Chapter Fifteen
Starting Slow
Damien
There are two ways a man can react when the girl he’s liked for months suddenly becomes single.
Option one, panic and say something stupid.
Option two, panic quietly and pretend he has everything under control.
Naturally, I choose option two.
Mostly because Quinn Thomas just ended a five-year relationship and the last thing she needs is some overeager idiot trying to claim victory like he won a prize.
She’s not a prize. She’s a person. A person who got hurt tonight. Which means the only smart move here is patience. Again.
Standing in the gravel driveway outside Mason’s house after telling her the truth feels a little like stepping onto a tightrope. Because now she knows and once something like that is said out loud, you can’t exactly shove it back in the box.
“So,” she says after a moment.
“So.”
“This is awkward.”
“A little.”
She laughs softly. At least she’s laughing again. That’s progress.
“I think I should go home.”
“Let me drive you. Please.” I don’t like the idea of her driving after everything she has been through.
She smiles again. God. I like that smile.
“All right,” she says. “Let’s go before I start crying again.”
I nod toward the truck parked along the side of the road. “Your chariot awaits.”
“My chariot looks like a truck.”
“Every great chariot is technically a truck.”
“That’s not historically accurate.”
“Details.” I wave my hand in the air like the details don’t matter when I am one hundred percent a detail guy.
But she huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes and follows me across the gravel and that’s exactly what I wanted. I need her to be thinking of anything but Emette and the fact that her relationship is over.
The night air is cooler now, carrying the faint scent of pine from the trees lining the road. Crickets chirp somewhere in the distance playing the small-town soundtrack we all grew up with.
I open the passenger door for her and she pauses.
“You’re very polite.”
“Mom taught us all manners, even though we don’t always look it.”
“I believe it.” She climbs into the seat and I close the door before walking around to the driver’s side.
The engine starts with a familiar rumble. For a moment neither of us says anything as I pull onto the road leading back toward town. The headlights carve a path through the darkness.
“So,” Quinn says finally.
“So?”
“You’re not going to make this weird, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just told me you like me.”
“Correct.”
“And now you’re driving me home.”
“Also correct.”
“That could get weird.”
“It could.”
“But you’re not going to make it weird.”
“I’m trying very hard not to.”
She laughs softly. “Good.”
I glance at her briefly. “You just broke up with someone.”
“Technically he broke up with himself.”
“Fair point.”
“But still,” I continue. “You deserve some time.”
“To do what?”
“To process.”
“Processing sounds boring.”
“It usually is.”
She rests her elbow on the door ledge and watches the dark trees blur past. “You’re very patient.”
“I do accounting.”
“That’s your excuse for everything.”
“It works.”
Another comfortable silence settles over the truck and eventually we reach town. Streetlights cast soft yellow circles across the pavement and a few cars pass in the opposite direction.
Normal life continuing like tonight didn’t just flip her world upside down.
“Are you hungry?” I ask suddenly.
She looks over. “What?”
“You didn’t eat anything at the party.”
“Well... I could eat.”
“There’s a diner open.”
“Of course there is.”
“Small town.”
She smiles. “All right.”
I turn toward Main Street and pull into the small diner that’s been part of Franklinton for longer than either of us has been alive. The neon sign buzzes softly above the door.
Inside the place smells like coffee, grilled burgers, and pie. Comfort food central.
Quinn slides into a booth while I grab menus from the counter. “Do you come here a lot?” she asks.
“Late-night bookkeeping fuel.”
“That sounds depressing.”
“They actually have great burgers. And I think you’ll love the pie.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued.”
The waitress appears a moment later with two glasses of water. “Evening, Damien.”
“Hey, Carol.”
She looks at Quinn and smiles. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”
“First time,” Quinn says.
“Well, you picked a good night. The coffee’s fresh.”
Quinn smiles at me. “You know the menu, you should order for us.”
I nod. “Just the regular then, Carol.”
She disappears toward the kitchen and Quinn studies me from across the table.
“You’re good at this.”
“At what?” I feel a frown pull at my brow.
“Taking care of people.”
“I’m just feeding you.” Something this simple shouldn’t seem like such a big moment.
“Still counts.”
I shrug. “My brothers did most of the heavy lifting growing up.”
“You’re the youngest, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That explains it.”
“What does that mean?”
“You probably spent your whole childhood watching them.”
“Observing.” Watching sounds like I’m some crazy stalker.
“Same thing.”
The food arrives a few minutes later. Burgers, fries, and milkshake for Quinn. She takes one bite and sighs happily.
“Okay, you were right.”
“About?”
“This place.”
“Told you.”
For a while we just eat and the conversation stays light. Safe topics like movies, baking, and Alistair’s terrible jokes. But eventually the conversation circles back to the obvious.
“So,” Quinn says. “What happens now?”
I lean back slightly. “That’s up to you.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“You just ended a long relationship.”
“I noticed,” she says dryly.
“You get to decide what you want next.”
She studies me carefully. “And what if I decide I want to spend time with you?”
My heart stutters once. “Then we spend time together.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“No grand declarations?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to be sure. Because I don’t want to be a rebound.”
Her expression softens slightly. “You’re very careful.”
“I’m trying to be.”
She taps her straw against the milkshake glass thoughtfully. “You know what I want right now?”
“What?”
“A normal night.”
“What does that mean?”
“Food. Conversation. No drama.”
I smile. “That’s manageable.”
She meets my eyes across the table. “And maybe a picnic tomorrow.”
“A picnic?”
“Too much?” She looks nervous, like I might laugh at her or shoot her down.
“Not at all.”
Her smile grows. “Good.”
We finish eating a little while later and head back outside. The night has grown quieter, cooler. I walk her to the truck and we climb inside. As we drive toward her house, I realize something important. For the first time since I met Quinn Thomas, I’m not just waiting anymore.
We’re moving forward. Slowly. Carefully. But forward. And honestly? That feels better than any grand romantic moment ever could. Because the best relationships don’t start with fireworks. They start with quiet moments.
Late-night diners and the promise of a picnic tomorrow.