4. Quinn
Quinn
“I still think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Even with bags under your eyes and stretch marks and that sound you make when you’re sleeping,”
“I make sounds when I’m sleeping?”
“That’s what you heard out of all of that? See, Ahnna. This is the problem. You only hear criticism when I talk, despite all the compliments I make.”
“But you are criticizing me, Patrick.”
The couple looks over at me from the couch as if they just realized that I am sitting across from them, and I smile warmly.
“We’re doomed, aren’t we?” Ahnna cries, and Patrick sets a gentle hand on her knee before looking back at me again with the eyes of an injured puppy.
“No,” I tell them. “You’re not doomed.”
“I bet you say that to everyone,” she says, reaching for a tissue.
“Only the couples I believe have the potential to heal their wounds and come out stronger,” I reassure them.
“What makes you think we have potential?” She asks before blowing her nose.
“The fact that your tears are tears of sadness. You want to love him,” I say.
“I do love him,” she corrects me, and I smile again.
“Also, the fact that you are making efforts to comfort your wife, Patrick. That’s a very good sign,” I say, and I point at his hand, the one on Ahnna’s knee, with my eyes.
“So what do we do now?” Patrick asks.
“Now, we connect you with a therapist,” I tell them, grabbing my tablet off the coffee table between us.
“Is it expensive?” Ahnna asks.
“For you? No, you won’t pay a dime. For a generous donor funding We Still Do?
Probably. But that’s why it’s a nonprofit.
And that’s what we are here for,” I say as I scroll in search of a good fit.
My database is full of counselors and therapists that I partner with.
Most of them are open to new clients because it’s fully funded.
The clients win, the counselors win, and I win because I love my job.
“Free therapy,” Patrick sighs, and I think he might be on the verge of tears too. Also, a good sign. “Sounds too good to be true.”
“Well, it isn’t. And I actually know the perfect couple’s therapist for you. Her name is Allegra Janowitz, and she’s the best,” I say, flipping the tablet around to show them her profile. “Though I might secretly be biased. She’s one of my best friends.”
“And you think she can handle us?” Brianna sniffs, but I just offer a third comforting smile.
“Trust me, you guys will be easy. The love is there. You just need some tools. And Allegra has them.”
The couple thanks me with thigh handshakes and more tears, and they actually walk out the door of the building holding hands. Yeah. They’re going to be just fine.
I lock the door and bustle through the office, shutting things down.
There’s the essential oil diffusor, the lights over the paintings, and the water fountain in the corner.
I’ve found that my clients like when the office feels like a spa.
It’s soothing instead of cold and legal.
Because if I am doing my job right, it doesn’t need to get legal.
And based on tonight’s meeting, I feel good about that.
I pull out my phone and dial Allegra’s number as I grab my things.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” she says as an answer. She’s whispering, which tells me she’s either rocking her baby or hoping not to wake her up.
“Let me guess, you just put Kimbree down,” I say softly, for some reason feeling the need to whisper too.
“In the process. I’m rocking her,” she says. “But this is song number three, story number two, and we are working on a third bottle so I’m not sure how well it’s going.”
“Where is Dustin?” I giggle. “I thought bedtime rituals were his job.”
“Bath time was his job. Feeding was mine. And if she walks up at night, he’s on that too. So honestly, I don’t really care if it takes two hours to get her to go to bed because I get to sleep in tomorrow.”
I smile at that. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t bother you with work things,” I say.
“But…”
“But I found you another couple, and Allegra, these two are amazing,” I tell her, pressing my free hand to my heart.
“You say that about every couple you send my way,” she says.
“I know, but these two really are. They’re so in love. They just need to believe in love again. You should have seen them. She was crying. He was comforting her. It was beautiful,” I gush.
“You might be the only person I know who can listen to the conversations of couples on the brink of divorce and swoon like it’s a Hallmark ending,” she says. “You know they’re not always happy endings.”
“Allegra. What is the divorce rate of couples that walk into your office?” I ask.
“From my knowledge? Less than ten percent.”
“Exactly! And that is why I want you to be Ahnna and Patrick’s therapist. It’s a match made in…therapy,” I snort at my own joke.
“Alright, I’ll look at their file tomorrow,” she says with a tired sigh, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
Allegra has always been one of my favorite people.
Soft, nurturing, everything a friend, mom, and therapist should be.
She’s holistic and her feathers are never ruffled for any reason. She’s just plain lovely.
“So how is Quinn doing?” she asks me. She phrases it that way because she often accuses me of centering my life around the care and needs of others. I’m guilty as charged, by the way. I’m not even going to deny it.
“I am good,” I say, and I meant it. “Work is going well. I am about to go grab a BLT from William Oliver’s.
Life is peachy,” I say, and my stomach rumbles merely at the mentioning of my favorite bar and grill.
It’s in an old building with dim lighting and wooden floors, and the whole place smells like bacon and whiskey.
“How was Dani’s wedding?” she asks. “I say the photos on Insta. It looked…elaborate…”
“Oh, it was. It was pink and expensive and over the top and very, very Dani,” I muse.
“So you had a good time then,” she says, and I can hear Kimbree cooing in the background.
“I did. It was perfect. Well. Except for one of the groomsmen who was determined to make me miserable,” I mutter the last part.
“Who was it?” she asks with quiet amusement in her voice.
“Reid,” I mutter, and I know she catches the tone.
“And who is this Reid?” she asks.
“One of Justin’s friends. And a divorce lawyer,” I answer with a sigh.
“Sounds like a fun guy,” she jokes.
“He is quite possibly the bane of my existence,” I tell her as I stop by the bathroom to check my hair and makeup.
I don’t wear a lot of makeup, mostly because emotional clients tend to make me teary-eyed, but today I did put on some mascara and I want to make sure it’s not smudged at all before I go to Willy O’s.
“The bane, huh?” she asks. “That sounds pretty serious for someone you just met.”
“Oh trust me, we might have only been around each other for two days but Reid made sure to get under my skin in every way he could,” I tell her, making a point of not mentioning how he may or may not have also gotten in my panties.
That’s a detail I like to forget, not that it’s easy.
Pretty sure I came harder on his hand than I’ve ever come on a dick before.
“What did he do?” she asks.
“What did he do? Well, let’s see. He hates love. Not just weddings or mushy romantic things or PDA. But love. He doesn’t believe in marriage.”
“I mean, he is a divorce lawyer…” she says, and I keep going. Because just mentioning his name has me heated.
“And for whatever reason, he found it necessary to spend the entire weekend trying to convince me he’s right. Which, of course, he did not do. He can’t,” I say as I apply more mascara and even a little bit of blush and lip stain simply because I’m angry now and my hands need something to do.
“So if he can’t, then why do you sound so flustered by him?” she asks. “Let me guess, was he hot?”
“No,” I lie. “Well, maybe a little…” I admit, and she giggles. “Okay fine. He’s like a nine point nine. The only reason he’s not a ten is because his eyes are blue.”
Allegra snorts. “You don’t think blue eyes are hot?”
“Of course they’re hot. But blue-eyed men can’t be trusted. Think about it: Henry Cavill, Chris Evans, Ian Somerhalder…”
“The vampire guy?”
“Yes. All hot, blue-eyed men. All lady-killers.”
But Allegra just chuckles again. “Sounds like someone might have a crush,” she says, and my mouth pops open with a scoff.
“A crush? I do not have a crush on him. He’s a divorce lawyer, Allegra! He makes a living ruining people’s lives.”
Kimbree starts to fuss, and I know that means time has run out. “Well. In that case, I’d be careful. You wouldn’t want a man with eyes like that ruining your life…”
I don’t know what she means by that, but Allegra has to get off the phone. I check my reflection in the mirror one more time and give myself a pep talk before heading out the door.
“Don’t allow that man the satisfaction of getting under your skin.”
William Oliver’s is slammed, but I’m not surprised.
It’s one of the most popular pubs in Washington Heights, boasting a full bar, great food (I personally recommend the BLT and the potato salad) all at a relatively affordable price.
New York is notorious for being expensive, especially Manhattan.
And honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that my dad works in law and may or may not have cosigned on an apartment for me, I probably wouldn’t be able to live here.
But my parents are generous and smart with money, and I am blessed.
I manage to find a seat at the bar top just as a couple leaves and I can’t help but feel like the world is on my side today.
A successful client rec, a fun talk with my best friend, and now I get to enjoy the best BLT in NYC.
I may be an eternal optimist naturally, but either way, nothing could possibly put a damper on my mood right now–
“Is this seat taken?”
My posture goes rigid, and my smile disappears. For one, that’s such a bad line. And two, I know that voice. At least I’m pretty sure. Maybe I’m wrong.
God, let me be wrong…
I slowly turn my head. Sure enough, my worst nightmares have come true.
“Reid,” I mutter. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hungry?” he asks. “I believe that’s what people do when they’re hungry. They get something to eat, and if I’m not mistaken, this is a pub, so–”
“Here!” I cry out. “What are you doing here?!”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he says, and suddenly another man walks up to the stool next to mine because Reid hasn’t actually snagged it yet.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“Oh sure, that line works for him, why not me?” Reid asks.
“Because this man doesn’t give me a splitting headache every time he speaks that makes me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a spoon!” I snap and slowly the guy backs away and looks for another seat.
“You sure have a way with words,” Reid says, taking the chair. “Are you this charming with your clients as well?”
“How I talk to my clients is none of your business,” I mutter.
The bartender approaches and nods up at me. “Your usual?” he asks.
“Yes. And glass of the cab,” I add.
“And for you?” he turns to Reid.
“Oh, he’s not staying,” I say, and the bartender gives me a funny look.
“I’ll take the same,” Reid says.
I turn my attention to him. “The same? You drink wine?”
“I think there’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he says.
“I’m fine with the mystery,” I mutter as the bartender sets our drinks down.
“Alright, fine,” he says. “I was trying to make conversation, but clearly I am bothering you, so I’ll just get to the point.”
For the first time, I smile. “Ah. So there is a reason you’re stalking me.
“Yes. There is a reason I’m here,” he admits.
I take a generous sip of my wine and then set my glass down, swiveling on my stool so I can look into his big, deep, untrustworthy blue eyes.
“Alright. Let’s hear it.”