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F I F T Y O N E
- Madeline -
I was making two tall glasses of shandy when Quinn returned from his last trip to the storage unit. "Is that everything?" I asked, pausing before I tilted a bottle of beer over the icy lemonade.
"Yep." He swiped his big hands across his jean-clad thighs as if we'd been moving dusty farm equipment all morning instead of his fancy clothes and furniture.
"Feels like the end of an era," I said, the ice in the glass cracking as I poured over it.
"Era, six months, what is time, anyway?" he joked, sliding onto one of the bar stools across the thin kitchen counter.
"Seriously," I said. "Don't you feel like a lot of time has passed since I moved in?"
"I suppose. But equally, it feels like you only moved in a few days ago."
I thought of all the things we'd said and done between these walls and hoped I'd be able to keep a straight face when my brother moved back in tomorrow. "No way we could've done all the stuff we've done in a few days." My mind was a montage of shower sex and couch gymnastics. Even the counter our drinks sat on had played its part in our memory making.
"We could try," he said, waggling his eyebrows as he read my mind.
I draped my hands around my glass. "Do you think James will freak out when he realizes I'm staying?"
"I'm more nervous he's going to be cool with it and refuse to move out."
I tsked him with my eyes. "The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable in his own home."
Quinn shrugged like he didn't care either way.
I chewed my lip, recalling how awful it was when my brother moved out to go live with my dad. That, too, was a situation he’d never seen coming and did nothing to deserve.
"Hey—" Quinn reached across the counter and set a hand over mine. "Relax. Everything's going to be fine. His room is exactly how he left it, and it's not like your stuff is everywhere. If anything, the place is tidier than it's ever been. Certainly better than he left it."
I stared down at his hand over mine, marveling at the power he had to make me feel like everything was under control.
"Has he asked what your plans are?"
I cocked my head. "What do you mean?"
"Has he asked where you plan to stay now that he's coming back?"
I shook my head. "No. If anything, I’ve gotten the feeling that he's deliberately not asking."
"So he knows," Quinn stated matter-of-factly. "Deep down, he knows you're going to be here."
"Maybe I shouldn't go with you to the airport tomorrow," I said. "Maybe it's better if you break the news first. Then, if he panics and protests, I can flee before you guys get home."
He laughed. "First of all, the last thing I want is for you to flee. Second, he's considerably more likely to punch me in the nose if you're not there."
I narrowed my gaze. "Do you think you deserve a punch in the nose?"
"After everything I've done to you and thought about doing to you, it's the least I deserve."
"As long as he doesn't punch you in the crotch," I said. "I could learn to love your broken nose, but if he messes up your plumbing…"
"You think I should wear a cup?"
I smiled. "I think we should stop talking about this. I'm nervous enough as it is."
"Drink your shandy," he said, nodding towards the sweating glass in my hands.
