30. Thirty
Thirty
Vince
I balance Jasmine on my hip while trying to navigate the mountain of luggage Reenie insists on taking with her wherever she goes. Quinn is struggling with her own suitcase—modest by comparison but still bulky enough to make her curse under her breath as she drags it down the stairs.
“Here, let me,” I say, shifting Jasmine to my other arm and reaching for Quinn’s bag.
“I’ve got it,” she insists, that stubborn set to her jaw I’ve come to recognize. “Just get the car seat ready.”
We’ve been like this all morning—polite, efficient, carefully orbiting each other without quite connecting. Ever since Reenie arrived, something’s felt off. Quinn says everything’s fine, but I’ve caught her looking at me with an expression I can’t decipher, something guarded and sad that vanishes the moment she realizes I’m watching.
“For heaven’s sake, Vincent, quit complaining about all my luggage. There will be porters once we get to the airport to help us with these bags,” Reenie declares, emerging from the guest room with yet another designer suitcase. “I’m not paying you to throw out your back.”
“You’re not paying me at all,” I point out, earning an imperious wave of her bejeweled hand.
“Details. Now, where’s my great-granddaughter? Come to Reenie, sweetheart.” She holds out her arms for Jasmine, who goes to her willingly, tiny hands immediately reaching for the glittering necklace around Reenie’s neck.
“Ah-ah,” Reenie chides gently, redirecting Jasmine’s hands to a chunky bracelet instead. “This one you can play with. The other one is worth more than your daddy’s first platinum album.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. For all her extravagance, Reenie has been wonderful with Jasmine—patient, playful, and utterly besotted. The feeling is clearly mutual; Jasmine’s face lights up whenever my grandmother enters the room.
“I’ll take these to the car, “ I say with an exaggerated sigh.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve loaded all the luggage into the Range Rover, and we’re ready to go. Quinn sits in the back with Jasmine while Reenie claims the passenger seat, immediately fiddling with the radio until she finds a classical station.
“Much better,” she sighs, settling back. “No offense, darling, but I’ve heard enough electric guitar riffs to last a lifetime.”
“None taken,” I say dryly, pulling out of the driveway and onto the coastal road that will take us toward Jacksonville International.
In the rearview mirror, I catch glimpses of Quinn, her head bent over Jasmine’s car seat, singing softly to keep my daughter entertained. The morning sunlight catches in her copper hair, turning it to liquid fire. I feel a familiar ache in my chest. How did I get so lucky? And why does it feel like that luck might be running out?
“Eyes on the road, Vincent,” Reenie murmurs, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Though I can’t blame you for the distraction.”
I focus on driving, letting the classical music and the occasional gurgle from Jasmine fill the silence. Quinn’s apartment is on the way to the airport—she insisted on stopping there first to grab a few more things for the trip despite having practically moved in with me over the past few months.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Quinn says when we pull up outside her building. “I just need to grab some stuff for the gala, fill the automatic feeder for Luna, and check my mail.”
“Take your time,” I tell her. “The flight doesn’t leave for three hours.”
I watch her hurry up the steps to her apartment, a strange hollowness settling in my gut. It’s only two days, I remind myself. She’ll be back on Sunday. But something about seeing her disappear into her own space—the life she had before Jasmine and me—feels unsettling.
“She’ll come back, you know,” Reenie says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You don’t have to look like you’ve lost your best friend.”
“I don’t—“
“Save it for someone who doesn’t know you inside and out.” She turns in her seat to check on Jasmine, who’s happily gumming a teething ring. “That girl is in love with you.”
The words send a jolt through me. “Did she say that?”
“She doesn’t have to. It’s written all over her face whenever she looks at you.” Reenie studies me for a moment. “The question is, what are you planning to do about it?”
I stare out at Quinn’s building, the exposed brick and industrial windows that suit her so perfectly. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not the answer I expected from a man who’s spent his life going after exactly what he wants.”
“This is different,” I say quietly. “It’s not just about what I want anymore.”
Reenie’s expression softens. “No, it’s not. That’s how I know this is special.” She reaches over to pat my hand. “Loving someone means putting what matters to them above what matters to you. Their happiness above your own. Sometimes, anyway.”
“What if I’m not sure what truly matters to her?” The question comes out more vulnerable than I intended.
Reenie gives me that look—the one that says I’m missing something obvious. “Vincent, darling, if you don’t know what matters to her by now, then you really haven’t been paying enough attention.”
I shift uncomfortably, avoiding her knowing gaze. “You make me sound self-centered.”
“Not self-centered, just—a typical male.” Reenie shakes her head like I’m being deliberately obtuse. “Give it some thought, and I’m sure the answer will come to you.”
“Alright, I’ll do it, but it seems complicated,” I say truthfully.
“Love always is,” she says simply. Then, with a satisfied nod. “Besides, that child could do with all the love she can get.” She glances back at Jasmine. “Look at her eyes—exactly like yours. And that determined little chin! She’s going to be a handful, just like you were.”
I smile at the comparison. “I think she’s already got my stubbornness. And my love for breaking the rules.”
“Heaven help us all.” Reenie laughs, then sobers. “Vincent, I want you to listen to me for a moment. I know I’m not always the most conventional grandmother—“
“You think?” I interject with a smirk.
She swats my arm. “Hush. I’m being serious. For all my gallivanting around the world and my... let’s call them ‘romantic adventures’... those only started after your grandfather died. If Richard had lived, I’d have happily stayed by his side until we were old and gray.” Her eyes take on that faraway look they always get when she mentions him. “But after losing the love of my life, freedom became my solace. It was right for me, then.” She looks out at Quinn’s building again. “But I think you’re different. I think what would make you happy isn’t freedom—it’s putting down roots with someone special, someone you care about.”
I consider this, remembering how restless I used to feel between tours, how I’d chase any distraction to fill the emptiness. How different it feels now to come home to Quinn and Jasmine and have a reason to stay still.
“Maybe you’re right,” I admit.
“Of course I am. I’m always right.” She pats my cheek. “Now, again, what are you going to do about it?”
Before I can answer, the passenger door opens, and Quinn slides in, a garment bag draped carefully over her arm. “Got it.”
We pull away from Quinn’s building, heading toward the airport. The conversation flows more easily now, Quinn catching Reenie up on the latest social media trends while my grandmother shares gossip from her Mediterranean cruise. I half-listen, my mind circling back to Reenie’s question: What am I going to do about it?
The answer feels simultaneously obvious and impossible. Figure out what matters to Quinn. What would make her smile—make her face light up?
We arrive at the airport all too soon. A porter brings over a luggage cart, efficiently loading all the baggage while I step out of the car.
“You be good for your daddy,” Quinn tells Jasmine, pressing kisses to her cheeks that make my daughter giggle. “Don’t learn any new tricks while I’m gone.”
“She’ll probably be walking by the time you get back,” I joke, though the thought of Quinn missing any of Jasmine’s milestones feels wrong somehow.
Quinn’s smile falters slightly. “Two days isn’t that long. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”
“I doubt that,” I say, more seriously than I intended. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I consider asking her right then—what matters to you, Quinn? What would make you happy?
But that would be too easy. I think Reenie wants it to be harder—she wants me to figure this out. My grandmother suddenly sweeps in, interrupting my thoughts. “Come along, Quinn, darling. First class won’t wait for us, and I need at least one glass of champagne before I’m fit for human company.”
Quinn nods, turning to my grandmother. “I’m right behind you.”
Reenie kisses Jasmine goodbye in her car seat, then pulls me into a tight hug. “Remember what I said,” she whispers fiercely. “Don’t be a coward.”
“I’ll miss you too, Reenie,” I say dryly but squeeze her back.
She releases me with a final pat on the cheek. “I expect to hear good news by the time I’m back from Paris. And not just about Jasmine’s latest developmental milestone.”
With that cryptic statement, she marches toward the terminal entrance, leaving Quinn and me in an awkward bubble of anticipation.
“So,” Quinn says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Have a good weekend.”
“You too, enjoy your trip,” I murmur, feeling stupidly like a teenager saying goodbye at the end of a date. “Call when you land?”
Her smile is soft and warm. “Of course.” She steps closer, rising on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to my lips. I surprise us both by sliding a hand behind her neck, holding her in place as I deepen the kiss. Public setting be damned—I need her to feel what I can’t say. When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide.
“That should give the paparazzi something to talk about,” she murmurs breathlessly.
“I don’t care,” I murmur as I brush my lips with hers one more time.
“Take care of our girl,” she murmurs against my mouth, and the casual ‘our’ makes my heart skip.
“Always,” I promise, then watch as she follows Reenie into the terminal, red hair catching the sunlight one last time before she disappears inside.
Back in the car, Jasmine babbles happily from her car seat, seemingly unbothered by the temporary absence of two of her favorite people. I envy her uncomplicated existence—no doubts, no fears, just the absolute certainty that she’ll always be surrounded by the people she loves.
I drive home slower than necessary, my mind racing with everything Reenie said. ‘Loving someone means putting what matters to them above what matters to you. Their happiness above your own.’ But what makes Quinn happy? I’ve never taken the time to notice, I realize, with a jolt. Do I even have a clue what matters to her—what’s important?
At home, I settle Jasmine with her toys in the living room while I grab my acoustic guitar. Playing has always helped me think, and right now, I need all the clarity I can get.
My fingers find a melody—something that’s been haunting me, lurking at the edges of my consciousness for months now. It’s different from what I usually write—softer, more introspective. I’ve been avoiding it because it feels too much like a love story. It exposes my feelings in a way that I’m not comfortable with.
“What matters to Quinn?” I ask Jasmine, who responds by throwing her stuffed elephant in my general direction. “Not helpful, but thanks.”
I think about Quinn—her passion for her work, the way she lights up when talking about a successful campaign. The care she puts into everything, from Jasmine’s daily schedule to the organization of my social media accounts. Her quiet insistence on maintaining her own apartment, her own space, even as she’s woven herself into every aspect of my life.
And suddenly, I know exactly what would make her happy. What would show her that I care about what matters to her.
My fingers still on the guitar strings as the idea takes shape, growing more certain with each passing second.
“I think I’ve got it, Jazzy girl,” I tell my daughter, who’s now contentedly gumming the elephant’s trunk. “I know what to do.”