by Mia Taylor
“No need to thank me,” he replied lightly but she was already gone, leaving Vivier to stare after her, his jaw tightening.
She’s been through a lot. I can sense it. I shouldn’t burden her with more problems.
Yet as he continued to stare at the spot where Quinn had disappeared, Vivier felt like chasing her down and telling her the truth about himself for some reason he couldn’t understand. There was only one thing he knew for certain.
It didn’t feel right lying to this woman.
Chapter Ten
First Date Jitters
For three days, Quinn wrestled with whether or not to cancel the date she had made with Marc, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it despite the nervousness she was feeling.
He saved your life, she reminded herself. The least you can do is cook him dinner.
But there was more to her invitation than that—much more and she knew it.
The apartment had been horrifically quiet since Spencer had died so unexpectedly.
It had taken Quinn days to come to terms with the fact that he had passed and she still could not bear the loneliness of the walls.
After her dear friend and roommate had been buried, Quinn realized exactly how alone she was in the world.
Unbeknownst to her, Spencer had taken out a life insurance policy, naming her the beneficiary. He had planned for his own demise better than she had.
Even in death, he takes better care of me than I do myself, Quinn thought miserably. The money afforded her the apartment to herself but the bills were already piling up again and she knew she only had a few months before she would have to make changes again.
She had not bothered to reach out to her father or stepmother, knowing that their words would only send her into a deeper depression. It wasn’t like either one of them would do anything for her anyway.
She had acquaintances at work whom she tried to confide in but they didn’t know her well enough to comfort her. All she had was the memory of her dear friend who had seen her through the worst times of her life and now he was gone.
As a final tribute to Spencer, Quinn went to the call center the week after he died and quit her job. With his concerned face fresh in her mind, Quinn marched into the walls of the nondescript building and bluntly told her supervisor that she was done.
It didn’t matter that she was going to need the second job in the future. All that mattered was that she did right by Spencer.
I should have done this while he was still alive. I would have had more time to spend with him. Maybe I could have done something. Maybe…
But playing the game of “what if” wasn’t going to change anything. Spencer was not coming back.
“What? Why?” Tina screeched as if Quinn were ruining her life. “Do you know how hard it is to find people to work afternoons and nights? How can you leave me high and dry?”
“I have a full-time day job, Tina,” she reminded her soon-to-be former boss with exasperation. “It is hard for me to work this many hours without sleep.”
“Oh.” Tina stared at her almost hatefully. “Well, don’t come crawling back here when you’re broke. If you go, you go for good.”
So much for years of loyal labor, Quinn thought grimly.
From the call center, she made her way back to that quaint and beloved apartment on Dawnridge Avenue.
“I am sorry, Louis,” she told the superintendent sincerely. “I simply can’t afford it now and with Spencer gone…” She stifled a sob and the elderly grandfather patted her arm comfortingly.
“Of course I understand, chica. You have done the best you can. I wish I had the power to lower your rent and keep you here forever with me. You and Spencer were such good tenants, hard working, no trouble. Let me know if I can help you, all right, mi amor?”
It had taken everything inside Quinn not to burst into tears under the man’s kind words.
She had arranged to move at the end of November and slowly she packed away the life she had built in the small but charming two-bedroom apartment.
Spencer’s mom had finally come to claim his belongings in an awkward, almost silent exchange.
Quinn had not known how to address Mrs. Parks, especially when she was aware of how poorly Spencer had been treated in her house.
If the roles were reversed and I had died, I bet Spencer would have had something to say to Damon and Lena if they came to get my stuff. I’m sure he’d give them both an earful until they cried.
But that was more Spence’s way than hers. He had always been the outspoken one, the one who demanded justice and fought for what was right.
And what do I do? I resort to this pathetic life and hope that things will get better.
As she busied herself for Marc’s impending arrival, she looked around at the unit wistfully. Instantly, she regretted that she’d permitted herself to invite the charming janitor to the house.
Maybe I should call it off, she thought, biting on her lower lip. I’ll tell him something came up and…
But the desire to alleviate her loneliness, even for a few hours, was too tempting. And she couldn’t deny the bond she felt with the stranger, as if he were some guardian angel looking over her.
There were boxes everywhere and she wished she had it in better order to entertain, but she shoved her uncertainty away. Marc would be arriving in less than half an hour and she had other matters to worry about.
She checked on the lemon chicken and started the potatoes on the stove.
I probably should have asked him if he had any dietary restrictions. Is there stuff the Germans don’t eat? Is he even German? He could be Swiss or Austrian, I suppose.
She realized how little she knew about the man who was about to enter her private domain and again questioned her sanity.
The minutes ticked by and Quinn found herself increasingly anxious until the much-anticipated buzzer sounded, causing her to jump slightly.
“Apartment 308,” she called into the intercom.
“I will be right there,” Marc replied, the mere sound of his voice sending shivers of pleasure through her and dissipating all the doubts that had been manifesting inside her.
Her heart fluttering nervously, she waited by the door, her eye to the peephole.
Quinn’s breath caught slightly as he made his way from the elevators toward her apartment.
It was the first time she had seen him out of his work uniform and he was even more handsome than she recalled. Once again, she felt a flash of familiarity course through her, as if he looked like someone she knew or she likened him to someone else.
Why do I feel like we’ve met before?
She didn’t have an opportunity to pursue the question as Marc knocked gently on the door. Quinn pulled it open, greeting him nervously.
“Hi,” she said, smiling.
“Hello,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her cheek. The movement startled her and she giggled, caught off guard by the movement.
Oh my God! I sound like a twelve-year-old girl. That’s just the European way of doing things. Calm down.
“Come in,” she told him, closing the door behind him. He offered her two bottles of wine.
“I hope you like my selections,” he told her. “I was not sure what we were having and I was torn, so I brought one red and one white, depending on what was served. And of course, your taste.”
The words confused her somewhat.
Am I having a wine pairing discussion with a custodian? she wondered, blinking. She was instantly ashamed of herself for such a thought.
Just because he’s a janitor doesn’t mean he’s uncultured, you prejudiced ass. You should know better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover.
“Are you moving in or moving out?” Marc asked as he noticed the boxes.
“I’m moving out,” she replied quickly, placing the wine on the round table in the dining room. “I’m sorry for the mess.”
“There is no mess,” he answered, wandering about. She got the dist
inct impression that he was sizing her up, learning about her by what he saw. “Why are you moving?”
Quinn paused and for a moment, the same feeling she had the day of the rainstorm overcame her.
What is it about this man that makes me want to break down and spill my guts to him? Is it just because he saved me or is it something else?
She willed herself not to cry as she quickly gulped back the lump forming in her throat.
“Uh… my roommate passed away last month and I can’t afford it alone,” she said abruptly, her voice catching. She cast her grey eyes downward, gnawing on her lower lip. Marc made a commiserating sound and she peeked at him through her dark lashes.
“You were very close, then?” he asked sympathetically.
Quinn nodded, no longer trusting her own voice.
“That is why you have been so sad,” Marc continued, closing the distance between them. “I knew you seemed different than the first time I saw you.”
Surprise tinged her and she looked upward to meet his intense green eyes.
“He died the same day you saved me from choking,” she told him. “I felt like it was God thumbing his nose at me.”
She wasn’t sure if he understood the phrase but he seemed to comprehend the sentiment.
“Maybe that’s because there is no God,” Marc volunteered dryly. Instead of growing defensive, Quinn could only snort in agreement.
“I’ve been feeling that way more than not,” she replied.
“Let me pour us some wine,” Marc suggested. “That always seems to help relax me.”
“Oh, yes, please,” she said, stepping back to allow him into the kitchen.
“Where will you move now?” Marc questioned as he began to uncork the white wine. “Not too far away, I hope.”
A frisson of pleasure shot through Quinn as she realized he was asking for selfish reasons.
“I found a small basement apartment in a cheaper part of town. It is further from work but that’s okay. It’s just a bit longer of a bus ride.”
He was silent for a long moment and Quinn studied him out of the corner of her eye.
“What?” she asked, sensing that he wanted to ask her more about it.
“Yes? Is it okay? You do not sound very happy about it.”
Quinn felt her cheeks warming under his intense scrutiny.
“Are you always so intuitive with women you don’t know?” she asked. He paused and stared at her intently.
“No. Not in the least. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being intuitive at all.”
There was a bitterness in his tone but he didn’t elaborate on the matter. Their gazes held a moment longer and Marc turned back to his pouring.
Another question sprung to her lips but died there.
We’re having a nice time. Don’t ruin it by bringing up all the women he’s slept with at work. It’s none of your damned business anyway. It’s 2019. He can sleep with anyone he wants.
But as she watched him, she could not reconcile this man as some Casanova, bedding women and breaking hearts.
He's a janitor. A very handsome janitor who is an adult and free to have an active sex life.
Quinn couldn’t deny that he made her feel comfortable, as if they were old friends.
There was no tension, no pretentiousness between them, and as the night progressed, she found herself talking to him about things she had only ever spoken to Spencer about.
“Your family is here?” Marc asked and usually that would be a topic which would cause Quinn to clam up tightly, but for some reason, she nodded, not the slightest defensiveness inside her.
“Yes and no,” she sighed. “My father and stepmother are here in town but I rarely see them.”
His brow furrowed slightly at the confession.
“You have a contentious relationship with them?” he asked curiously.
God, I love his accent. Or is it the wine? Whatever it is, I can’t remember the last time I felt like this around a guy.
Quinn considered her answer carefully.
“No…” she said. “I don’t have much of a relationship with them at all. My mother died when I was very young and I don’t think my father was well equipped to raise a toddler, especially a girl.”
Marc’s green eyes bored into her as he listened. There was almost a glimmer of understanding in his face.
“I don’t think he ever really wanted kids,” Quinn went on, hearing the words but unsure who was really speaking them. She’d never even told Spencer the things she was saying to Marc. “He was always about teaching me lessons the hard way, even under relatively innocuous circumstances.”
Marc snorted and Quinn stared at him in surprise.
“Ah yes, I have a father like that also. I was a mistake being born and no matter how much time passes, I’m never going to forget that. It was the reason I left home.”
Quinn was slightly stunned by the coldness of his tone.
Does his father really feel that way or does Marc just perceive it that way?
It made her wonder if her own father thought of her as a mistake too. It would certainly make a lot more sense. She decided a change in conversation would be a good idea.
“You’re from Germany? I am trying to place your accent but I confess I don’t have much experience with them, being born and raised in El Cajon. I want to say German, but it’s softer somehow, like there’s French in there too.”
Marc nodded quickly, finally breaking his gaze with hers.
“Germany, yes. Berlin.” There was a false note to his words and Quinn glanced at him warily.
Why does he sound like he’s lying? she wondered, but she shoved the silly thought aside. If he wanted to lie about where he was from, that was his business. Everyone has secrets.
Yeah, but not everyone is alone in your house with you right now. You have a right to ask him. It’s not being nosy.
“You weren’t close to your family? Not your mother or siblings?” Quinn pressed, reclaiming her resolve to learn more about Marc.
A shadow passed over Marc’s eyes and he was silent for a long moment before answering.
“Once, my mother and I were very close. I always felt that she would protect me from anything, but as I got older, she seemed to side more with my father and less with me. We drifted apart, but…” Quinn waited. “But I still love her very much and miss her. I was probably too attached to her, now that I think about it. I should have left home long ago.”
“Maybe you should go home and visit soon,” Quinn suggested brightly, wishing she had not asked. It was clearly an unhappy subject for him.
Sadly, Marc shook his head.
“The way I left Lu—Germany, I will not be welcomed back by my family or my peers. I’m focused only on rebuilding my life here and leaving the past behind me.”
Quinn felt a slight flutter in her stomach.
What did he do that was so bad? Or maybe he just thinks it’s that bad and he’s blowing it out of proportion.
It was a Schrodinger’s question; she both wanted to know and did not simultaneously. She didn’t want anything to damage the view she had of this man, her savior, but she also didn’t want to be a fool.
“Let me check on the chicken,” she said quickly, rising and smiling. “I wouldn’t want it to burn.”
He seemed grateful for the shift in conversation and flawlessly found a new, unrelated subject which to discuss as Quinn laid out the meal for them.
Hours began to meld together and before either of them realized it, they had consumed the two bottles Marc had brought.
“Oh,” Quinn pouted, feeling the effects of the alcohol spinning through her. “We’re all out.”
“I could run to the corner store,” he told her as she cleared the dishes away. “For another bottle. Or two.”
She stared at him for a long while, her heart pounding.
Say yes! she told herself, shaking her head at her reluctance. How long has it been since any man has spe
nt the night? What is the harm in allowing him to stay?
But the deep, guarded part of her could not speak the words she so desperately wanted to say.
“Or not,” Marc said quickly. “I am sorry—I was being presumptuous. It is my European blood. We are always thinking of wine.”
He gave her a sheepish smile and it convinced her then.
“Yes,” Quinn whispered. “Yes, go get some more wine. There is a liquor store on Broadway.”
Marc’s face seemed to light up like a Christmas tree and he nodded, hurrying toward the door as if he was afraid she was going to change her mind.
“I will be right back,” he assured her and Quinn nodded, smiling softly as he left.
She began to stack the dishes into the dishwasher, placing the leftovers in Tupperware containers.
You can still change your mind. If you want him to leave, you can ask him to leave. You’re in complete control here. Don’t forget that.
She wondered why she was having such a meaningless conversation in her own head. Quinn knew he wasn’t going anywhere. There was no way she was letting him go. Not that night and likely not ever.
Okay, now you’re just romanticizing one date that went well. You can’t know what he’s really like. He could be a totally different person than who he is portraying. He’s afraid to go back to Germany for some reason. He could be a bank robber or a—
A loud pounding on her door caused Quinn to cry out in shock. For a moment, she could only stare at the door, her eyes bugging in confusion.
“Marc?” she breathed, hurrying toward the door, but when the answer came, Quinn froze again.
“Open up! Police!” a man yelled. “El Cajon Police Department! Open it up or I’m breaking it down!”
Fury colored her face crimson and Quinn threw open the door in disgust.
“Okay, Dad, that’s enough!” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Eleven
Homecoming
Vivier was feeling the happiest he had felt since landing in San Diego four months earlier and he was sure the wine had nothing to do with it—even though he was feeling no pain through its effects. He was certainly buzzing from the evening but he suspected it had more to do with the feeling of being around Quinn and not so much the alcohol itself.
