16. Rafe #3
“Yes. And if you want to raise it because it is a systemic issue, not because of me, then think about the timing and the shape of that very carefully. But please don’t make me the reason.”
I wanted to argue, which was becoming a familiar sensation around Quinn. The desire to fix, met by the knowledge that fixing without permission could become its own form of damage.
“You would rather have nothing change?” I asked.
“No. I would rather change doesn’t arrive wearing my name tag.”
That was fair. Annoyingly so.
I nodded. “Very well. I’ll be careful.”
Her expression softened. “I believe you.”
The trust in that sentence carried more responsibility than any objection would have.
Max rolled onto one hip and groaned, exhausted and content. The sound eased something in both of us, and Quinn reached over to rub his belly.
For a while, we let the quiet hold.
Then she looked around the clearing and said, “You know, for an outing that began at a public dog park, this has become suspiciously romantic.”
I looked at her.
“Picnic in an empty field during golden hour.” She gestured toward Max. “Very relaxed chaperone.”
“I hadn’t planned it as a date.”
“I know. I’m only checking whether I’ve accidentally taken over your entire Saturday. Do you have somewhere else to be tonight?”
“No.”
She picked at a blade of grass. “Do you date?”
The question was still light enough to retreat from, but only just.
“Not often.”
Her gaze moved to mine. “Have you ever dated someone seriously?”
I considered several evasions I had used successfully before.
“My reputation is less interesting than people assume,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
She waited.
I looked over at Max, who was now sleeping beside the branch he had conquered.
The field shone in late afternoon light, the mushroom ring pale beneath the birches.
Quinn sat beside me in the grass, her auction outfit safely folded in the van, her hair loosened by the breeze, her attention patient in a way that didn’t demand but didn’t disappear either.
“No, I haven’t,” I said at last. “Not seriously.”
She absorbed that. “Because you didn’t want to?”
“Wanting is not difficult.”
Her gaze shifted to mine. I regretted the sentence immediately, not because it was untrue, but because truth had become too easy around her.
I took a breath. “My life has never felt arranged to make room for someone who didn’t already belong to it.”
Quinn’s face changed, the ever-present humor in her eyes going quiet. “That sounds lonely.”
“It’s not intended to be.”
“I know.”
“I have obligations. Family responsibilities. Complications with the pack. My mother’s care.
The business. The relics. The legal disputes that come with old losses and current money.
” I looked down at my hands. There was still grass on one cuff.
“I wouldn’t ask someone to step into that unless I was certain I could offer more than attention in stolen hours and problems they hadn’t chosen. And I know that probably sounds cold.”
For several seconds, she said nothing.
The wind moved through the grass, soft and steady.
When she spoke, her voice was careful. “That’s not cold.”
I looked at her.
“You think love is something people deserve to understand before they agree to it,” she said. “There’s nothing cold about that.”
I could not answer.
She had done it again. Found the human shape inside a structure I had mistaken for armor.
Her eyes lowered, then lifted again. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone ever understands what they’re agreeing to completely.”
“No?”
“No. People change. Life changes. Dogs get old. Doors break. Jobs don’t pay enough. Someone’s mother gets sick. Someone’s plan falls apart. You can’t disclose every future cost up front like terms and conditions.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
“It is,” she said, and smiled a little. “It’s also probably why people do it with vows instead of contracts.”
I looked at her for too long, and she held my gaze.
There was nothing between Quinn and me but grass, air, and a series of reasons I had been rehearsing for days.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth.
Then Max twitched in his sleep and huffed.
Quinn blinked, and the sudden tension eased.
She looked down at him, smiling with visible gratitude and regret. “His timing is either terrible or excellent.”
“Both,” I said, standing before I could do something unwise. I offered her my hand to help her up. She took it, and this time, when she rose, she didn’t let go immediately. Neither did I. Her fingers were warm, and there was a grass stain on the hem of her skirt.
I wanted her.
That was no longer in question.
The question was whether wanting her could ever become something honorable. Something feasible.
I released her hand first.
“We should get Max back before he’s too deeply asleep to move,” I said.
Quinn nodded, though something in her expression told me she knew exactly what I had done.
“Right,” she said with a small smile. “Logistics.”
I let out a small breath.
This trip had been for the dog.
That remained true.
It was simply no longer the whole truth.