5
Quentin watched his daughter nibble the last of her strawberry cone as the elevator swept past the second floor. He clung to his stupidly, recognizing that he looked like a fatigued dad, rather than a wayward, drugged, s****l musician. But with Charlotte’s angelic face before him, her pink lips pressed together expectantly, she reeked of inexperience.
“So, you’re helping move her in, then?” he asked the friend, instead of Charlotte. “That’s a kind move on your part.”
“Well, I owe her,” Rachel said, giving Quentin a bright, flirty smile. She wasn’t unattractive, with her bright red hair in curls down her shoulders. She had the same wholesome look as Charlotte. “She helped me pack up when I moved out here a while ago.”
“Just four months ago,” Charlotte piped up, her cheeks glowing with
