He bounced on the toes of his new boots. “Should I carry that?” he asked, nodding at her book bag. He wasn’t sure if Ava was his girlfriend or not. He did want to prove he was a gentleman—in case she wasn’t sure. “I don’t mind. I’ll carry it for you to the school bus.”
“I’m good.” She slung the bag over her shoulder. “Walk me out?”
“Sure.”
They merged with the students flowing toward Chardon High’s entryway.
Quinn was nearly a head taller. Doing his best, he shielded Ava from kids knocking elbows and shoving their way outside. He tried to think up words to say.
When teenagers dated, they were supposed to talk. Only he wasn’t sure of the right topics. The noise level was deafening, and big crowds made him nervous. Ava didn’t seem to mind that he was tongue-tied. He was always tongue-tied.
At the coffee shop, she carried the conversation. He listened. The arrangement was better than perfect.
When they reached the doors, Ava took his hand. Just for a second, long enough to give his fingers an affectionate squeeze.
She dashed outside.
Kids pushed and shouted. Quinn walked slowly, a stone in a fast-moving river. Only he was rushing or floating inside in a way no one could see. He was lighter than air. He watched Ava climb into the school bus, her glossy hair swinging across her back.
If he didn’t get a move on, he’d be late for work. But he couldn’t make his feet move fast. Not with his fingers tingling with warmth. Wending his way to the parking lot, Quinn studied his hand. Ava had touched him. Did it mean she was his girlfriend?
Engines revved as kids shouted to their friends. Some of the teenagers walked diagonally through the lot, past the cars, talking loudly and swinging tennis rackets. The tennis courts sat in a grassy bowl of acreage not far from the school complex. The kids looked eager to bat around a few balls even if winter wasn’t really over. Far behind the lot, a thick buffer of fir trees formed a green necklace. Quinn paused to take it all in.
The view was incredible, the trees emerald green and the birds chirping and the air smelling sweet. The sun was almost too bright; Quinn shut his eyes a moment as the pain lanced him like a blade, slicing through the happiness, bringing with it a sense of foreboding.
The good stuff never lasts. Something bad will happen. It always does.
A girl skirted past, running to her car. A cloud of blue exhaust seared Quinn’s nose as more cars rumbled to life and sped from the lot. Teenagers like him, on their way to afternoon jobs or to meet with friends. Only they weren’t like him. Their parents weren’t drunks; no one ever hit them.
“Galecki, move!”
A palm landed on his back, shoving Quinn forward. The air whooshed from his lungs, and he nearly fell. Ben Dolan, the school’s quarterback, strode past with a satisfied grin.
Fear raced through Quinn as Ben walked away. He felt small then, insignificant. Almost too frightened to move.
When the last of the cars disappeared, he climbed into his truck.
On Friday, Rae cleared off her desk at four o’clock. Yesterday and on Tuesday, she’d worked through the dinner hour. Both days provided a diversion from worry over Quinn’s parents, or reliving the embarrassment of her behavior at Griffin’s firm on Monday.
Leaving early posed no problem. Rae grabbed her purse. Slipping out to the alley, she climbed into her car.
The workweek was over. No one on the Square—not Yuna, the other shop owners, or any of the professionals in the various firms—had glimpsed Penny’s car circling Chardon Square. Five days running.
An optimistic trend. Rae prayed it would hold.
Pulling out of the alley, she considered stopping at the drugstore. She didn’t own stationery. Buy a blank card to compose an apology note to Griffin? She had no idea what to write. She couldn’t, however, drop a check in the mail for the damaged planter without an accompanying note. It would be rude. She’d already embarrassed herself thoroughly.
Her phone buzzed. She put her father on speaker.
“Are you still at the office?” He sounded excited.
“Just left. Stopping at the drugstore. I’ll be home afterward.”
“Can the drugstore wait? Make the trip in the morning?”
“Sure. Why?” She hesitated. “Should I pick up dinner?” This morning Quinn had left for school early; she wasn’t sure if he was cooking tonight.
“Already taken care of,” Connor assured her. “I’m having Italian delivered. Veal parmesan, ravioli—the works. Did you know the only Italian food Quinn’s eaten is pizza? That must be some sort of crime.”