Chapter 12
COLTON
Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but Quinn’s barely said two words all day. My chatterbox is gone, leaving blank smiles and faraway looks in her place. I want her back. I need her addictive laughter and the conspiratorial glances that come right before she makes an inappropriate comment.
A very passionate man stands in front of the table, which sits six other guests who are fully engrossed in his speech.
The Chianti mountains rise in the distance behind him, each peak lowering in elevation the closer they move toward us, like kids lined up on risers for a class photograph.
Picturesque villas dot the slopes, and the weather’s perfect—warm but with a breeze to keep us all comfortable outside.
A setting for an incredible day, if Quinn were actually here.
“There are other regions where you can get fine wine,” the man says, “but the Chianti region will always be a league above. Our deep, complex flavor profiles have made our wines famous around the world.”
The audience murmurs their agreement, everyone but Quinn grabbing the glass he indicated to take a sip before pairing it with the slice of cheese he suggested.
“Now, there are many classifications for Chianti wine, and I will not bore you with the details, but if you take one thing from this lunch pairing, remember to look for the black rooster on the bottle. If you see a rooster, you can confidently pick up the bottle knowing it has come from this region and meets certain quality standards. Plus, you have the convenience of not having to read the label as your vision becomes more impaired!”
He grabs one of the bottles off the table, bringing it close to his face and squinting at the rooster like he’s too drunk to read, then nods and mimes drinking it straight from the lip.
Everyone laughs, and he waves us off to finish our wine and enjoy our lunch.
I look over, but Quinn still has that same distant look in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask, popping another piece of cheese in my mouth.
“What?” she replies, blinking up at me like she forgot I’m here.
“You’ve barely spoken since we got in the car. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she says with an exasperated laugh. “Can I not just be quiet?”
I turn to face her fully. “Yes, you can be quiet, but I know your quiets, and this isn’t a comfortable one. Your brain is running so fast I swear I can hear a whirling like your computer fan is trying to cool it down.”
Quinn chews on her bottom lip. “I’m fine.”
I point to the man from the presentation, who’s now leaning against the far wall talking to another employee. “He made a joke about being too drunk to read the wine label and mimed drinking Chianti Classico from the bottle, and you didn’t even crack a smile.”
“Wait, really?” She blinks at the man like she’s finally waking up to the world around her. “Okay, I guess I have been a bit distracted.”
My lip twitches. “I noticed.”
She tugs her lip between her thumb and pointer finger as she looks at the food in front of her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re going to talk to me eventually,” I say.
“I know, but not right now.” She smiles, even though it doesn’t reach her eyes.
She shakes out her arms like she’s warming up for a sprint, then grabs her glass of Chianti and downs it in one gulp. Someone gasps in horror of her treatment of wine said to have been made from the blood of the gods.
“Okay,” she says. “I’m here. I’m present. Let’s do this.”
I raise a wry eyebrow. “Are you? Because if you’re going to zone out all day, we could’ve gone to the Etruscan museum like I wanted to.”
There’s a small museum in the area with one of the best collections of Etruscan artifacts. Quinn argued this was a work-free weekend, and I argued I was a Roman historian, not an Etruscan historian. Apparently, learning about Rome’s cultural predecessor is too close for consideration.
“I’ll take you to the museum if you really want,” Quinn says with an indulgent shake of her head. Her brow pinches a little, then she turns back to me with a determined expression. “Didn’t Alessandra study the Etruscan civilization?”
I jolt. “Alessandra as in my ex?”
The two of us dated during my first year in Rome.
She was a senior at the American University of Rome with every intention of going back to the States after she finished her degree, so it was casual.
When she decided she was going to stay in Rome for graduate school, I had to tell her I didn’t want something serious.
We’d stayed friends over the years, but I don’t get why Quinn was bringing her up now.
“Yeah,” Quinn says. “You mentioned she’s interviewing at a museum in Boston, right?”
“Yes,” I say slowly, dragging out the single word. “Why?”
She shrugs. “Thought you two might reconnect when we get back. She seemed like a great fit for you.”
“A great fit,” I repeat, trying to wrap my head around where this was coming from. “She’s a good friend, but we weren’t right together.”
She hums, popping a green olive into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “What about Bex who works in health and wellness? I think you two would get along.”
“Get along? What the hell are you talking about, Quinn?”
“Oh, or Alyssa in the alumni office?”
I grab her arm as she reaches across the table for another olive and turn her body fully to face me. “What the hell’s going on here?”
She swallows, her throat bobbing with the action. “Just, you haven’t dated anyone in a while and I thought it might be nice for you to explore your options.”
I scoff and reach for a piece of prosciutto. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“But why?” she asks, almost desperate. “Why haven’t you dated anyone?”
I freeze, the food halfway to my mouth. In over a decade of friendship, she’s never pushed me on this, and I’ve always been grateful not to have to lie.
Obviously, I can’t tell her the truth. I don’t date because I’ve been madly in love with you since we met and it wouldn’t be fair to the other women.
I give her a partial truth instead. “This industry’s intense. For the past decade, I haven’t known where I was going to end up. I got lucky with my offers, but if the only tenure-track offer I received was at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, I’d have bought a parka and been on the next flight.”
“But you’re on the tenure track now,” she says. “You’ll be in Boston for the rest of your working life.”
“I hope so, but there’s always a chance I get denied tenure.”
On paper, I should get it, but there’s no guarantee until it’s official.
The thought of losing my job and having to fight with the other people in my field for the ever-decreasing tenure-track positions is nauseating.
Universities would look at my CV and wonder exactly what’s wrong with me that made Billings throw me away.
I suck in a deep breath. “But if Billings decides to part ways with me at any of my pre-tenure reviews, or shit, at my final tenure review, I’ll have to go where the next job is. I have too many responsibilities not to be selfish with my choices.”
Quinn’s smile is sad. “Only you would think choosing your job security so you can financially support your mom is the selfish choice.”
I shrug. “Maybe selfish isn’t the right word, but my mom’s security is my number one priority. Being in a relationship means factoring another person into your plans.”
“And you’ve never met anyone you wanted to do that for?” she asks.
Her eyes are so earnest as she asks this, and I realize that she really has no idea. No idea that I’ve spent the past fourteen years factoring her into my plans, even when she doesn’t ask me to. She is and always will be the biggest pro on any list about Boston.
But she isn’t asking about her. She’s asking about romantic partners.
“No,” I say. “I’ve never met anyone I was willing to change my plans for.”
She nods, a little divot forming between her brows like she’s sad for me, and I fight down the urge to smooth it out with my thumb.
“But you’re one to talk,” I say, the corner of my mouth kicking up. “Why aren’t we talking about finding you a significant other?”
The thought twists something in my stomach, even though I want her to find happiness.
She chuckles. “Don’t think that’s in the cards for me, Colt.”
That twisting in my gut turns a cold, heavy feeling. “What do you mean?”
Quinn waves her hand. “Forget about it.”
“No, tell me.”
She laughs, but the sound is brittle. “Come on, you know me better than anyone. I have more trust issues than Rome has ruins. Relationships just end up being stressful and annoying.”
“So… what?” I ask. “You’re going to stay alone for the rest of your life?”
“Not alone. It sounds like you’re committing to the bachelor life. How do his and her rooms at the old folks home sound?”
She laughs, but I can’t force one out myself. I don’t want that life for her. She shows more love in a single day than most people show in a lifetime, and she deserves every bit of happiness this life offers. “You deserve more than my grumpy ass next door.”
“True. If you’re this grumpy at thirty-two, imagine what you’re going to be like at eighty.
” I nudge her shoulder, and she giggles.
“Kidding! Your friendship is plenty. I don’t need the flowers and candles and romance to feel fulfilled.
And there are ways to scratch that itch without having to deal with the inevitable drama of dating. ”
An unexpected fire lights my veins at the thought of her scratching the itch.
I hate the idea of her picking up some random person who won’t care enough about her to make sure it’s everything she deserves.
She should be with someone who’ll worship her, who’ll stop at nothing to have her writhing and screaming their name to the exposed beams of our apartment. Someone like me.