Chapter 13
CARMINA
As I stealthily tiptoe through the front door of my Seattle townhouse, my heels in one hand and my dignity in the other, I”m ready to congratulate myself on a successful ninja entrance when a voice slices through the semi-darkness.
”Well, if it isn”t Cinderella, fleeing the ball. Lose a glass slipper on your way out?”
I freeze and look over to see Freddie, my PR wizard and tonight”s fairy godmother to my little sisters, sprawled on the couch with my knitting needles—from my Monday group with Jen—and half a knitted scarf tangled in her lap.
The aftermath of a horror movie marathon flickers on the TV, casting shadows across the room, but it’s Freddie’s smirk under the solitary light that feels truly spooky right now.
”Party was...interesting,” I manage, voice about as stable as my spaghetti legs.
Freddie sits up. ”Oh? Do tell. Did Prince Charming turn into a frog?”
I laugh, a sound more like a choke, and kick off my remaining shoe, sending it skittering across the floor like it”s making a break for freedom. ”Something like that.”
The couch groans in protest as I collapse beside her, the weight of my rooftop rendezvous with Quentin pressing down harder than the guilt of leaving early under the guise of a fictitious stomach bug.
”So, about that ”interesting” part...” Freddie nudges, clearly not buying my attempt at nonchalance.
I glance at her, and in the dim light, her expression is encouraging me to spill my guts.
Maybe because there”s no way in hell I”m telling Jenny. No way I”m confessing to my best friend that I actually combusted like one of Val’s school science rockets onto her future brother-in-law”s lips while my “date” for the night was downstairs.
She’d be planning our wedding the second I spilled. And I know there’s no way in hell there would ever be a wedding in Quentin Anderson’s wayward future.
I take a deep breath, the kind you take before plunging into icy waters, and start. ”Okay, so there was this company retreat three years ago where Quentin and I met...” Freddie nods, leaning in. ”Well, while we were there, Quentin and I had a moment. Or several moments, to be precise.”
Freddie”s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her knitting needles paused mid-air in suspense.
”And tonight was sort of an encore of that,” I confess, feeling my cheeks heat up under the dim lighting. ”Except this time, we didn”t stop at just a moment.”
Blue eyes wide, Freddie lets her mouth shape into a perfect ”O.” Her knitting needles clatter to the couch cushions, forgotten. ”O...kay. This is a lot to process.”
”I know, I know,” I sigh dramatically, flopping back against the cushions. ”Quentin and I haven”t exactly been cordial since that retreat.”
Freddie scoffs. ”Please. The first few lessons I learned when I became an intern at Hare Holeton? Always change the coffee filter. Never trust Bob from accounting. And never, ever leave sharp objects around the two of you.”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. ”Ugh, I can”t believe this is happening. Why did I have to go and ruin everything?”
”Hey now,” Freddie says gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”It takes two to tango. And from what it sounds like, Quentin was just as willing.” She pauses, considering. ”I”m guessing it was good though?”
“It wasn’t just good.” I peek between my fingers. “It was great.”
”Okay, well then. No harm done, right? I mean, he”s single now and you”re not exactly seeing anyone.”
”I don”t know. We always just kind of brushed the retreat thing off as a drunken mistake. But now...I don”t know what this means for us.”
”Well, what do you want to do about it?”
I pause, my gaze landing on the TV where the horror movie is still playing. The suspenseful music reaches a crescendo as the protagonist discovers the killer”s identity.
”I guess I still don”t have a clue. Part of me wants to run away and never look back, while the other part wants to confront Quentin and see where things could go. Technically, I can”t avoid him. There”s work, and then we have meetings scheduled with our party consultants, Puddle and Glitter.”
”Who and what now? Are those real people?”
”Yes, they are. They”re helping us plan the joint bachelor and bachelorette weekend. We’re finalizing details for the big bash—a yacht party—in two weeks. Quentin has given me until then to figure out what I want to do.”
“Two weeks? Oh, that”s plenty of time. You have to be around each other until then, so you might as well list him.”
I frown as the movie”s villain finally jumps out from behind a door, causing the main character to scream in terror.
”What do you mean by ‘list’ him?”
”Like, give him an evaluation. Good versus bad. See which one wins out.”
”Are we still talking about Quentin or the killer in this movie?”
Freddie laughs. ”Both, I guess. But seriously, make a pros and cons list. It helps me when I”m trying to make big decisions.” She leans forward, legs crossed on the couch. ”Give him points for things like honesty, dependability, sense of humor. And take away points for things like being a jerk or not respecting your boundaries.”
”Oh God, I don”t know if I can do that. That”s so judgmental.”
”I hate to break it to you, boss, but you already are judgmental. It”s one of your finer qualities.” She winks and pats my knee.
I roll my eyes, but she has a point. I”ve been judging Quentin since the moment I met him. Might as well put it in a more structured form.
”Fine. I”ll make a list.”
”Good. And remember, if he doesn”t meet your standards, you can always call it off. It”s not like Quentin is exactly known for being Mr. Commitment.”
The reminder puts a small knot in my stomach as I reach for the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. ”Yeah. I guess you”re right.”
Freddie smiles, turning back to the movie, and I try to focus on the horror unfolding on screen instead of the thoughts racing through my head. Thoughts of Quentin and our relationship, or lack thereof. Thoughts of what I want and what he can offer.
Thoughts of whether or not I”m willing to take a chance on him at all.