I laugh and put the piece of pancake in my mouth. They’re good. Light and buttery and the exact same recipe Mrs. Dawson uses. I used to think it was weird how everything she made was from scratch because what’s the point of all that pre-made stuff you can conveniently just add water to if you’re not going to use it?
“Want any?” I ask her, seeing as she’s not eating.
“No thanks. I don’t like eggs, and I already ate a ton of bacon while waiting for the pancakes to finish.”
Nodding, I pick up a piece of bacon and pop it into my mouth. Quinn stretches her arms out in front of her and lies back against the pillows.
“When do you go home?”
“Tonight,” I say, and the word is like a punch to the gut. “My flight is at five-thirty.”
“Oh.” Quinn looks down, and we’re both thinking the same thing. Our desire for each other smoldered over the years, sparking here and there but never getting hot enough to ignite.
And then it exploded into a wildfire.
The thing about wildfires is they burn bright and they burn hot, but eventually, they die out.
14
Quinn
I’ve shaved every piece of unwanted hair off my body. I’ve plucked and tweezed, applied makeup only to take it off and do it again, and re-curled my hair three times.
But I’m not trying to look good for Archer Jones.
He saw me in my natural element yesterday at work wearing office attire and my hair in a ponytail. And then he saw me in all sorts of ways last night, and it’s not like I woke up looking like an Instagram model or something.
I take my sunglasses off my head, and my hair gets stuck. Yanking it free, I put them on and pay my fare as I get out of the cab. It’s nice out today, a little breezier than yesterday, but the air is humid and the wind is welcome.
Archer texted me not long ago and said the convention was over, but the medical director from a big hospital invited him out for a drink at the hotel bar. He didn’t think it would take long and was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I encouraged him to go, because that hospital happens to be in Chicago and, for selfish reasons, I’d love Archer to get a job in the city.
I look through the crowd of people and somehow see him right away. He looks up at the same time and smiles as soon as our eyes meet.
“Hey,” I say when we meet. He stops just inches from me and takes me in his arms, dipping me back a bit for a kiss.
“Hey to you too.” He runs his hands over my arms. “What’s this?”
“Oh, I got you something.”
“You did?”
“I got it on a whim. I saw it at a market I walked through and thought—well, just look at it and you’ll know.”
He takes the shopping bag from me and opens it up, pulling out a wool fedora. Looking it over, I worry he won’t get it.
“Is this an Indiana Jones hat?” he asks.
“Yes!”
“I like it.” He smiles and puts it on, and even Harrison Ford would be jealous. “But, uh, why?”
I lean back, staring at Archer like he just asked what color the sky is. “You’re Dr. Jones. Please do not tell me no one has ever said ‘okey-dokey Dr. Jones’ to you.”
“It’s surprising now that you’ve pointed it out, but no, they haven’t.” He pulls me in and kisses me again. “Wait, there’s an Indiana Jones market going on?”
“No, just some weird guy at a pop-up selling hats. He told me I had nice feet.”
Archer chuckles. “I guess you do, though, in that dress, it’s hard to look past your tits.”
I shimmy and wiggle my eyebrows. “That’s the point of a pushup bra.” We break apart and Archer takes my hand, moving down the sidewalk. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I assumed so. We can get the famous Chicago pizza you like. Oh! Or try fried rice with cheese. What are you in the mood for?”
“Other than you? Pizza.”
“I knew it. And good, because I made us a reservation.”
I grab my lemonade, sliding it in front of me, and take a drink. Even with the wind, the walk from the hotel to the restaurant was a warm one. I’m sitting across from Archer, and we’re waiting on our pizza to come. Neither of us has said much, and the conversation ceased halfway here.
I don’t get it.
We were so great before. Even better after. And now…it’s weird again, like neither of us knows what to say. Probably because we don’t, and trying to talk about it is going to be really freaking awkward. He lives in Indy. I live here. Eastwood is in the middle, and while I have a good reason for making the trip as often as I’d like, he doesn’t.
He and Dean keep in touch, but they don’t hang out like they used to. And Archer works so much.
“Have you and Dean started planning the bachelor party yet?” I ask, needing to say something before things go from bad to worse.
“We’ve thrown some ideas around. Vegas was one of them.”
“That sounds fun.”
“What about the bachelorette party?”
“I’m not sure I’m invited. I like Kara, and I think it’s mutual. What’s not to like, right?” I joke and Archer laughs. “But she’s down there and I’m up here. Plus I don’t know her friends.”
“I thought people in small towns knew everyone.”
“Oh, I know who they are. They’re older than me so we never talked in high school or anything. And then I left and never went back.”
“You said you like it here, didn’t you?”
I nod. “I do. Despite the high crime rate, it’s progressive and fun and I’ve made some really good friends here.”
“That’s good.”
I sip my lemonade again, wondering how long it’s been since we ordered that pizza. Archer leans back in the booth, looking out the window.
“If you make the drive to Eastwood, you’ll have to, uh, let me know.”
“Yeah. I will.” He puts one hand on the table, drumming his fingers. He wants to say something but is nervous. It’s kinda cute. “I’m not sure when it’ll be though.”
“I figured as much. I know you’re super busy with work and you haven’t come up in, what, years?”
“It’s been a while.”
“It’s nice you guys are still friends. Not a lot of people stay friends that long.”
Archer’s brow furrows. “Yeah. He’s been a good friend.” He looks at me, inhales, and opens his mouth to speak. I know the words about to come out will hurt. I brace myself, expecting him to remind me how I’m Dean’s little sister and how he regrets everything that happened last night and how we can never speak of this again.
That sleeping with me was a mistake.
“Quinn!” a familiar voice calls before Archer can get a word out. I turn toward the sour
ce and have never been so grateful to see an ex-boyfriend before in my life.
“Jacob, hi,” I say as he starts to make his way over. Okay, maybe I’m not so grateful to see him. The server at the table next to us moves, and Archer comes into Jacob’s line of sight. He almost comes to a halt when he sees him.
Geez. It’s been over a year since we broke up. Poor guy needs to move on already. It’s not like we had a great relationship anyway. It wasn’t bad, not at all. He treated me well and was respectful, but there was no passion. No fire. No drive.
We got along. Have similar interests. The sex was okay. I only faked it a few times.
But it was nothing like last night. Jacob doesn’t get under my skin and annoy me so much I want to slap him across the face one minute, and the next have me cooking him breakfast so he can get a few extra minutes of sleep.
“Quinn.” He settles his gaze on me for a few seconds too long before turning to Archer. “Dean’s friend, Archer, right?” He holds out his hand for a handshake.
“Right.”
“I have to ask” —Jacob starts— “is that an Indiana Jones replica hat?”
Archer gives me a half smile. “I think it’s supposed to be. Quinn got it for me.”
“His last name is Jones,” I explain. “And he’s a doctor. Get it?”
Jacob let out a forced chuckle. “I do. Dr. Indiana Jones. You were always clever, Quinn. It’s one of the many things I like about you.”
And now things just got awkward again.
“I’ll let you two enjoy your meal. See you Monday morning, Quinn.” He goes back to his table.
“Did you date him?” Archer asks.
“Yeah, for a few months.”
“And he works with you?”
I shake my head. “Not at the same company. I design software and he builds robotics. Our companies work together a lot, which is how we met and why we’re doing a project together now. So fun to work with an ex.”
“He’s still hung up on you.”
“I know. I feel bad.”
Archer looks puzzled. “Why do you feel bad about that?”
“I don’t really know…I feel bad he’s not happy, I guess?”