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She didn’t even know if she would be able to last the night without hearing a word from him.
Chapter Three
The last thing Quincy wanted to do was seem desperate, so he decided not to contact Anne before he headed home. The drive was about an hour from the little town to the city that he lived in, and he didn’t even know why he had taken the long drive. He knew why; to escape his bonds for just a few moments and pretend to be someone else.
However, he was on a deadline, and needed to be in his crappy apartment in the crappiest neighborhood available before ten o’clock. He didn’t like having a mistress—of sorts—but he had to deal with the mistakes that he had made.
Since he had to drive home before then, he had to leave just a bit after he and Anne had finished their conversations. He walked her as she walked down the sidewalk, a forlorn sigh escaping him. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to hold her close, and to ruin every part of her world that she had kept as pristine as new-fallen snow. It would please him more than anything to shatter the innocence of such a girl like her.
However, he resisted. He hopped onto his Harley, and old bike given to him by his old man before he had died, and headed home. He wasn’t able to contact Anne until nine-thirty, but by then, she didn’t respond, and he assumed that she was asleep. Quincy parked his vehicle in the safest spot, one that he had paid extra money for to obtain, and then headed upstairs to his apartment. He lived on the fifth floor, and the walk was a killer—there were no elevators—but at least on the fifth floor, everything was quiet.
Quincy made himself a hearty meal of microwaveable Mac and Cheese, and flopped over onto his couch. Ten o’clock rolled around, and he still hadn’t received a knock. Ten-fifteen. Ten-thirty. He figured that maybe his date—if he could even call it that—had forgotten. He retired to his bedroom, with a creaky, painful mattress, and stretched out. He glanced at the message he had sent Anne one last time.
I think you’re very pretty.
It had taken a lot of courage for him to send a message like that to Anne. He hadn’t seen a girl, let alone talked to one, in years, and it had left him only mildly deprived. He wasn’t going to be an animal with her, but he wanted to make his intent clear before Anne got the wrong idea and assumed that perhaps Quincy only wanted to be simple friends.
Quincy scoffed at the idea.
He couldn’t remember how to make friends.
***
The next morning, Anne woke with the sound of her younger siblings running around. She groaned and sat up, but quickly put a smile on her face. Even if her little brother and sister were annoying, it meant that they were in good health. The thought cheered her up immediately, and she rose to go and make breakfast for herself.
Her father was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, and an open newspaper in the other. Although his life was centered on technology, he didn’t allow it to consume his life. He much preferred printed news, claiming that it gave him a better feel for what was actually happening.
“Good morning,” Anne greeted.
Her father raised his mug in greeting to the girl. Any other person might have thought it rude, but Anne knew that it meant that her father was engrossed in an incredibly interesting article.
Her mother, ever the perfect picture of a housewife, was in the kitchen, with two bowls of cereal already poured out. A pan simmered with both bacon and eggs, and Anne took in a deep breath of the smell. Early-morning breakfasts with her family were her favorites.
“Good morning, Anne,” her mother greeted. “You were home late last night. Did something come up?” she asked.
“There was that storm,” Anne said. She paused for a moment, figuring that her mother deserved to know. “And I made a new friend at the bakery downtown,” she said. She didn’t say what kind of friend; her mother would have fainted.
“Oh, is that so?” she asked. She had a smile on her face. “That’s always good to hear. Someone from your classes, or no?”
Anne thought about Quincy, thought about how he was not the type of person to be in college. She shook her head sharply, and ridded herself of the thought. When she had gotten home, she had promised herself that she would try to stop stereotyping—for Quincy’s sake.
“No,” Anne said. She grabbed the fine plaster plates from the cabinet, and began scooping eggs and beacon onto each. As if sensing that it was time to be done, a few slices of toast popped up from the toaster. “Just someone that I met. A very friendly person.”
“A girl or a boy?” her father asked, looking up from his paper.
Her mother flapped her hand at her husband, and rolled her eyes at him. “You don’t need to know that. Anne is a big girl, and she can make her own decisions. Right, darling?”
“Of course, mother,” Anne replied. “A boy, if you must know. Quite the charming gentleman.”
Her father didn’t seem impressed, but her mother smiled. “I’m happy for you, dear. Why don’t you sit down and have a quick breakfast with us before your first class?” she suggested.
“I think I will,” Anne agreed. She grabbed her phone from the counter before she joined the table, having left it there overnight to charge. A message from Quincy was on the screen, and it sent shivers of delight through her entire body.
I think you’re very pretty.
Just that morning, he had sent another one to her. This one was shorter, and far more vague. She didn’t let that bother her, in fact, it made her even more curious than she had been just a few moments ago. Anne sat down at the table, and tucked her phone under her leg so she wouldn’t be tempted to reply during the meal. Her brother and sister raced to the table, beginning to stuff their faces full of cereal and milk, occasionally spilling a drop or two.
The family dog mulled about their feet, looking for any sort of scraps that might have fallen. The pages of her father’s newspaper turned, and the first clinking of silverware began from her mother’s side of the table.
