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Quinn didn’t mention seeing Nick at the river. Claire didn’t need her stress on the glorious day she brought her daughter home. She was there to help, not to get a psychiatric evaluation.
But her happy facade only worked for a few minutes. Not surprising since Claire was, well, Claire.
The proud mama sat against her mahogany headboard. Quinn sat cross-legged, facing her, and cradling Kaitlyn on a pillow across her lap. Claire extended a hand. “Thank you for all the freezer meals and for cleaning my house.”
Quinn took her hand and squeezed. “You have other things to concentrate on. I just wanted to make it easier.”
Without letting go, Claire widened her eyes. “And what do you need to concentrate on?”
“Me?”
“Spill the beans, sister.”
“What beans?”
“It’s been three days since ‘the kiss.’ ” She made air quotes with her fingers. “You didn’t call him, did you?”
Quinn huffed. Could she have no secrets? She took Kaitlyn’s hand in hers and stroked her soft skin. “We’re just taking time to think things over. Making sure this is what we both want.”
“Well, we know it’s what he wants.” Claire ran a finger around Kaitlyn’s earlobe. “And I thought we were clear on what you wanted.”
Quinn watched the steady rise and fall of the baby’s chest. Being unsure was exhausting. She longed for the peaceful rest Kaitlyn was getting. “I thought I was clear on that too.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You mean persuade?”
Claire raised one shoulder. “I can do that too.”
Kaitlyn cooed and stretched, the moment filling Quinn with joy. And giving her two seconds to avoid the question. “I know what I want. But maybe it’s not what God wants.”
Claire rested her hand on Quinn’s, demanding her attention. “And maybe it is.”
Dare she believe it? Had God ripped everything she cared about away from her only to replace it? What was the point in that?
“ ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart.’ ”
Church camp. Tenth grade. It was the only thing Claire had brought home from camp that year. Smiling, Quinn finished the verse. “ ‘And lean not on your own understanding.’ ”
“You’ll make the right choice. When you’re ready to make it.”
The conversation turned to grandma schedules for the next couple of weeks. Then Quinn, not staying as late as she normally would have, dragged herself home and fell into bed early, still exhausted from her late-night bolt from the balcony.
Summer hadn’t quite hit, and after her hour-long run through the neighborhood the next morning, the shade in her yard promised to be just chilly enough for a light sweater and a steamy cup of coffee on the porch. She stepped out, breathing in the sweet smell of fresh-cut grass from next door, and settled into one of her red chairs. The birds chirped, the leaves rattled, and she thought—and prayed. Especially prayed.
Help me trust in You, Lord.
Tucking her legs up beside her, she rested her coffee mug on one upraised knee, letting the long week seep from her as hazelnut cream and nature’s presence soothed her. For the last few days, she’d worked in her tiny windowless office and come home to an empty house, no calls and no texts. Well, not from Nick. There were plenty from Claire and Mom.
She savored a slow sip, wishing it was a chai latte from Cafe Cubana, her fingers warm around her mug. The electric company had called. An automated reminder she’d forgotten to pay the bill for the gallery. Now, she couldn’t stop thinking about all her paintings lying under dust covers, hidden away from the world. Like she’d hidden herself away. Under cover after cover after cover.
Another sip. Another deep breath. She hugged her sweater across her chest and tipped her face toward the caressing breeze.
But one ray of light had found her, uncovered her layer by layer, and led her out of the darkness. Given her the desire to put one foot in front of the other and move forward. Nick. His presence burned away the storm clouds.
Of course, it hadn’t kept her from searing him with her lightning.
She eyed the chair across from her. The one Nick sat in so many times. Black coffee, no cream, no sugar. He should be sitting there now.
Her feet slammed to the wood decking, the birds with their carefree songs irritating. The chair legs scraped a grating sound as she rose too fast. Letting out a growl, she stomped over to perch on the porch rail above her pansies. The colorful flowers swayed in the gentle morning breeze—bending with the wind, but not breaking. For an eternity, she’d swayed, but hadn’t broken.
There were times when she’d thought she would—a time when she thought she had. Then she’d had coffee with Nick, and even though she hadn’t been able to see it, her heart had begun to heal.
She poured out the too-sweet dregs of her coffee, sprinkling a few yellow blooms. Brown dribbled from the dainty petals, the breeze helping them shake it off.
Grief took more than a simple shaking off.
Grief counseling helped. But the sessions from seven to eight hadn’t helped as much as the sessions after eight—the phone calls, the texts, the coffees, the dinners, the nights out with friends, the time with his family and hers, the normalcy of a life built around each other.
They’d been building up to that moment on the balcony since he’d returned her phone.
A robin swooped into the yard, bobbed along the grass, seeking worms, then startled as the neighbor next door started his weed eater. As the bird took flight, Quinn smiled. Like the skittish creature, she’d been so eager to leave that place, to fly away. Only she had flown. And broken the heart of the one she didn’t want to be without.
With a sigh, she set her empty mug on the rail. Nick had been there through everything.
And she didn’t want to be just friends.
She closed her eyes, crossing her arms so her sweater wouldn’t drift open again, and lifted her chin skyward, taking a long deep breath, resting her head against the post. Warm shards of sunlight fought through the elm tree boughs to speckle her face.
Fear—a black void that was nothing but a hole to get lost in—had tried to engulf her. But she’d been in that hole once and would never go there again.
Her flowers weren’t unlike the ones in the colorful meadow she’d painted under wispy clouds or the ones under a clear blue sky with the storm building on the horizon. But those paintings still sat alone in her gallery, waiting to provide the happiness for which they were intended. And here she sat alone, just like them.
Nick had been prompting her to paint again. He believed she would.
“Okay.” She let the word out on a deep breath, loosened her tight hold on herself, and her sweater. “You wanted me to think. I’ve thought.”
Coffee mug in hand, she went inside to do what she should’ve done long ago.
Saturday morning coffee, watching the day awaken from his couch was Nick’s norm. But this Saturday, he sat at his drawing desk piled high with plans from the extra clients he’d taken on this week to avoid Dad. Ignoring them, he stared out through the sky, one hand rubbing his scruffy beard, coffee growing cold in the other. The day beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows looked perfect, but he refused to go out on the balcony to enjoy it.
He’d made the worst decision of his life on that balcony. Or had it been the best? After taking time to think, which direction would she go?
He sighed, set his coffee aside, and scrounged through some drawings. Then resumed staring out the window. His skin warmed as he sank into remembering tasting her lips, running her hair between his fingers.
For the seconds their kiss lasted, living again seemed possible, but people did things in the moment they wouldn’t normally do. Her painting, her kiss, the looks they’d shared, all the moments when they could’ve kissed but hadn’t... He’d made himself believe they were growing together.
And maybe they were.
Nick rubbed his hand down his face. Only time would tell, if the waiting didn’t kill him.
He shouldn’t have left her at the river alone. But more than the waiting, her going back and forth would end him. If they spent some time apart, the truth would make itself known. But what was the truth?
The need to talk to her had him picking up his phone, just to set it down again... and again. No. He’d done enough pressuring. If she wanted him around, she’d have to let him know.
Neither the plans on his desk nor the endless sky had the ability to hold his attention. Restless, he dumped his cold coffee down the sink, threw some clean clothes in his gym bag, and headed out.
Squats, push-ups, chest presses, dead lifts, pull-ups, dips. When it was time for curls, he loaded more weight than normal onto the bar. More of a punishment than a workout, it was familiar, something to waste time and clear his head. The curls became increasingly harder, but he kept pressing for one more. Pressing—something he was good at.
When his muscles stopped cooperating, he set the bar down. As he stood, his phone buzzed. He did a double take at the caller—Madam Q. The extra surge of adrenaline made his muscles clench. He rushed to his phone and scrambled to answer before it quit ringing. Not knowing what to say, he struggled for something witty. “Hey.” Not witty at all.
“Are you okay?”
He swallowed to control his heavy breathing. “Yeah, I’m just finishing up at the gym. You okay?” He winced and dropped onto the weight bench. What a dumb thing to ask. She wasn’t the one breathing hard into the phone.
“I’m good.”
The warmth in her voice relaxed him. “Great. Uh, what’s up?”
Her hesitation made his shoulders tense back up. “Um, well, I was just wondering if you’re busy this afternoon?”
This was it. She wanted to meet with him to let him down easy. Thanks, but no thanks. He worked to sound upbeat. “Well, I have a date with my dust mop, but I bet I can stand her up... you know, in the corner.”
He took comfort in her laugh. “Oh, Nick.” He could almost see her head shaking. “That was so bad.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. The normal Nick-Quinn banter had his shoulders relaxing again. “It was. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t quit your day job.”
“I tried that for a while. Didn’t work out so well.”
“It’s not working out so well for me either.” She sucked in a breath. “I was hoping you might meet me at the gallery.”
He lost the ability to breathe. When his lungs began to burn, he sucked in air and exhaled words. “I can be there in an hour.”
“Perfect.” Then her voice took on a serious note. “I look forward to seeing you.”
The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “You’ll be a better sight than my dust mop.”
She giggled and hung up, her laughter like a familiar song. The favorite song. The one you wanted to sing along with, listen to again and again.
He grabbed his towel and strode to the locker room. The quickest cool shower he’d ever taken later, and he was in his truck on his way to Cherry Street. He had no idea what was getting ready to happen, but he had to find out.
