Beautifully Hurt (Beautifully Broken)

The way she looks at me, as if I’m everything her heart desires, makes a possessiveness overwhelm me.

And jealousy.

She better never look at another man that way.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asks.

“Just kicking myself for never seeing how you felt about me.” I shake my head. “I’ll make up for the lost time.”

Quinn gives me a tender smile. “It’s not lost time. Not to me.”

“Why?”

Her cheeks growing pink tells me she feels vulnerable, as she admits, “Because how I felt about you… developing my first crush… falling in love… it matters to me. How I feel about you is a big part of my life.”

Christ, my heart.

I pull her into a hug and take a deep breath of her soft floral scent. “You matter to me. More than you seem to know.”

I’m going to make all her dreams come true if it’s the last thing I do.

Pulling back, I clear my throat. “Seat belt.”

Quinn lets out a chuckle. “I’m getting the hang of this.”

“Just want my girl to be safe.”

The smile on her face grows, and I watch as my words sink in, making happiness sparkle in her eyes.

God help me, this girl’s going to be the death of me.

I drive us home, and after we’ve unloaded everything, I ask, “Would you mind putting everything…” I gesture around the living room, “wherever you want it? I’ll get started with dinner.”

“Okay.” Quinn glances around the room, and then she grabs the rug.

With a grin stuck to my face, I head to the kitchen. I wash my hands before grabbing all the ingredients I’ll need while silently thanking my dad for teaching me how to cook.

My mom’s not good in the kitchen, but give her a garden, and she’ll turn it into nothing short of paradise.

I take out a large pot and start to make jambalaya, combining all the ingredients. I bring it to a boil, then let it simmer. Soon the aroma fills the kitchen, and feeling today needs to be celebrated, I open a bottle of wine so it can breathe.

I set the table and even add one of the scented candles mom gave me, hoping it will lend a romantic mood to the atmosphere.

When the food’s almost ready, I walk to the living room and peek inside. Quinn’s staring at the shelf lamp before moving it a couple of inches. Taking a step back, she stares at it again, then whispers, “Perfect.”

I glance over the area and have to admit, the new additions make the living room look a hell of a lot better.

“See, I was right to trust you.”

Quinn’s eyes snap to me, then she looks at everything again. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Come, dinner’s almost ready.” Walking back into the kitchen, I pull out a chair, saying, “Take a seat.”

“Wow,” Quinn exclaims. “This looks amazing.”

I plate our food then set it down on the table before lighting the candle and switching off the lights. Taking a seat, I reach for the wine and pour some into the glasses I set out earlier. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will.” Quinn’s eyes rest on me. “After all, you made it.”

She picks up a fork, and scooping some up, she takes a bite. I watch her the same way she watched me when I was tasting her cupcakes.

A mischievous expression lights up her eyes as she takes another bite, paying me back for making her wait earlier.

“I deserve that,” I chuckle.

She covers her mouth as she laughs and then swallows. “It’s perfect, Eli. I love it.”

Taking hold of my wine glass, I lift it. Quinn does the same, and then I say, “Here’s to the most beautiful woman in Southport having dinner with me.”

Her smile widens. “To dreams coming true.”

After taking a sip of the wine, I tease her, “You have to tell me about these dreams.”

Letting out a burst of awkward laughter, Quinn shakes her head. “I’ve already told you a lot today.”

“Seven years?” I ask. “You were…” I frown, then widen my eyes, “fourteen?”

Quinn nervously tucks some hair behind her ear. “You were a senior.”

“First crush?” I ask, and for some reason, her answer is important to me.

Quinn nods, and my chest fills with satisfaction. I have to stop myself from asking about her other firsts, not sure how I’ll feel if she’s shared them with someone else. Not that I’ve been a saint, so I’d rather avoid the topic.

I shake my head as I let out a chuckle. “I never caught on.” Giving her a pointed look, I say, “You’re good at hiding things.”

We continue to eat, stealing glances at each other. The atmosphere is intimate, anticipation tiptoeing around us.

When we’re done eating, I pour some more wine, making sure to stay under the limit so I can drive Quinn home.

Relaxing back against the chair, I take a sip, and then my eyes lock with Quinn’s. “What are you thinking?”