Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
AUGUST
It’s four a.m., and I’m miserable.
Not because of the time. Well, not only because of the time.
Five days without Quinn, and I’m officially pining.
Also, I’m starting to feel cold. I’ve never felt cold. At least, I’ve never felt uncomfortable with the cold. But now the constant chill makes my joints ache and my muscles harden.
And it’s still summer.
I can’t imagine surviving an Alaskan winter with my immunity suddenly fading. It’s as if finally experiencing heat has revealed the extent of my frigid existence up until this point.
As I slide another loaf of bread into the oven, a memory hits me. That day all those years ago, when I stuck my head in an oven similar to the one in front of me, desperately trying to experience the mysterious sensation.
Is that why I’m so hung up on Quinn? Is she just the final fulfillment of that tactile longing?
The idea has me pausing in the act of stacking dirty dishes. I examine the notion from all angles, poking and prodding at my motives.
But then I imagine finding out that Quinn had somehow lost her powers. If that were to happen, my main worry would be if her non-toasty skin would still find my touch appealing. All I would care about was if she would still want me.
Because I would most definitely still want her.
I crave every bit of her. Her disinterest in placating someone when they’re clearly wrong. Her innocently joyful way of approaching new experiences. Her hidden need to protect those around her, even if it’s from herself.
I want to watch her solve accounting problems, and I want to listen to her bicker with her sisters. I love how she takes no shit from my family and her willingness to burn off a gorgeous dress to get my attention.
I love her humor.
I love her fierceness.
I love her reluctant trust.
I love her.
And she’s hundreds of miles away.
“Damn all the gods,” I curse to myself.
Why didn’t I tell her before she left? Who cares if the words are heavy?
I should have laid myself bare before her and shown that there was something worth waiting for. Something worth fighting for.
Instead, I told her we’d set up a video-chat date.
A promise I haven’t even been able to fulfill because my parents’ Wi-Fi is as slow as a glacier moving over dry land.
We’ve talked on the phone, but our schedules don’t align well with her taking on a suddenly huge workload and me having to get up so early each morning. The exact reason I’m standing alone in the Nord bakery at four a.m.
I told my parents not to come, just like I’d told Quinn to go home to Phoenix. Seems I’m great at asking for things I don’t want.
A stab of guilt slices through me as I once again think about how much I don’t want to be here. It’s not that I’m eager to abandon my parents in their time of need. Only every good thing I was building for myself back in Phoenix seems on the verge of disappearing.
Do my parents need me so badly that it’s okay for me to give up all I’ve worked for?
Again, I feel like a shitty son for letting the thought resonate in my mind. To work out my upset, I grab a section of raw dough and knead. The movement is almost meditative and gives me the time I need to think over the future.
One thing I know for sure is, I won’t be happy here. There were parts of Anchorage and being home that I missed, but after almost two weeks, I’m ready to leave.
I miss the low buildings and palm trees of Phoenix. I want a decent street taco and to see the wavy heat lines rolling off the blacktop when I step outside. The idea of stretching out in a lounge chair next to Damien’s pool, holding a cold beer, has my mouth watering.
And, damn all the gods, I could be in his backyard oasis today if I were back home.
Home. Barely a year in the city, and it’s already claimed that title.
It’s the place. It’s the people.
It’s ice cream, and it’s Quinn.
I need to go back.
But first, I need to run a bakery for another nine hours.
When I finally lock up at closing time, I’m exhausted.
I barely remember driving to my childhood home, letting out a surprised huff as I park in my parents’ driveway.
My mind wants to shut down, but I pull in a few bracing breaths, pumping some oxygen to my brain, then jog through a dreary rain into the house and search for my mom and dad.
They’re both in the kitchen, Dad fixing a sandwich and Mama tapping the screen of her e-reader.
“Welcome home, honey! How was the business today?” My mother sits up eagerly in her seat, salivating for news.
I wonder if this is how I look whenever I’m on the phone with my part-time manager, Denise.
Her reports of Land of Ice Cream and Snow are what I expected, though not exactly heartening.
I was only able to pre-stock so much product on such short notice.
We spoke the day Quinn left, and the plan was to close the shop the next day when the ice cream would run out.
That was the last check-in because I haven’t had the heart to get back in touch and hear that the doors are locked and the lights are off and there’s not an ounce of ice cream to serve.
I’m jittery with the need to return to Phoenix and find a way to recoup my losses. Losing a week of business won’t be easy.
“Everything was fine.” I give her a rundown of the day, settling my tired bones on the chair across from her and offering my dad a thank-you smile when he sets the sandwich in front of me.
When I finish the update and my meal, I lean back in my chair, glancing between my parents and trying to figure out the best way to broach this topic.
“You know I love you both, right?”
My mother’s eyebrows rise. “Of course, honey.”
“Is something the matter?” Dad asks.
“Not exactly. It’s just … I know you need my help here. But … I think I need to go back to Phoenix. Soon.”
To my surprise, my dad whoops in joy, and my mom lets out a sigh as she smiles.
“We were wondering how long it’d take you to go,” she announces.
“What?”
“If you didn’t leave on your own, we were going to evict you,” Dad adds.
“Evict me?”
“Yes, but a loving eviction.” Mama reaches across the table to pat my hand. “With plenty of baked goods included to soften the blow.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.” The shock of their reaction has me too confused to process what this means.
“It should. You know we wanted you to stay close by. We love having you around. Seeing you every day.” Now she cups my cheek. “But what kind of parents would we be if we chose what we wanted over you following your dream? And you’re doing so well down in Phoenix. We’re proud.”
“You’re not worried about the bakery if I leave?”
“Bones heal. Also”—she glares over at my father—“I’m not an invalid.”
“You’re not going back to work,” he grumbles.
“No. Not yet. But you are. I don’t need you hovering over me every second of the day. And now is a good time to hire another set of hands, like we’ve been talking about. I can train someone fine from this chair.”
“I could help.” The words are out of my mouth before I consider them.
Mama tilts her chin to stare at me, gazing deep into my eyes.
“No. What I want is for you to help yourself. Stick to your decision. Go back to your business. Go back to Quinn. If you stay here, worrying about us, you’ll lose them both.
And I would never want you to have the heartbreak of losing what you love. ”
Lose them both.
The idea has me wanting to drive to the airport without bothering to pack my bags.
The urge to get to Phoenix as soon as possible is overwhelming.
My shop is my dream, but if worse comes to worst, I’d close the place, deal with the debt, and try again a few years down the line.
That outcome would be shitty, but manageable.
Quinn is not replaceable. She is one of a kind, and losing her would devastate me.
My Pyro is learning how to control her powers. I could see it, even if she couldn’t. A scenario rises in my mind, of her arriving back in Phoenix, only to discover how much progress she’s made and deciding my icy ass is no longer worth the bother.
I need time to show her I’m more than a cooling agent for her haywire fire.
Does she know that she’s more than her heat to me? Is she aware that I’ll bend over backward for the rest of my life just to see that snarky curl to her lips?
Probably not because I was too much of a coward to tell her. Too focused on fixing other people’s problems to realize the ones I’ve caused myself.
If I’ve lost the cinnamon spiciness that is Quinn, I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive my knee-jerk reaction to help anyone I love who’s struggling without thought or planning.
When it comes to Quinn, I want to be selfish.
I want to put my pursuit of her above everything else.
Any guilt that arises at the thought is quickly snuffed out by the memory of her head on my shoulder, her soft snores in my ear, the complete trust she put in me to keep our plane from bursting into flames.
I want to be everything to her. Just like she’s everything to me.