by Laura Moore
The rest of her was just as useless. She stood with her platter of ruined brownies—a minor tragedy right there—feeling like a complete dolt for not having a single witty or breezy or even cutting remark to offer in order to demonstrate how totally unfazed she was by this situation. Could she be any more lame?
The sound of Josh clearing his throat interrupted her thoughts. “Quinn, I know you must be feelin’ a little weird at seeing me and Maebeth together.”
Understatement of the century. “No, I’m happy for you.” And a part of her was, truly. “It’s kind of quick, you know?” As in lightning fast.
“I guess it would seem so to others. But the crazy thing about Mae and me is, well, we just clicked. She’s so terrific.”
“She’s great.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Plus, we really get each other.” He looked at her, and his expression sobered somewhat. “You and me, well, something was missing, right?”
She gave a tight nod.
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re really sweet, Quinn, ’cause I do. It’s just I knew we really didn’t feel the same way about things—important stuff. And, well…”
At his hesitation her nerves went on high alert. “And what?” she prompted even as she dreaded his answer.
“I could tell that something was off when we kissed, like you were holding back or that maybe you weren’t into it…”
A whirring began in her head, a defensive mechanism to block out the hurt of his words. She’d heard a variation of them too many times before. They all boiled down to the same message: something was wrong with her. Luckily she and Josh hadn’t gotten naked together, or his choice of words might have been crueler. Holding back would have turned into cold, not into it transformed to cock tease.
The trees bordering her parents’ grounds became a fluid blur of brown and blackish green. She was grateful for the failing light, though she doubted Josh would bother to note her expression. “I hope things work out for you and Maebeth, Josh. Really I do. I, um, need to go inside and see whether Mom needs help with the feast.”
—
Sometimes having a reputation as a brownie junkie came in handy. Her mother took her terse explanation of tripping over a stone and dropping the platter without a lengthy cross-examination. It helped, too, that the house was full and that her mom, Tess, and Mia were rushing about the kitchen, putting the final touches on the dishes. Every burner on the stove was occupied. Bowls upon bowls of food crowded the marble countertops. In the center of it all were the two turkeys, roasted to a golden brown and resting on matching platters.
Quinn averted her gaze.
“Don’t worry about the brownies, Quinn. We’ll make do with the pies and Roo’s hazelnut cake. One can’t eat brownies every day,” her mother said, transferring bright green string beans from a pan into a serving dish and then sprinkling chopped parsley over them.
“Mom, brownies are the staple of champions.”
Her mother replied with a skeptical “Hmm” before adding, “I heard Ethan did a superb job on Kane.”
“Harsh, Mom. Really harsh,” she muttered.
She heard Tess choke back a laugh. Mia became suddenly absorbed in the challenge of arranging steaming rolls just so in the breadbasket.
Her mother merely smiled. “Darling, can you tell everyone it’s time to come to the table? And then if you can give us a hand with the dishes? And do cheer up, darling. I’ve got you seated next to Josh.”
Oh, no. No way in hell…
—
She had just switched her name card with Maebeth’s and, with grim determination, was circling the glass- and china-laden dining table to put her folded cream-colored card next to that of Francesco, Lorelei’s boyfriend, when Ethan’s voice had her jumping the proverbial mile.
“Care to explain why you’re messing with the name cards?”
She glanced over to where he stood with his good shoulder propped against the doorjamb. He’d dressed up, too, in a crisp white shirt and dark brown jeans. He looked ridiculously good, and that only depressed her more.
As if he intended to wait there until he got an answer, he crossed his arms and cocked his head. His gray eyes were unwavering.
Imagining what words he would choose to describe her deficiencies and instinctively knowing that they would cut even more deeply than Josh’s, she scowled. “I haven’t seen my friend Lorelei in days and she and Francesco don’t know as many people here as Maebeth does, so I switched places with her. No biggie.”
If possible, his gaze became even more intent. “You were next to Josh. Won’t he be disappointed?” he drawled.
It came as no surprise that he knew where she’d been seated. If he’d been at the house for any length of time, her mom would have put him to work carrying stuff like the warming trays that were ready and waiting on the sideboard. Ethan was the sort who noticed and paid attention to the tiniest of details. It’s what made his photographs so good, so striking and memorable. Right now she’d have preferred if he had the acuity of a brick.
“Believe me, Josh won’t miss me. I’m eminently replaceable. And since you’ve memorized the seating plan, you’ll realize that my switching places puts me farther away from you. I’m all about spreading happiness today.” Aware that her voice was woefully short on humor, she brushed past him to summon the others to the table.
—
The meal was delicious. That was the near-unanimous and very vocal assessment. But Quinn honestly could have been sharing a flake of hay with Tucker for all she’d been able to taste. For the most part she simply stared at her plate, willing the pile of food to evaporate, since there was no way she could swallow it down. Even though she didn’t particularly enjoy looking at mounds of butternut squash, farro pilaf, and green beans—she’d passed on the poblano-spiked mac and cheese, shock of all shocks—it was better than letting her glance drift down the table to where Josh and Maebeth were rubbing elbows…and likely other body parts beneath the cloth-covered table.
It shouldn’t hurt. The rational part of her understood that. But somehow the fact that she’d been the one to break off her and Josh’s nascent relationship no longer carried weight. What mattered was that five chairs down and across from her were Josh and Maebeth, already happily hot and heavy, and here she was, unable to exchange the most basic of kisses without alerting Josh to the fact that sex freaked the bejesus out of her.
Comparisons were odious. Generally she tried to resist them, but right now she couldn’t shake the compulsion to ask why she couldn’t manage to enjoy an act that everyone else seemed to have no problem with.
So while she might not be eating her farro, she was gorging on self-pity with a side of disgust.
The conversation around the table was as abundant as the food and flowed as easily as the wine Mia and Reid had selected. With sixteen people it was easy to zero in on snippets. Tess was telling Ethan about some of the more colorful characters in her old neighborhood in Queens, New York. Frank and Mel were talking to Jim and Mia and Reid about the best fertilizers for Mia’s grapes. And on her right were Lorelei and Francesco, who worked as a general contractor; they were discussing the local economy with her dad and Ward and Marsha.
“I took Ethan to look at a property that’s for sale next to ours. Joe Trullo’s place. With the ongoing drought, I’m still of two minds as to whether it’s a sound investment.”
“Has he lowered his asking price?” Ward asked.
“Nope, which means it’s unlikely it’ll sell anytime soon. But I’ve told Joe I’d like the chance to match any offer he receives. We’ve been friends and neighbors long enough that he’s agreed—though he’s not particularly happy I haven’t snatched the parcel up.”
“Hard to believe anyone is going to want farmland when water’s as scarce as hen’s teeth,” Ward said.
“The drought’s making it hard for the entire county,” Francesco observed. “I’m lucky to be getting steady work. I have a number of jobs—but
they’re in Sonoma and Napa. Second homes for San Fran folks. Money’s still flowing there, even if the water’s down to a trickle.”
“Good for you, Francesco,” Ward said.
Her dad nodded in agreement. “Shows word is getting around about the quality of your work. That’s how Adele and I built up our business in the beginning. Here’s to another successful year for you.” He raised his wineglass.
“I’ll second that!” Lorelei said with a smile, and leaned in so her shoulder bumped Francesco’s lightly.
“How are things on your end, Marsha? Are you getting as many animals as before?” her dad asked. “I know it was real bad a few years back.”
“No, the numbers aren’t quite as high—thank goodness. Of course any homeless or abused creature is heartbreaking and we still have far too many come through our shelter’s doors. I only wish that the work Lorelei and I do in finding forever homes for them could impress the bureaucrats wielding their budget axes. I’ve been told we may have to close.” As if to wash away the bitter taste left by her announcement, she took a long sip from her wineglass.
Quinn couldn’t even manage that. She was numb with shock. What would happen to all the lost and abandoned animals in the area?
Mia was seated a few seats away but must have overheard Marsha’s comment. “My God, Marsha, that’s terrible news. There’s got to be some way to save the shelter.”
Dredging up a smile, Marsha made a noncommittal noise. Quinn figured her friend was doing her best not to spoil the holiday mood.
“What will you and Lorelei do if the shelter closes?” her dad asked.
Marsha shrugged. “We’ll be all right. I’m single, I can relocate if necessary. And I know Cat Lundquist over at the animal emergency hospital would love to have Lorelei back on staff.” Before taking the job as Marsha’s second in command, Lorelei had worked as a vet tech for Dr. Lundquist.
“Cat’s great, but it wouldn’t be the same as what we do at the shelter,” Lorelei said. “Those animals really need us.”
“Yeah, they do. Ours is a no-kill shelter. It’s fairly obvious that if the remaining shelters start to become overcrowded, more animals will be euthanized.”
“We’ll just have to bust our butts even more for the animals who come to us,” Lorelei said. “And figure out a way to appease those numbers-obsessed bureaucrats.”
Damn it, Quinn thought. Here she was feeling sorry for herself when her friends might end up losing their jobs. And how many animals would be left to die in the woods or dumped by the side of the highway if there was no local shelter?
“What about private donations? Would they be enough to prevent your closing?” she asked.
“That would depend on the amount we received. At the very least it might buy us time to figure out a way to convince the agency to let us continue our work.”
She did some quick math, calculating Tucker’s vet bills and making sure she left herself a cushion to absorb any future costs for her animals. “I’ve been saving up some money. I have around forty thousand I can donate to the shelter. Consider it yours. Happy Thanksgiving.”
She must have spoken at one of those odd moments when there was a sudden lull in the conversation, people chewing a last bite of turkey and cranberry sauce or buttering a cheddar and chive biscuit, for her offer sounded amplified, though she hadn’t raised her voice.
Then everyone seemed to speak at once, lauding her generosity but also showing theirs by adding to her contribution.
Okay, she thought. While she might be a muddleheaded screw-up when it came to men, at least she knew how to open her heart and soul to animals. This was what she was good at. The rest—the guys, the sex…well, she needed to shut the door on all of that again. It was that simple.
THE THANKSGIVING MEAL had gone well into early evening, with Nancy arriving with her two young kids in time to sample Roo Rodgers’s desserts and weave new stories into the conversation. The chatter and laughter flowed for more than an hour after the last piece of apple pie and hazelnut cake had been consumed and every cup of coffee and mint tea drained.
Through it all, Ethan had watched Quinn. Watched and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with her.
He waited some more, until he knew Alfie’s special time to spread his wings and squawk like a banshee would be over. Bowie was growing used to the bird, but Ethan wanted to ask his questions without the parrot’s unique brand of racket filling every corner of the house. It would be too easy for Quinn to ignore him then.
Bowie knew the way to Quinn’s. He was panting eagerly by the time they reached her door. Ethan had him sit while he knocked. He took her shout of “What?” as invitation.
She was still in her skirt and top, sitting on the sofa with her legs curled under her. Sooner and Pirate were in their habitual spots, flanking her. From the extended roar he heard when he entered the house, he didn’t have to glance at the TV to know that tonight’s viewing was dedicated to the big cats. She’d probably chosen it to make Pirate happy.
Because that’s what she did. She made others happy.
It was why he’d known something was off, really off, when she’d spouted those lines about being replaceable and spreading happiness by moving farther away from him. There’d been a brittle self-mockery to them that had taken him aback. He was the one who had the market cornered on negativity. Yet as the meal progressed and he continued his scrutiny, he realized something more disturbing. She was hiding a deep sadness.
Even when she made that magnificent, outsized, impulsive, and beautiful gesture to Marsha and Lorelei, offering them a generous donation to help keep the animal shelter open, a shadow had still obscured the radiance that was Quinn Knowles.
He found he seriously disliked the idea of her being sad.
A quick folding of his arm had Bowie dropping onto his haunches. The dog was whip smart when it came to hand signals. Ethan couldn’t wait to see whether he was as fast a learner and as obedient when it came to sheep work.
Unsnapping the leash, he released Bowie from his sit and the dog trotted to the sofa, collapsing beneath Quinn’s folded legs.
He studied her for a second. Yeah, whatever had been bothering her was still there. She was staring just a shade too fixedly at the cheetahs chasing down an antelope. Not quite believable when she averted her gaze from a roast turkey.
“You going to tell me what the hell’s wrong with you?”
She flicked him a disdainful look. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the money I gave to the shelter? FYI, I can do whatever I want with my earnings. And don’t feel you need to stay.”
He dropped down into the big overstuffed chair. “Bowie likes the evening visit.”
“I wasn’t talking about Bowie. He’s welcome.” She returned her attention to the screen.
He sank deeper in the chair and propped his booted feet on the coffee table. “Of course you can do what you want with your money. I wasn’t talking about that.” He paused, momentarily distracted when the cameraman zoomed in on the distinctive markings in a litter of black leopard cubs. “But what were you saving the money for, anyway?”
“Excuse me?”
“When you offered Marsha the money, you said you’d been saving it. What for?”
She gave him a sideways glance before making a study of her lap. Apparently spotting a piece of lint, she picked at the burgundy fabric with her slim fingers. “Someday I want to open an animal sanctuary. Not just for dogs and cats, but for larger animals. There’s nothing like that in this area for animals that, for whatever reason—age, infirmity, trauma from severe abuse—aren’t being adopted. I was saving to buy some land. But Marsha and Lorelei are doing important work and their efforts need to be supported.”
“You’re pretty remarkable, you know.”
“Of course I am.”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you have any idea how few people in this messed-up, self-absorbed, and self-important world s
helve their own desires in order to help others?”
“Stop right there,” she said sharply. “There are plenty of good people doing great things for others. I’m fortunate that I have the means to be generous, but it doesn’t make me better or in any way remarkable. For all you know I’m overcompensating.”
“There you go again, spouting BS. What’s with this ‘overcompensating’ and ‘I’m replaceable’ crap? Did Josh say something to you? Did the idiot spout off about Tucker?”
“What?” She frowned. “No, he’s never mentioned anything about Tucker.” She paused as if struck by that, then returned to her brooding fixation with the animal program.
“So what did he do?” he persisted. For some reason he really wanted to make Josh’s face a little less pretty.
“He didn’t do anything. We just ended things.”
He sat up. “Wait. You’re not telling me he broke up with you.”
She gave him a look, which he was damned if he could decipher. “No. I’m the one who called it quits. It’s old news, anyway. I told him days ago, the morning after I brought Bowie home,” she added. “But Josh was all for it. If I broke his heart even the teensiest bit, believe me, he’s over it.”
She’d been breaking up with Josh on the porch that morning? Friendliest breakup he’d ever seen, but then Quinn didn’t exactly follow convention. He chose not to dwell on the surge of satisfaction that rose inside him at knowing Josh wouldn’t be putting his hands on her again. “Well, that explains why he was all cozy with the bleached blonde today.”
“The bleached blonde has a name. It’s Maebeth. And she’s nice. And she’s really, really into him.”
“So why are you down in the dumps? Are you annoyed that he’s not heartbroken?”
“What is it with you? First you don’t talk to me for days, now you want to cross-examine me?”
“I was preoccupied.” With you, he added silently. A persistent condition. “Sue me.”
“I would, but I don’t have money for a lawyer,” she replied with mordant humor. “Here’s an idea. You could leave. That would be an excellent solution.”
