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In her mind, they would have seen each other a few times this week. Emily knew that Quinn would be teaching, but Quinn had shut down that idea, getting right to the point without even having to finish her sentence.
Essentially, Quinn had said, what was the point?
And while Emily had been taken aback by that reaction in the moment, now that she’d had time to think about it, she could see where Quinn was coming from.
A part of Emily was actually flattered. The conclusion she’d drawn from Quinn’s reaction was that perhaps she was afraid of feeling too much.
Emily already felt way too much, so she was beyond those kinds of fears, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t disappointed these last few days, knowing that she could have had dinner with Quinn or invited her over, but that hadn’t happened.
Emily never ran into her in town in the evenings when she’d gone out to just wander around the markets or stop in the coffee shop for a pastry.
Now though, standing in the living room of her cabin, looking around at all the work she’d put in this week after the new carpets had been put down and the appliances installed in the kitchen, she was starting to feel like this place was her own.
Her eyes took in the rustic charm of the armchairs and couch upholstered in brown leather with brass nailhead trimming, the stately oak bookcases ready to be filled with her own books, and the rustic coffee table made from driftwood.
In the corner was her grandfather’s old Steinway piano, its glossy black wood still beckoning as if it remembered teaching Emily how to play when she was just a little girl. She could almost hear his gentle voice explaining each note, and for the first time since he’d died, she felt gratitude for all the time they’d had together, especially when she was a child, rather than the sadness that he was gone.
Emily had accomplished a lot here in the last two weeks, and it dawned on her that she should stay here for the rest of her time off. She hadn’t really planned on doing anything like that, but she had thought that she’d need the whole month to get this place ready to be livable.
Now that it was?
Why wouldn’t she stay here?
22
Quinn took the clipboard that Rebecca handed her.
“Do you mind doing deliveries again?” Rebecca asked.
“No, not at all.” Quinn wished she could keep Emily out of her head for more than a few hours, but it hadn’t been possible all week.
When she was ordering her gingerbread latte on campus, she couldn’t help but think of Emily handing her that delicious hot chocolate with a hint of gingerbread.
Quinn couldn’t sit on her sofa or get into her bed without images of Emily flashing before her eyes.
And now she was thinking back to last week, when she’d delivered those meals with Emily, before everything had changed, when Quinn had just felt that tug of attraction, never imagining that they’d act on it.
“Quinn?”
“Hm?” Quinn snapped out of the daze she’d been in.
“I said, sorry about last weekend. I didn’t mean to leave that early, but I’m just not used to drinking.”
“Oh.” Quinn waved her off. “It’s fine.”
“What happened with Emily?”
Quinn’s heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what happened? Did you go to another bar?”
“No. Why?”
Quinn thought back to their interactions when they were all sitting together in the booth. She’d practically ignored Emily, because she didn’t trust herself not to let her gaze linger or to say something suggestive the more wine she’d had.
There was no way that Rebecca could have picked up on something, was there?
“I’m just wondering how she managed to pick up a woman in between the time I left and the bar closing. She never came home.” Rebecca shook her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. And she’ll probably tell me anyway.”
