Radclyffe - Crossroads

“I was, but I missed you.” Quinn kissed Honor’s neck. “Jack’s dump truck is in the basket with all our other supplies. Are we moving in with Robin and Linda?”

Laughing, Honor tilted her head and kissed Quinn on the side of the mouth. “If we want to have a drama-free afternoon, we have to think ahead.”

“Every possible contingency is covered.” Quinn tugged on the cling wrap and uncovered part of the salad bowl. Honor slapped her hand when she tried to snag a few macaronis. “Just a little.”

“You have to wait.”

Quinn nuzzled Honor’s neck. “Story of my life.”

“Poor you.” Honor nipped at the edge of Quinn’s jaw. “Tell me it wasn’t worth waiting for.”

“Oh, more than worth it.” Quinn chuckled and ran her hands up and down Honor’s sides, slowly turning her until they were face-to-face. “Hi, remember me?”

“You look familiar.” Honor’s breath hitched and the buzz of anticipation grew heavy in her loins.

“Let’s see if I can jog your memory.” Quinn pressed forward, capturing Honor between her body and the counter. She kissed Honor’s throat and down to the hollow between her collarbones. Honor tasted as pure as sunshine and elusive as moonlight. “I’d wait forever for a moment with you.”

Honor spread her fingers through Quinn’s hair, holding her to her skin, cleaving to her body. “All the days of my life and beyond. All yours.”

“Can we skip the barbecue?”

“I’m afraid not. My salad, remember?”

Quinn opened the buttons on Honor’s polo shirt and kissed the soft pale skin between her breasts. “How long do you think we’d have before they came looking for us?”

“An hour?”

“More than enough time.” Quinn tugged Honor’s shirt from the waistband of her shorts and slipped one hand underneath. She stroked lightly, her thighs tightening when Honor shivered.

“Stop.” Laughing, Honor grabbed Quinn’s wrist and tugged her hand away. “Not when we have two hungry kids who’ve been waiting all morning to go to the barbecue.”

“Oh, them.” Quinn rubbed her cheek over Honor’s shirt above her breast and grinned up at her. “Whose idea was that again?”

“You’re as responsible as I am.”

“Mom?” Arly raced into the kitchen and skidded to a halt. “Geez, you guys. It’s not even noon.”

“It’s one,” Quinn said, straightening and surreptitiously lowering Honor’s shirt, shielding Honor so she could get herself back together. “Besides, is there some rule about that?”

Arly shoved both hands on her hips and frowned. “I don’t know, but there probably ought to be.”

Quinn studied her twelve-year-old daughter, trying to decide if she was really upset. Arly was at the age where sex was alternately intriguing and repelling. She and Honor had never made any secret about the nature of their relationship. Still, they tried to be affectionate without exposing the kids to more than they wanted to see.

Arly grinned. “Of course, it probably wouldn’t work with you two.”

“Enough.” Honor lifted the salad bowl and held it out to Arly. “Take this while we collect Jack. Do you have everything you need for this afternoon?”

“I’ve got my bathing suit, and my iPad, and my phone, and—oh, Quinn, Robin called. You’re supposed to bring the volleyball.”

“Got it.” Quinn kissed Honor quickly. “See you at the car.”

Honor watched Quinn leave, still captivated by the tight, powerful lines of her body and the fierce focus in her deep blue eyes. She caught Arly watching her contemplatively. “Does it bother you? When we’re affectionate?”

“Mom. Geez.”

“Serious question, Arl.”

Arly shook her head. “No, why should it? Quinn is cool, and she loves you.”

“She loves all of us.”

“I know. That’s good. I love her too.”

The tightness around Honor’s heart relaxed. “I know.”

“Nick Raymond told me about this party Friday night at Allison Knickerbocker’s,” Arly said in a rush. “He sort of asked me if I wanted to go.”

Honor took the salad from Arly and set it on the kitchen table. She pointed to a chair. “Sit.” She pulled out a chair and sat facing her daughter. “What did you tell him?”

“That I’d think about it.”

“How old is he?”

Arly fidgeted. “Sixteen.”

Honor had an image of Quinn throttling the boy. “So what did you think about it?”

“I thought I better tell you, and if I did you’d say no.”

“Chances are the crowd is going to be Nick’s age or even older, and that’s too old for you. I know you want to have private time with your friends, and getting together with them is fine. But the rules are still the same. I need to know where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing, each and every time.”

“I know.”

“And parties at people’s houses with kids who are three or four years older than you are not okay. I’m sorry.”

Arly studied her red Converse sneakers. “That’s okay. I didn’t really want to go anyways. I don’t really like him all that much.”

“I’m glad you told me, and you’ll tell me every time something like this comes up, right?”

Arly nodded, still studying her sneakers. “I’m not sure I like boys.”

“Okay.”

“What if I like girls?” Arly raised her eyes and met Honor’s with a hint of belligerence in the set of her jaw.

Everyone said Arly looked like her, with her blond hair and brown eyes, but there were times when she reminded her so much of Quinn. Her intensity, her strength, her determination. “Is that a problem, honey?”

“Not for me,” Arly said.

Honor laughed. “Why would you think it would be a problem for me?”

“Sometimes parents don’t want their kids to be like them.”

Honor threaded her fingers through Arly’s. “What I want is for you to do what makes you happy. What feels right for you. Boys, girls, it doesn’t matter to me as long as they treat you right and make you happy.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not all that interested in anybody right now.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m just as glad.”

Arly jumped up, her worried expression fading. “So can we go to the barbecue now?”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

*

“Hey, Hollis. Glad you could make it,” Robin said. She wore cut-offs and a white apron adorned with a soccer ball on a skewer above the words Serve It Up .

“Thanks. Quite the crowd.” Hollis handed Robin the wine she’d snagged from her kitchen on the way out the door. She hadn’t thought about bringing anything until then—her social skills were pretty rusty. The backyard of Robin and Linda’s attached twin was crowded with men, women, kids, and dogs. And at least one ferret.

“Help yourself to anything you want. If you need anything, holler.”

“Will do.” Hollis wandered a few minutes and finally settled on an unoccupied garden bench underneath one of the large maple trees that dotted the yard. Three picnic tables were arranged in a horseshoe and covered with food, buckets of ice, and paper plates and cups. She scanned the gathering and picked out quite a few people she recognized from the hospital, although she didn’t know most of their names. She looked again, more carefully, disappointment burning through her. She didn’t see Annie. She checked her watch. If she stayed fifteen or twenty minutes, she could sneak out without seeming rude. No one would notice if she left.

“Hey, Hollis,” Linda said, pausing with an armload of plastic ware. “Get something to drink—food will be up in a minute. There’s alcoholic and non- in the coolers by the tables. Anything you see is fair game.”