The Mighty Quinns: Rourke by Kate Hoffmann Page B

stood, his hands braced on the porch railing, his gaze fixed on the sea. She had a beautiful piece of property. The views of the small cove and the North Atlantic were stunning and the picturesque old lighthouse only added to the landscape.
    If he had any money, he’d build a beautiful house right on the spot. He’d design it himself and he’d make it a green house, using all the most environmentally advanced products. He closed his eyes and tried to picture it. The layout of the rooms was vague and the facade was unfocused, but there was one thing he could see clearly. Annie.
    He’d never really thought about what it might feel like to find that one right girl. He’d always known it was a possibility, that he’d see her on the street or stand next to her in line at a coffee shop. They’d fall in love and get married and that would be it.
    But the last place he thought he’d find her was here, on Cape Breton, living in a simple cottage with a border collie and the occasional gray seal. Was Annie the one he was supposed to be waiting for?
    The cottage door squeaked and he turned to see Annie standing on the threshold, dressed in the deep green party frock she’d described earlier. She looked so beautiful, she took his breath away.
    “It still fits,” she said.
    “Wow.”
    “Wow good? Or wow, is that a mistake?”
    “Wow good,” Rourke said.
    “I know it’s too fancy for pizza, but I really don’t care. This might be the only chance I get to wear it.”
    “Only if every single guy on the island is blind. Once they see you in that dress, they’re going to be lining up at your door.”
    “That’s very kind of you to say. You’re a very charming, and credible, liar.”
    He held out his hand to her and when she took it, Rourke tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I’m not lying. Trust me on this.”
    She gave him a sideways glance. “I think I will.”
    When they reached his truck, Rourke opened her door for her and helped her inside, tucking in the tulle skirt before shutting the door. When he slipped behind the wheel, he noticed that she had her hands clutched in her lap.
    Rourke took her fingers in his and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s just pizza,” he said. “You look like I’m driving you to the dentist.”
    “I’m overdressed.”
    “Yes, you are. And I love it. I think you look beautiful and I’m the only one who matters.”
    “You’re quite full of yourself, aren’t you?”
    “I suppose I am. But I’m sure you’ll put me in my place if I get out of hand.”
    Rourke steered the SUV out onto the main road and turned toward Port Hawkesbury. The town sat on the Strait of Canso, a narrow strip of water that separated Cape Breton Island from the rest of Nova Scotia and the Canadian mainland. On his trips to the island as a kid, the strait was always the marker that told him he was almost to his destination.
    He tried to keep the conversation light as they made the thirty-minute drive. After a time, Annie seemed to relax and soon she was smiling and laughing. But when they reached the outskirts of Port Hawkesbury, Rourke decided to change their plans. This was far too important an occasion to leave it to some ordinary pizza parlor.
    “I don’t think I’m in the mood for pizza,” he said.
    She turned to face him. “Do you want to go home? I’m fine with that. I could make dinner and—”
    “I’m thinking we should go somewhere a little more elegant.”
    “I shouldn’t have worn this dress,” she said. “It was silly.”
    “No, it’s perfect. I’m going to take you to Napoleon’s. They have steak and seafood and soft music and a pretty decent wine list. And really good bread. They serve it right from the oven with olive oil.”
    “Are you sure? We could always just grab a pizza and take it home.”
    Rourke shook his head. “I have a date with the most beautiful girl on the island. I’m going to show her a good time.”
    “Yay,” she said without a trace of