Dearborn

by Jenni Moen

  “I know.”

  Loving that he didn’t pull any punches, I smiled. “Okay. I just want you to know you can be yourself with me.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think I can be anything else, but I do recognize there’s room for improvement here,” he said gesturing to himself. “You were staring at my beard last night. I figured it was a good place to start.”

  “I was wondering what it would feel like against my face.”

  He chuckled. “I guess you’re still wondering then.”

  “Kind of but this was good, too.” Better than good. Fantastic. Perfect. Amazing.

  “Here’s the truth. I’m messed up, Willow.”

  Not wanting to confirm I already knew that, I kept my expression stoic and let him talk. “I’m not right, but something about you makes me want to be. I watched you look at my beard last night, and I decided you deserved better than that.”

  “Better than a beard? I really didn’t mind it. It kind of worked on you.”

  “You have your shit together. You own your own business. You’re about to open another one. You’re sweet and beautiful and funny. Any man interested in you should want to be his best because you deserve it. You’re the kind of woman who shouldn’t have to settle for someone who’s just getting by.”

  My heart, which had been so full a few minutes before, broke.

  “That’s why I didn’t kiss you last night even though I really wanted to. To be worthy of you, I needed to be more than just getting by.”

  “But you barely know me, Quinn.”

  “I know enough, and I know you deserve better than me.” He smiled another lopsided grin. “As you can see though, I’m not very good at denying myself what I want.”

  “And you wanted to kiss me?” I said, a bit giddy.

  “I did, and after dinner, I’m going to do it again.”

  I never ate so fast.

  WILLOW

  “LET’S FINISH THIS TOMORROW,” I said when Quinn reached the corner. We were nailing new crown molding to the sheetrock around the top of the bathroom.

  He climbed down the ladder and spun around to capture me in his arms. “I agree. It’s Saturday night. Let’s do something fun.” His lips brushed against the hollow just below my ear, and I melted into him.

  “You have something in mind, perhaps?” My cheeks flushed pink. “I should probably shower first.” Though he didn’t seem to mind, I smelled of sweat and dust and hard work.

  The last few days had been a dream. That might be the ravings of a lunatic so lost in desire she couldn’t see straight, but it wasn’t an exaggeration. Since it couldn’t possibly last, I gave myself a pass to be quietly and privately crazy about him.

  We were head over heels in lust. Every sideways glance seemed to mean something. Every little touch sent a zing through my body. Every beam of color radiating around us made me realize how black and white my life had been before Quinn stepped back into it. Even the colors warning of his darker moods were bearable if only I could touch him.

  The tea and his touch seemed to be the best ways to combat the Dearborn Effect. Even just a touch of my hand on his arm seemed to ward away the worst of the nausea, so I touched him a lot. Luckily, he seemed more than okay with it.

  Every day, when I came in from work and went upstairs to check on his progress, he would drop whatever he was doing and kiss me. Because he’d missed me, he said. When we could pull ourselves away from each other, I’d invite him down to eat whatever I’d brought back for him for lunch. Afterwards, he would kiss me because he was grateful. When I left to go to school, he’d kiss me for luck. Every single one was better than the last, but it always stopped there. I was supremely happy with where things were headed, but with every touch, I wanted more.

  The feeling was mutual. An upside to the curse I lived with was that I didn’t have to guess how he felt about me. I could see it in the air around us when he kissed me at the back door each night. He was being the perfect gentleman, but he didn’t want to be. It was getting harder and harder to let him walk out the door.

  “I do have something in mind. I need to grab a shower too. Meet me in the living room in twenty minutes?”

  I let my imagination run. The thought of where the evening might lead made my knees weak. “I can’t be fixed up and pretty in twenty minutes.”

  His teeth grazed along my earlobe. “I’m sure you’re beautiful sopping wet. No need to get fixed up tonight, doll. We’re not going anywhere.”

  There was no need to get fixed up any night. We never went anywhere. Quinn was a workhorse, preferring to stay in and work on the house to doing anything else. He’d probably work all night if I’d let him. I couldn’t complain. After all, the renovation was the reason he was here. While he worked on the house, I worked on giving him more reasons to stay.

  “If you’d like to see me sopping wet, I’m sure I can arrange it. You could shower here and save water.” I was taking that approach with Quinn. It was a little forward, but he seemed to need the encouragement. Hell, I’d endured two days of rejection before his first kiss, but it had been more than worth it. Rejection is easier to take when you know it’s unwillingly.

  His eyes flashed dark and the room flashed red as he considered what I was suggesting. But as usual, instead of taking me up on it, he let me go and backed his way out of the bathroom. “Twenty minutes. In the living room. Bring your game face.”

  I rushed through my shower, shaving my legs just in case bringing your game face included smooth legs. I threw my still damp hair into a messy bun on the top of my head and pulled on a t-shirt and yoga pants. Exactly nineteen minutes after I’d received my instructions, I was perched on the couch waiting. Janice’s old cuckoo clock ticked the time away. Five minutes passed and then ten. I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine and snuck a peek out the window. His apartment lights glowed.

  Returning to the living room, I settled back in to wait. I reached for a magazine on the coffee table, and his phone, which sat next to it, caught my attention. It was lit up, and the string of missed text messages taunted me. I forced myself to look away, but my curiosity was already piqued. I’d spent almost a week with him and had never even seen him look at his phone. After a few seconds, I succumbed to my curiosity. Was it still an invasion of his privacy if I didn’t have to pick it up? I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I justified. The messages were right there on the screen for me to read.

  Meet us at Tim’s if you’re interested.

  Sorry, we missed you. Tim didn’t get him, so there’s always next week.

  The chances of him coming on my land are nil.

  He was last spotted on the reserve.

  That was a week ago. He’s probably halfway to Canada by now.

  Quinn can track him. He’s like a trained bloodhound.

  The Monster. Every hunter in town was now tripping over his feet trying to get a chance at him. In a matter of a few weeks and after a few more sightings, he’d become a legend even though I suspected only two or three people had actually laid eyes on him. If it had been more, he would’ve already landed himself on someone’s wall. It was reminiscent of a darker time. The thought of it made me more nauseous than Quinn’s worst mood.

  I wasn’t crazy about Quinn going hunting—and I certainly didn’t love the idea of him hanging out with Tim—but I couldn’t help but feel bad. He’d spent his whole Saturday working on my house even though his friends had apparently invited him to do something more fun.

  I jumped at the sound of the back door opening and closing and pushed his phone away guiltily.

  “Close your eyes,” he called from the back part of the house. Though I couldn’t see him, I could feel him. He was twitchy with excitement. It was such a new and different emotion from Quinn that I forgot my guilt.

  “They’re closed,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.

  He was closer when he spoke again. “Okay, open them.” When I did, I found the room bathed in a rosy pink that matched Qu
inn’s mood. He was as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. With an arched eyebrow, he held the Clue box up and shook it so the contents rattled inside.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked in awe.

  “My mom’s house. This was mine when I was a kid. I thought we could play. In the name of research, of course.”

  I’d had other ideas for how we might spend the evening, but this sounded fun, too. Besides, he was so pleased with himself; there was no way I could say no. “Of course.”

  “Let’s do this then,” he said sliding off the lid.

  I grabbed the stack of hotel and decorating magazines from the top of the coffee table to make room for the game. Quinn reached for his phone, which lit up again as soon as he touched it. He barely glanced at it before tossing it onto a nearby side table.

  “It went off while you were gone,” I admitted.

  He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t think they’re going to give up.”

  “Your friends?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “Yeah.” He sighed.

  “Well, they’re glad you’re back. Can’t really blame them.”

  The cheerful room turned to a dismal gray.

  “Okay. So who do you want to be?” I said, trying to change the subject back to the happier subject of the game. “The incredibly brave and cheerful Colonel Mustard?” I held up the yellow game token. “The intensely intelligent and excitable Professor Plum?” I shook the purple one. “Or the dashing though occasionally jealous Mr. Green?”

  Quinn’s mood improved immediately. “Mr. Green, please,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I dropped the green game piece into the palm of his hand. “Excellent choice though I had you pegged as a Colonel Mustard.”

  “Green is one of my favorite colors.”

  I looked into sparkling emerald eyes. “Mine too.”

  “Now, let me guess,” he said, plucking the red piece from the game board. “You want to be Scarlett.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “She’s the movie star. Every girl wants to be Scarlett.”

  “True. Maybe I should be Ms. White since she never gets any love.”

  “Nah,” he said, placing Scarlett in the middle of the board. “White’s too bland for you. Scarlett is vibrant and sexy. You’re definitely a Scarlett.”

  I beamed while setting up the game. Quinn pulled a chair over to sit across from me, and the downside to spending Saturday night playing a board game became immediately clear. There would be no canoodling while we played. No snuggling on the couch or trying to coerce him into breaking all of the unspoken rules he’d made for us. Unless you can get creative.

  After warning him about what happened to cheaters in my house, I let him select a card from each stack and slide it into the secret pouch. We turned up a suspect card and a room card and immediately knocked out Mr. Green in the Conservatory as a possibility. “Ah-ha! I knew I didn’t do it. But you,” he said, shaking a finger at me, “are still on my list of shady characters.”

  I shuffled the remaining cards. “You better not take your eyes off me.”

  “As if I could.” His sly grin brought out my own.

  After an hour of pointed accusations and fierce card guarding, the murder was still a mystery and nobody was smiling. “Does it feel like this game will never end?”

  I groaned. “It is dragging. Or maybe I am.” I’d been up since four that morning. “I tell you what. I will strip naked and run down the street if you’ll show me all of your cards,” I begged.

  Quinn barked out a laugh and threw his cards face up on the board. “Consider the game forfeited. Though you don’t need to run through the streets. I’d prefer my own private show.”

  “Done.” I stalked around the coffee table, stopping when I stood directly in front of him. “I win,” I said, lifting the hem of my shirt slightly and then letting it drop again. “But for the record, I think it was Scarlet in the living room with the rope. I think Mr. Black tried to use it on her before she turned the tables on him and killed him.”

  He leaned back in his chair and watched me. “It seems like a plausible theory. A sexy woman with a rope is a dangerous combination.”

  “Could’ve been in fun if it hadn’t ended in murder. Now, are you ready for your consolation prize?” I raised my shirt a fraction of an inch at a time, giving him a peek of what was to come if he was willing. I had no idea how far he would allow this new game to go, but I knew how far I was willing to take it.

  His jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed. The room was awash with the magenta desire that seemed to follow us around these days. I raised my shirt a bit more, and my heart jackhammered in my chest as I watched him for a reaction.

  With his eyes still riveted to the skin I’d exposed to him, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “You’re making it very hard for me to be good, Willow.”

  “I don’t want you to be good, Quinn. I want you to touch me.”

  His hand snaked its way under the hem of my shirt. The pads of his fingers brushed against my bare skin. “Like this?”

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  He pulled my shirt up to expose a little more skin. “You smell and feel so good. I know you’ll taste even better.” He brushed his lip against my bared stomach. Uttering a sigh, I threw my head back and rocked into him. “But I don’t want to rush this,” he continued. “It feels important.”

  I groaned. “I’ve been good my whole life. With you, I want more. I want to make rash decisions and live in the now. I don’t want to think. I want to act on emotion alone.” Yours and mine. The room was so full of need; I thought we’d choke on it if we didn’t do something about it.

  I threaded my fingers into his hair and pulled on it gently.

  “No mistakes with you,” he mumbled as he continued to plant kisses across my stomach. His hand slid up my side and a thumb skimmed the underside of my breast.

  Need flooded over me. It took root in my soul, implanting itself so I couldn’t tell where mine ended and his began. “I’ve been dreaming about what you’ll feel like, Quinn.”

  “You dream about me?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “And we do the most amazing things together.” I brushed a kiss across his forehead because it was the only place my mouth could reach. “What do you dream about?”

  For whatever reason, the question had been a glacial mistake. The air turned icy around us as he pulled away. He was out of the chair before I knew what was happening. “I’m sorry, Willow. I have to go home.”

  I listened, dumbfounded, to the sound of his retreat. Footsteps clomped down the hall. The back door opened and shut. A key turned in the lock.

  Home.

  I ran through the house to the kitchen window that looked out at the garage. His truck remained parked in front of it. The lights in the apartment above burned bright. I stood there, watching for any sign of movement; my wall torn down by my own choice. I used every receptor I had to feel Quinn’s presence out there. Self-hatred and disappointment filled the air between us.

  I waited long enough that I was sure he wasn’t going anywhere, and then I wrapped my arms around myself and walked to my room.

  I took solace in two things—Quinn wasn’t happy about what had just happened and his home was in my backyard.

  QUINN

  I HELD THE BOTTLE OF beer in front of my face and watched the condensation slide down the blue Rocky Mountains. I moved my thumb to allow a particularly ambitious drop to make it all the way to the bottom. It held on to the ribbed edge for a few long seconds before dropping onto my chest. Even though I knew it was coming, I still flinched from the cold.

  When did you turn into such a pussy, Dearborn? I could practically hear my boys laughing at me.

  There was no logical reason I was hanging out alone in my apartment. Willow had offered herself to me on Saturday night, and I’d run away. All because she’d asked about my dreams. She didn’t know the dreams were the p
roblem. They stole my nights, filling me with a fear and rage I wouldn’t be able to hide from her. It was a side of me I didn’t want her to see.

  She’d kissed me the next morning and had told me that slow was good too, but I still felt like a jackass. Five days had passed and I still hadn’t pulled myself together enough to give her what we both wanted.

  My boys would have a field day making fun of me if they knew what a pussy I’d become.

  My boys.

  I shrugged off the thought as I picked up my phone and reread Bryson and Tim’s text messages from earlier in the day. They were going out again Saturday afternoon. I typed out a message and accepted.

  Because it went so well the last time you hung out with them.

  I ignored the nagging voice predicting another failure. If I was going to find normalcy, I needed to make an effort to do normal things. I had two days to prepare myself.

  A flash of lightning outside lit up the room, and I jumped. Maybe we’d be rained out on Saturday. Not likely. Real men aren’t afraid of the rain.

  Jimmy Fallon told a joke on the old box television and canned laughter filled the room. The joke, the punch line—it was all just background noise; static that would eventually make me sleepy if I was lucky. I wasn’t really paying attention anyway. I had one thing on my mind. Or rather one person. My mind never seemed to venture too far from Willow. I glanced out the window at the small patch of grass separating her bedroom window from mine.

  In a perfect world, I’d be in there with her, our legs entwined with the heavy scent of sex lingering around us, and we’d fall asleep to the sound of the rain beating down on her metal gutters. I shifted on the bed, and it groaned in response. I still hadn’t made it to the mattress store. I kept telling myself maybe tomorrow.

  But sometimes there isn’t a tomorrow.

  I shook them out of my head again and crawled out of bed to replenish my now empty beer. Nothing covered the windows so I should probably worry about walking around naked, but Willow’s light had been out for more than an hour.