zealand chuckled as he slid into the backseat.
Quinn started the engine of the Bentley. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybee is known to be industrious and gentle.”
Wayne rested his head in his hands. “Kill. Me. Now. That’s all I ask.”
“Sorry, my friend. You’re the only one with that kind of training. You’re going to have to suck it up and suffer. Like you always do.”
Wayne straightened. “Tell me about it. My life is pain.”
SIENNA HANDED OVER a wrench to the man stretched out under her kitchen sink. “You could just call a plumber.”
“I know how to replace a garbage disposal.”
“So you say. But if it explodes, it will take me with it.”
“That would be a loss for all of us.”
Jimmy, her landlord, friend since grade school and ex-fiancé, turned so he could see her. “I mean that. The loss part.”
“You’d better. I don’t want to be sliced into little pieces by an exploding garbage disposal.”
“No one does.”
She sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor of her rented duplex. The small, two-bedroom place suited her. It was clean, pretty, and had a yard. Jimmy was the best kind of landlord—he mowed the lawn, did repairs quickly and had the carpets cleaned at least twice a year. In return, she paid her rent on time and did her best to be a good tenant.
Theirs was a relationship that worked.
“How’s business?” she asked.
“Good. I have a couple new listings. Three houses closing this month.”
“Who would have thought?”
Jimmy chuckled. “That I would turn out respectable? Stranger things have happened.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Back in high school, Jimmy had been more interested in surfing than studies. He’d drifted through school. Still, he’d been funny and kind, with a sexy attitude that had captured her schoolgirl heart. They’d dated all through senior year. When she’d left to go to UC Santa Barbara, he’d followed. While she’d attended classes, he’d surfed and worked odd jobs. Sometime during her freshman year, they’d gotten engaged. That had lasted nearly a year. Their breakup hadn’t been dramatic, just the realization that they were too young and they wanted different things. He’d gone home and she’d stayed in college. But they’d remained friends. She liked knowing that Jimmy was in her life.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five thirty. She still had time.
“Hot date?” Jimmy asked.
“A date.”
“Ouch. Does he know about your lack of enthusiasm?”
“I’m enthused.”
“Not really. It’s that David guy, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I take it he’s not the one.”
“No. He’s very nice and we have fun.”
“But?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. We have a lot in common. He’s smart, well-educated. We vote the same.”
Jimmy snorted. “You vote the same? Seriously? That’s your criteria now?”
“Of course not. It’s just...”
Jimmy slid out from under the sink. “Stand back. I’m about to test this thing.” He pointed to the far side of the kitchen. “Go stand there. I’ll put my body between you and the explosion.”
“Talk about a gentleman,” she teased. “There are so few of you left these days.”
“Most of us have died in garbage disposal accidents.”
She scrambled to her feet and walked to the other end of the kitchen. Jimmy turned on