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Quinn couldn’t get Charles out of her head. A story too close to home. A nightmare she was having a hard time shaking even now at work in the boring waking world. She grabbed her stress ball and tossed it between her hands, staring at her computer monitor. Was this the way it was going to be? Would she now suffer with everyone’s pain, not just her own?
Turnabout was fair play. Just wait until she unloaded on them. She caught the ball, tabled the thought, and began tossing the ball again.
Nick handled it well. On the outside. What ghosts haunted him on the inside? Do I care?
She slammed the ball on her desk. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but she couldn’t handle anyone else’s feelings right now. Especially when she couldn’t feel her own.
She braced her chin on her hand. Why did he ask her out for coffee?
“Quinn? Earth calling Quinn.”
Claire’s singsong voice had her blinking back to the present. “What?”
“You’re spacey today.”
Quinn closed the file she’d been trying to work on and shoved it aside, swiveling her chair to her left and resting her arms on the return desk between her and Claire. “You mean more so than normal?”
Claire plunked herself into one of the seldom-used blue tweed chairs in front of Quinn’s desk and crossed her legs, swinging her black pump on bare toes. “You okay? How did it go last night? Did you have to throat punch that old bag?”
“Mrs. LaRue. No, I did not assault an eighty-year-old woman. She apologized. Not sure she meant it.” Her shoulders twitched in a quick shrug. “It was okay. Seems I can go to these sessions without wanting to run screaming out the door.”
“That’s good, Quinn.” Claire fiddled with her moonstone pendant on its silver chain. Smaller matching beads danced in her dangling earrings as she cocked her head to one side, waiting.
“Hearing people talk about their tragedies is hard, but encouraging.” The bands that had been tight around her heart loosened a bit. Taking a deep breath, Quinn lifted her chin in a show of bravery. “It proves there’s a way back from all this—at least for some.”
Rolling forward in her chair, Claire reached for Quinn’s hand across the particleboard desk. “For you too.”
“We’ll see.”
As her best friend squeezed her hand, Quinn chewed her lip. Telling Claire could be a mistake. But she had to tell someone, and Claire was the closest thing to a sister one could get without sharing blood. Quinn started to sit back and pry her hand free.
Claire tightened her grip, holding fast. “There’s something you want to tell me. I can see it.”
Of course she could. No avoiding it now. Quinn leaned against her chairback, sighed, and let it all out. “Remember the guy I told you about, the one who returned my phone?”
“Nick.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You remember his name a little too easily.”
Claire raised both hands in feigned innocence, her shoulders inching high enough for the little moonstones to brush the ruffles of her white cap sleeves. “I pay attention?”
Yeah right. “You’re also a schemer.”
Not denying it, she flipped her blond highlights over her shoulder. “Maybe. But I only do it because I love you.”
“Lucky me.”
Claire’s shoulders relaxed, and she went all best friend. “Are you going to tell me or not? No. Wait. You are going to tell me.”
Quinn drew in a breath and prepared herself. This was going to be fun. “He asked me out for coffee.”
Claire didn’t bat an eyelash. “And you said yes.”
Just before Quinn rolled her eyes, she stopped herself and exhaled. “No. I said no.”
“What?” Claire jolted upright uncrossing her legs, her blond waves falling over her shoulders as she scooted to the edge of the seat. “Why? You should go out for coffee.”
“I don’t want to go out with him, Claire.” Quinn slapped her chair arm. “I want him to go away. I want to go to counseling, get help, and go home. Besides, he wasn’t asking me out, out. He just thought we could visit, get to know each other. You know, because we have this whole grieving thing in common.”
“You should go out for coffee.”
“Claire.”
“Well, you do have this ‘whole grieving thing’ in common. Why not have a friend who can help you while you help him? Wasn’t that the whole purpose of going to counseling?”
They’d been best friends since middle school, why wasn’t the why obvious? “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”
“Maybe you have the wrong idea.” Claire crossed her tanned arms on the desk and glared.
Quinn held her glare. Oh, what’s the use? She slumped in her chair. Nick was only being nice to the new girl. They’d established that. But being so on guard against everyone had blinded her.
“Friends are nice, Quinn.” Claire’s words were soft, soothing. “Especially one that’s been through the same thing you have.”
With her foot, Quinn swiveled her chair back and forth. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother.”
“You’re welcome.” Claire grabbed at her moonstone again. “Look, I’m just saying, I’m glad I can be there for you—and I always will be. But having a friend who’s been through the same pain could help you more than I can. I love you. I want you to find your way out.”
“Thank you. But my concern’s how he wants to help me.”
Claire sat up straight. “Go for coffee. If he seems too creepy, tell him where to go and find a different group.”
She spoke truth. Which caused a tightening sensation in Quinn’s chest. “He did save me from Mrs. LaRue.”
“A knight in shining armor. He can’t be all bad.” Claire pushed up from her seat, then turned back to Quinn, moonstones jingling. “Oh, and, Quinn...”
“Yeah?”
“Go have coffee.”
Quinn grabbed her stress ball and threw it. With a giggle, Claire dodged out the door. The ball bounced down the hall behind her.
Quinn resumed with the file she’d discarded. She’d gone to counseling to gain a support group, friends who’d been through the same torture. But why couldn’t those friends be girls?
Well, there was Mrs. LaRue. She moaned, looking to the flower bobblehead still nodding its annoying encouragement. If she lived through the healing process, it would be a wonder.
If she could make it through the next week without thinking of Nick, it would be a miracle. If she survived the guilt of thinking about Nick, maybe there’d be a way out for her.
She sank back in her chair, absorbing the bare space she occupied eight hours a day. Not one picture, no memorabilia. She’d left it all at home. Lonesome. But wasn’t that the way she wanted it?
It was for the best. Nothing to cause pain. No one to hurt or be hurt.
She opened her file and tried to concentrate. The client’s name: Nicholas. Wonderful.
Her fingers clacked on the keyboard. Would he ask again? Should she hang around and talk to him? Would that seem too forward? Would he get the wrong idea? She groaned. Apparently, no miracle would be occurring today.
Her computer dinged with a new email message from Claire. Quinn opened it to a picture of a steaming cup of coffee. This was going to be a long week.
Nick stared out the window of his fourth-story office at Seventh and Boston, a cup of coffee in one hand, his other hand stuffed into his pocket. A clear sky ruled over the downtown streets where people and cars went about their daily routines. Hot black coffee inches from his mouth, he paused and swallowed the dryness of his throat. What was he thinking? He shook his head and took a sip. He hadn’t planned to ask her out, not that he was asking her out. They were laughing, and it just—happened.
The laughter felt good. The guilt did not.
And the feeling of being an idiot? That didn’t feel good either. He breathed in the rich coffee scent, letting the aroma soothe him. But it only served as a reminder.
He’d been just as bad as Mrs. LaRue. Quinn probably thought he was some kind of stalker preying on unsuspecting widows. Maybe she thought he and Mrs. LaRue were in cahoots. Dear God, please no.
She’d seemed okay enough. Maybe she’d put it all behind her. And maybe all the world’s problems would go away overnight. He gulped some coffee. Two sessions, two bad experiences. No way would she come back.
He started when Dad stepped beside him. “Dad. Good morning.” Agitated, he took a sip. He’d need several more cups.
“Rough night?”
“No, everything’s great.” He maneuvered behind the wood-topped desk where plans were laid out, set his coffee down next to the computer on the desk to the right, and picked up a pencil. “I was hoping you could look at this with me.”
Dad didn’t move. “Nick.”
“Yeah?” Nick braved looking up.
Hands in his pockets, Dad waited, the natural light shining in his light hair. “That was a pretty serious look. What’s going on?”
The man, who knew him all too well, could go from senior partner to dad in an instant. Nick tossed the pencil on top of the plans and plopped into his mesh-backed chair. Dad wouldn’t give up until he’d spilled his guts. So Nick planted his elbows on the blueprints and clasped his hands. “There’s this girl at group.”
When Dad’s eyebrows shot up, Nick threw his hands out. “A man says girl and everyone assumes.”
Dad raised a defensive hand. “Don’t get excited.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Okay.”
Nick reached for his coffee and took a sip to reset. He grimaced setting it aside—the liquid had gone cold. “She’s come twice, and both times something someone said makes me think she won’t come back. Mrs. LaRue got a hold of her the first night.”
“Mrs. LaRue.” Dad sank into one of the modern-style client chairs on the other side of the desk and smoothed his slacks.
Yep. No need for explanations. “She came back Monday night, but then...”
“Mrs. LaRue again?”
The plans before him blurred. “No. Me.”
Dad’s posture went straight, his brow crinkled. “What in the world could you have said worse than Mrs. LaRue?”
The moment of truth. “I asked her out for coffee.”
The crinkles deepened to furrows. “I thought you said it wasn’t like that.”
“It’s not. It can’t be. I mean it could be, but it’s not.” Nick shut his mouth before all the stupidity fell out. He hadn’t been so confused since—well, since a long time ago. “We were just talking, laughing, and I thought we could get to know each other. You know?”
“Friends.”
He knew. Nick met his dad’s eyes, then brushed eraser dust aside. “Maybe.” But hadn’t he said it wasn’t like that?
Dad locked his fingers over his lap, elbows resting on the chair arms. “You mean well, Nick, and you have a good heart. Lauren knew that. If this girl came back after Mrs. LaRue, she’ll come next Monday.”
Nick’s hope soared at his father’s wisdom, but his words didn’t cure his dread. “I’d hate to think she didn’t come back because of me.”
Dad shifted in his chair and crossed his arms. “And?”
Frowning, Nick eyed him. “And what?”
“I know you. This is surface matter.”
Right. Nick mimicked his father’s pose, rubbing his scruffy chin. “I’d hate if she didn’t come back.”
A slow grin spread out Dad’s lips, and his eyes sparkled. “I like this girl already. Come on.” He stood, then braced both hands on the desk as he bent over the plans. “Let’s get you through this week, so you can find out.”
“Find out what?”
“Whether or not you have a coffee date.”
“It wouldn’t be a date.”
Dad motioned with his chin toward the plans. “What are your plans for this wall?”
Not sure what was going on in his mind enough to explain anyway, Nick let his dad guide him back to business.
But it didn’t keep Lauren from feeling the need to interject into his thoughts. Just be a friend.
Alone with her in his office again, he moved to the stool at his antique drafting table that completed his U-shaped desk and turned on the swing-arm lamp. Drawing would clear his mind.
“Talk to her. That was my plan, Lauren. Not inviting her out for coffee. So why did I?”
Quinn was a beautiful woman, sure. A beautiful woman who’d suffered loss and needed help finding her way back to a normal life. He wouldn’t get in the way of that.
He’d let down his guard. Gotten too comfortable. Lost control. Lost his mind?
Nick scowled at what he’d drawn. What wasted ink. He flung his marker aside, wadded up the paper, and tossed it in the trash.
After Lauren died, he hadn’t been able to find the energy to draw. Now he was drawing like a third grader. He buried his face in his palms.
He wasn’t ready for this. But what was this? And why did “this” cause so much guilt?
The week crawled by. Meetings ran long. Plans needed redrawing. His mind failed. And Dad stayed patient, a lot more than Nick would’ve been in his place.
On Monday, he tried not to care whether Quinn came to group. Even made plans for this to be his last session. He’d talked it over with Lauren, which hadn’t gone well. One-sided conversations were rarely beneficial.
Lauren wanted him to move on. But doing that with someone so fresh to the pain of losing—unthinkable!
And he so fresh to it as well.
Just be a friend.
He drove into the community center parking lot. Her truck wasn’t there, which didn’t mean a lot. He was early, and she was always late.
When he entered the building, Mrs. LaRue caught him right away. “Were you able to get Quinn’s truck running last week?”
“Her truck is just fine, Mrs. LaRue. Thank you for asking.” It wasn’t a lie. Her truck was fine. Or so he guessed.
“She’s such a sweet girl.”
“Seems to be.” Not wanting to talk about her or seem interested, he dragged his feet toward the meeting room. “How was your week?”
Mrs. LaRue followed along beside him. “Full of fun. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren everywhere.”
“I’m glad you had a good time.”
Mrs. LaRue tilted her head, those tight gray curls haloing her not-so-angelic face. “Don’t worry, Nick. Someday you’ll have lots of grandchildren as well.”
She’d never change. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Her lips spread out, the red overtaking her face as she smiled toward the front door. “I’m sure I’m right too.”
He followed her gaze behind him. Quinn strode in, shoulders squared, head down, purse hugged at her side, sweater tight around her slim form. She was gorgeous.
Heart clenching, he swiveled back before she saw him gawking. She’d come back. And she was early.
He glared at Mrs. LaRue. If she as much as said a word sideways...
“Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior. But that girl needs a friend.” She patted his arm. “And so do you.”
Great. God, Lauren, and Mrs. LaRue. Between them, he’d have grandchildren next week.
But Mrs. LaRue was right. Quinn needed a friend. And he did too. And she had come back—again.
Promises, promises.
All right, Lauren. You win.
