Dearborn

by Jenni Moen

  “Not a problem.”

  I pulled two beers from the refrigerator and turned to find him standing almost at attention behind a chair he’d pulled away from the table. He gestured for me to take a seat. Only after I’d sat did he sit down too. Then, in a second act of chivalry, he reached across the table and twisted the top off my beer before opening his own.

  Flustered, I popped open the pizza box and gestured for him to take a slice. “I hope you like sausage and mushrooms. I ordered it for Ryan before I knew he wasn’t coming.”

  His eyes clouded over, and I wondered if the sausage and mushroom pizza had turned him green or if the mention of Ryan had. “It looks good,” he said in a neutral tone that gave nothing away. “I’ll pretty much eat anything. I stopped being discerning years ago.”

  “Is the food bad over there?”

  “It serves a purpose, and they do the best they can. So what’s the project for tonight?” he said, changing the subject quickly, obviously not wanting to talk about his time in the service any more than I wanted to talk about my odd relationship with Janice.

  I thought about the bathroom I wanted to do first, and the task suddenly seemed too big and imposing. I should’ve never even considered asking him to help. “Well, Ryan was going to help me tear out an upstairs bathroom tonight,” I said, my voice tentative and shy. “But I don’t actually expect you to help me. It’s kind of a big job.”

  He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “So you’re renovating.”

  “Yes, we’ve already finished the first floor.”

  He appraised the kitchen. “I can tell. It looks really good. Did you do all of this by yourselves?”

  “I hired someone to do the countertops in here, but we did the cabinets and floors ourselves.”

  “Is it some sort of stone?” he asked, pointing at the shiny, bronzed countertops.

  “It’s actually polished concrete. I was worried granite or marble would seem out of place in here. Too fancy for this house, if you know what I mean?”

  He nodded but shrugged. “I don’t know anything about decorating, but they look good to me.”

  “I don’t either. I’m learning as I go. I really wish we’d gone ahead and put a built-in microwave above the oven.” I looked wistfully at the ugly microwave sitting on the counter. “That thing is an eyesore and takes up valuable countertop space I need when I’m making pies.”

  Something flickered in his eyes at the mention of pie. “So fix it.”

  “Nah. It’s taken us three years to get this far. I don’t want to backtrack now.”

  “Why so long?”

  “We open the diner at five every morning, and I have class most afternoons. In the evenings, we can get a little work done, but I also have to put together the lunch special for the next day. I also try to remember that Ryan has a life, too. His girlfriend squawks a lot if he spends too much time over here.” Technically, woodpeckers didn’t squawk so much as chirp, but the comment still made me giggle.

  “He has a girlfriend?” His lips turned up into a half smile, though I could barely see it through the scruff on his face.

  Quinn’s beard wasn’t the intentional scruff gracing the pages of People magazine’s Sexiest Men edition. It was at least four or five days beyond that, pulling him out of the I-Manscape-to-Look-Falsely-Rugged category and landing him squarely in the I-Don’t-Give-a-Shit category. I thought he wore the category well though, and once again, I had the awkward desire to reach out and touch him.

  I squashed it, and instead, loaded each of our plates with another piece of pizza. “Yeah, her name is Vanessa Birdwell. She’s younger than I am, which would make her quite a bit younger than you. You probably don’t remember her from school.”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. So who are you dating? Would I know him?”

  I blushed furiously. If I were to believe what Ryan told me, then Quinn was just as interested in me as I was in him. There was some peace of mind in knowing that. It took away a bit of the does-he-or-doesn’t-he-like-me guessing game we would otherwise play, but knowing it also left me jittery and nervous. “No boyfriend here. I dated your friend, Tim, a few years back though.”

  Though Quinn’s expression gave nothing away, a flash of dark, woodsy green shot through the kitchen turning my stomach rancid. I fought the urge to flip the kitchen table and put my fist through the wall and hoped he did, too. Neither one of us needed to put a hole in my newly painted and textured walls. Certainly, Tim Reyburn didn’t warrant such a reaction.

  “You just turned green,” he said.

  It sent me into a momentary state of confusion. Maybe he could see the Dearborn rainbow, too. Maybe it wasn’t all in my head. Was there a vein of magic running through his blood as well? “What do you mean?” I was cautiously hopeful. If he could also see the jealousy hanging in the air, I would kiss his face and ask him if he knew why it was so hard for me to be around him even though it was all I wanted to do.

  Circling a finger in the air, he gestured to my face. “Your face. It was green for a second.” He looked puzzled. “It looks normal now. Was it the pizza or the subject of Tim?”

  “Must be the pizza.” I pushed it away and took a sip of beer to hide my disappointment. I was glad I hadn’t made a fool of myself by asking him about the rainbow he projected. “The thing with Tim happened years ago, and trust me, it didn’t last very long. For some reason, I’m drawn to men I don’t have a lot in common with.”

  “He’s not right for you.” The definitive tone of his voice made me a little swoony.

  “I found that out pretty quickly, actually. But why do you say that?”

  “He was never very nice to girls in high school, and it doesn’t seem like he’s changed much.”

  “We live and we learn, right?” I stood and went to the refrigerator for two more beers, glad the nausea had passed as quickly as it had come on.

  Again, he reached over and popped the tops off both our bottles, starting with mine. “Do I need to kick his ass? I feel like maybe I do.”

  I laughed. “No. I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, but thank you very much. Besides, he’s your friend.”

  “Was my friend. Saturday was the first time I’d seen him since high school, and if he treated you wrong, then my only interest in him right now is kicking his ass.” I rested my chin on my fist and wiggled in my seat. Though I certainly didn’t mind it, it was a fierce reaction. “Women have always been our problem,” he continued.

  “Sounds like there’s a good story here.”

  “Not really. In high school, we always competed for girls. I think he knew I had a thing for you, actually.”

  My heart thundered in my chest. I didn’t dare speak, or I’d give away that I’d always had a thing for him.

  “You look surprised,” he continued. “The week you tutored me was the same week of the fall dance. Do you remember?”

  I didn’t remember the dance. All I remembered about that week was him. “You had a girlfriend,” was all I could manage.

  “We’d broken up the week before, and I needed a date. I was planning to ask you, but all week long, you said you weren’t feeling well. Then you didn’t come to school on Friday, so I figured you had the flu or something.”

  That part I remembered. I hadn’t had the flu though I had felt queasy the night before. Janice had plugged me full of some herbal tea, curing me instantly. I’d stayed home on Friday for no good reason at all. Had I really come that close to a date with Quinn?

  It suddenly dawned on me that he might have been the reason I was ill. What if it had been what I now called the Dearborn Effect, and I just hadn’t known it at the time? “Who did you take?” I asked, thankful I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.

  “I went alone.” His mouth quirked into a less than happy smile. “But I saw Hannah there, of course. We patched things up and didn’t break up again until after graduation.”

  Regret laced around my heart, binding it and squeezin
g it.

  I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to ask what he regretted more—going to the dance alone or getting back together with Hannah. But what if it was more complicated than that? Because not long after, he’d left town, and then in his absence, she’d married his friend. Maybe his regret ran deeper than a fall dance and the what-could-have-been. Maybe he regretted losing Hannah.

  That was the curse I lived with—I knew what he felt but not the why of it. What’s worse, I shouldn’t know anything of his regret. I was a window to his soul, but he didn’t know that. If he wanted me to know where his regrets lay, he would have to tell me on his own.

  “I suppose everything happens for a reason,” I offered, for lack of anything better to say. It was a crappy, generic response. Something you say to someone when you can’t think of anything better.

  “Maybe,” he said, smiling thoughtfully. “But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” My heart stopped, and I held my breath waiting for him to continue. “What would have happened if you hadn’t gotten sick, and I’d taken you instead? What would have happened then?”

  I would’ve said yes! I would’ve jumped your bones, and you wouldn’t have left. You would have played football at some college, and I would have cheered from the stands. Today, my purple and green house would be filled with lots of little Quinnish babies.

  Of course, I didn’t really believe any of it was true. One little dance wouldn’t have changed the course of everything that happened afterward. Would it? I knew a fortuneteller I could ask, but I knew better than to walk down that road. I didn’t need my own regrets when Quinn was already suffocating me with his.

  He pushed away from the table and stood up. “Why don’t you show me that bathroom? I think I’m going to enjoy tearing some shit up tonight.”

  “THIS PIECE IS REALLY HANGING on.” I crammed the crowbar further under the baseboard and winced when the sheetrock crunched under the pressure. “Uh-oh.”

  “Good thing you want to replace that, too,” Quinn said with a laugh.

  “Most of it is loose, but I can’t get the end to let go.”

  “Here, let me help.” He maneuvered into the space next to me, squatted, and took the crowbar. “Pretty cozy in here, isn’t it? I feel like I know you better already.” He winked, and my insides went all gooey.

  This bathroom was one of the smaller ones. My lingering guilt over suckering him into helping me had prompted me to pick it instead of the larger one down the hall. I was trying to give him a break but had gotten a bonus for myself. All evening, we’d practically worked on top of each other. Bumping arms. Brushing backs. Every touch sent an electrical current through me. I was hyper aware of his every movement and found myself orchestrating our collisions rather than trying to avoid them.

  “Hold onto that end there. You just need some extra muscle.”

  I gripped the free end. “Got it.”

  Since he’d brought up the subject of muscle, I decided he’d sort of given me a pass to gawk at his. While he shoved the crowbar back under the board, I marveled at his arms and shoulders. Every inch of him flexed and pulled beneath his t-shirt as he moved. I wondered what he would look like without a shirt on. I was sure he would be magnificent.

  “I’m going to load all of the big stuff in the back of my truck unless you have other plans for it,” he said.

  Before I could answer, he shoved downward. With an efficient pop, the board sprung free, catapulting me backward. I landed on my backside with an oomph. Quinn was immediately over me. Not hard in a room the size of that one. “Oh, wow. I didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.”

  Funny. That’s all you’ve done since coming into my diner.

  “I’m fine,” I said laughing.

  He offered me a hand, and I took it. He pulled me up, and once again, we were practically on top of each other, with only a broken board and a few inches separating us. Emerald eyes sparkled down at me. The paper definitely hadn’t done them justice. They were every bit as deep in color as I remembered. His chest rose and fell, and his breath hitched.

  His gaze fell to my mouth, and my already gooey insides incinerated. He wanted to kiss me. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his lips twitched. I could feel it in the room now colored magenta with desire. His desire. I wondered what shade mine would be if it had a color.

  “Is that okay?” he asked. His jaw ticked beneath all that fuzz.

  What would it feel like? Would it be rough? Scratchy? Leave a mark on my face? I wanted to find out. “Yes.” He didn’t need to ask permission to kiss me.

  “So you don’t have any plans for the wood?” he asked.

  Well, now … that was pretty forward, but then again, I’d technically already asked him to marry me. I laugh-snorted at the thought, and his lips twitched up at the corners as if he’d read my mind. “Yes,” I mumbled, still staring at his mouth. I had plans for the wood.

  Do it. Kiss me.

  To my complete and total disappointment, he stepped away from me instead and out into the hall. “So I shouldn’t haul it off then?” he asked, pointing at the pile of scrap wood accumulating there.

  My cheeks flared bright enough to rival the color of the room. I was sure I hadn’t misread his emotions though I’d surely misinterpreted his words. I turned away embarrassed, glad he couldn’t read my mind or emotions right now. “I can use it for firewood.”

  “Good idea. Do you have a pile somewhere?”

  “Out back.”

  “All right. I’m going to take a load down.”

  “That would be perfect. Thanks.” Frustrated, I picked up the sledgehammer and swung at the wall. The hole in the sheetrock instantly made me feel better. According to Ryan, he was interested in me, and my emotional barometer confirmed it. Yet he’d passed on the perfect opportunity to kiss me. Confused, I took another swing at the wall.

  He was gone a long time, maybe having a hard time finding the woodpile, and by the time he got back, an entire wall was missing. A few hours later, the entire room had been demolished. The old cabinets and fixtures were loaded in the back of Quinn’s truck for him to haul away. We’d torn the walls down to the studs, and I had a list of things to order from the lumberyard the next day.

  After our awkward moment, I’d carried most of the conversation, yammering on and on about anyone he might know and filling him in on what had happened while he was away. From the blank slate in his head, I gathered he was content cracking tile and listening to my endless chatter.

  When we finally collapsed in the formal living room, me on the couch and Quinn in my favorite wingback chair, we were both exhausted. “I’m so tired.” I sighed.

  Quinn raked a hand through his hair. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than they had been earlier. “I’m filthy and probably shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near your furniture,” he said, running his hands down the arms of the chair.

  I laughed. “Oh, please. I’m not any better. Besides, I purposefully picked all of the furniture to be super durable.”

  “So what exactly is your plan for this place? Obviously, you have something in mind.”

  I nodded, a wide smile spreading across my face. I leaned forward, grabbed a magazine from the coffee table, and tossed it into his lap.

  His forehead wrinkled as he studied the snow-covered house on the cover. “Peaceful Getaways magazine?”

  “I’m taking hotel and restaurant management classes at the college.”

  “You want to turn this into a hotel?” he asked, flipping fast through the pages.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. Ryan was the only other person I’d told about my dream for the place. I certainly hadn’t made it public knowledge yet. This town already had one inn, so I wasn’t sure how well my idea would be received; not that anyone could stop me at this point. “A bed and breakfast, to be exact.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said nodding. “This house is perfect for that. It’s certainly big enough. What have you got—four rentable rooms?”<
br />
  Earlier in the evening, I’d given him a tour of everything but my room on the first floor and the basement below. My room was a mess from the quick cleanup job before he’d arrived, and the basement was still full of Janice’s more eccentric belongings. Balls, chalices, daggers, and cauldrons. Jars of things, which I was too scared to think about. Things like horny goat weed, skullcap, horehound, and dragon’s blood incense, just to name a few. I didn’t know what she did with the ingredients or how to dispose of them.

  Eventually, I would have to go through it all because I had plans for the basement, too, but it would have to wait until I’d finished the rest of the house. Honestly, as weird as her stuff was, I wasn’t in any hurry to rid the house of the last remaining traces of Janice.

  “There are the four rooms you saw upstairs. There’s also an apartment over the garage. Janice fixed it up for me after I graduated from high school. She was getting older and thought it was a good idea to have someone close by. I needed to get away from home, so it made sense at the time.”

  He nodded, seeming to consider something. “I understand that. There definitely comes a point when you’re too old to live with your parents.”

  “The apartment’s nothing fancy. It could use a little sprucing up, but it’s another rentable suite.”

  “It has its own bath?”

  “It does. I have two ideas, and I really haven’t been able to decide which way to go. I have a while to think about it though since this is the longest renovation in the history of ever.”

  He sunk further into the chair to get comfortable. “Lay it on me.”

  “Okay, so the first idea. Do you remember the board game Clue?”

  “Sure. I used to play it with my mom.” His lips curled into a smile. “Colonel Mustard in the library with the poison.”

  “Exactly!” This idea had me particularly excited. “I had the game when I was a kid, too … wish I still had it. Anyway, I heard about this bed & breakfast in Louisiana that has a Clue-themed dinner theater every evening.”