Isabel Sharpe - Long Slow Burn

“Uh-oh.”

“A rela-a—” He clutched at his throat, made a horrible choking noise. “Rela-a-a—”

“—tionship?”

“Thank you.” He mopped at his brow. “One of those.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed at his act, feeling sick underneath. She shouldn’t be making this about her, but if Quinn got a girlfriend, she could lose him, would probably lose him. She’d have to face how much he’d come to mean to her. And why she was no longer putting any serious thought or effort into matching him up with Darcy. “Congratulations, Quinn. This is a great step forward.”

“Thanks.” He moved restlessly in the chair. “So when do you take your great step forward?”

“Me?” His question startled her; she laughed shortly. “I’m not interested in getting married again.”

“Did I say married?”

“No, I know, I know.” She waved his comment away, wishing he’d change the subject. “Right now I’m not interested in any of it.”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head, eyebrow quirked suggestively. “Not in any of it?”

Marie’s face caught fire again. What would he do if she said she was dying for sex? Probably recommend a friend. Some dumpling-shaped guy more appropriate for her. “I’m happy alone. It’s going to stay that way for a good while longer.”

“Okay, then.” He emptied his martini, put the glass down, signaled to Joe. “I’m having another drink. You want one, too?”

She felt rebuked and wasn’t sure why. “Not yet. Maybe food?”

“Sure. Menu, too, Joe? Thanks.”

The couple beside Quinn got up and left. A new couple sat down, arms around each other, heads together, giggling. They were probably in their late twenties, a dozen years younger than Marie, more than fifteen younger than Quinn. Marie wanted them to be exactly that carefree and happy together for the rest of their lives, and it saddened her that the odds weren’t great.

“Hey.” She punched Quinn playfully. “You want to tell me why you shut down all of a sudden?”

“Sorry.” He turned in the chair so he was facing her. “I’m on edge tonight.”

“I ‘fessed up earlier. Your turn now.”

“Nothing really.” He shrugged. “Probably just that I’m ready for spring and spring isn’t ready for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honey, it’s March. This isn’t Florida. You’ve got months yet.”

“That I knew.”

“What else, Quinn? There’s something.”

“I was just thinking.” He twisted his mouth. “That maybe we could have done some relationship-type things together.”

Joe put down the second martini and menus—perfect timing, because Marie’s heart stopped until she realized what Quinn must have meant. “You wanted to compare notes on dating?”

Quinn thanked Joe and handed her a menu. “Yes. Compare notes on dating. Misery loves company, right?”

His facial muscles had loosened, but his voice still held an edge. She wished he would confide in her. Maybe a conquest had gone wrong? A woman had turned him down? Maybe two? Enough to make him lose confidence?

She couldn’t imagine Quinn anything but confident. Especially with women.

“I can’t go down that road, Quinn.” In any other difficulty she’d be first in line offering him support and a figurative shoulder, but she wouldn’t be able to stand hearing anything about him trying to date seriously.

“It’s fine.” He buried himself in his menu. “So how’s the matchmaking business going with Kim?”

Marie slumped in defeat. When all else failed, bring out the change of subject. Okay. She’d go with that. She shouldn’t be wasting energy wishing he felt comfortable enough with her to share whatever it was. That was for another woman someday, apparently sooner rather than later.

“Kim is terrific.” Marie glanced at her watch. “As a matter of fact, she’s out with Troy right now.”

“Troy …”

“Cahill. Friend of Justin.”

“Justin …”

“Candy’s fiancé.”

“Got it.” His face cleared. “Candy and Justin, last month’s meddling.”

“ Matching , not meddling.” Marie rolled her eyes. “They’re deliriously happy.”

“Weren’t we all.”

“Oh, you cynic.” She smacked him with her menu, surprised by this dark side of him tonight, and wishing she could help with whatever had caused it—short of going back in time and preventing him from marrying The CheaterBeast. “We had to go through what we went through for some reason. The trick is to figure it out and then work up the courage to move on.”

“Here’s to getting there.” He lifted his glass.

“However long it takes.” She hoisted hers; they both drank.

“You think Kim and Troy are a good match?”

Marie frowned. “I’m not sure. Kim is beautiful and very talented, but shy and a little down on herself. Troy is a very good-looking, well-put-together, wealthy man, and I think she’s a little intimidated. I’m hoping she gives herself a chance to shine. She has no idea how sexy she is.”

“Hmm.” Quinn smirked at his drink. “That reminds me of someone.”

“Yeah? Who?”

He twisted to look at her, then for some reason started laughing.

“ What is so funny?”

“Never mind, you wouldn’t get it. Just tell me, Marie. What advice would you give Kim about this problem?”

“Why?”

“I want to pass on your wisdom.” He dug out his BlackBerry and pulled up a blank email. “I’ll write it down and send it to her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” Marie looked up into the decorative hanging of tangled metal roots over the bar, trying to clear her head, muddled by bourbon and by Quinn’s mood tonight. “Let’s see. I’d tell her to go back though her life looking for messages she received about her sexuality and her self-esteem, and see if there’s a pattern she can identify that could be informing how she feels about herself now.”

“… feels … about herself … now.” He put in the period with a flourish. “And?”

“Undoubtedly the message that she isn’t worthy is coming from some judge figure in her life, probably a parent. She needs to tell that judge that she’ll be deciding her own feelings from now on.”

“… from now … on.”

“And then she should dress to kill, look in a mirror and promise to give herself positive feedback every day on how she looks and who she is and what she deserves.”

“… what … she deserves. That it?”

“She should probably go to therapy and talk the whole thing out, but this will help if she’s honest with herself, yes.”

“Excellent.” He selected a recipient and punched the send button. “She’ll be very surprised to hear from me.”

“And pleased, I hope?”

“Me, too.” He shrugged, putting the BlackBerry back in his pocket. “Want to order dinner?”

“I do.” She tossed back the rest of her drink and picked up a menu, hunger signals finally able to be heard through the decreasing clamor of her emotions. Helping people feel better about themselves always made her feel better about herself, too.

She and Quinn chatted easily for the rest of the evening, all the bizarre tension completely dissipated. As usual after their Friday night meeting, she felt refreshed and revitalized on her walk home to her beloved Victorian in the same quirky Brewer’s Hill neighborhood as the restaurant.

Inside her front door, she flicked on the light and said hello to her gray tabby, Jezebel, who’d come to greet her by weaving around her legs, making walking as difficult as possible. On the way up to her bedroom on the second floor, Marie sorted through the day’s mail, ditched most in the recycling box near her desk, and powered up her laptop. After changing into her beloved sloppy, nonbinding and infinitely comfortable sweats, she sat at her desk and waited for Jezebel’s predictable jump into her lap for the evening’s kitty-worship.