Page 106 of Maybe You

“I haven’t had one of those in forever,” Quinn muses.

For a little while, I watch the two of them work. They move around each other with the ease of two people whose personal spaces have merged into one, and all the while, they tease and laugh and joke.

After about ten minutes, Steph slides three steaming cups onto the dining table and takes a seat. Quinn settles in next to him, casually throwing his arm over the back of Steph’s chair. And I take a seat opposite them, on the other side of the table.

I pick up the cup and take a sip. I’m not sure whether it’s the whiskey or the hot liquid, but it does make my throat feel less scratchy for the time being.

“It’s good,” I say as I place the cup back down. I sound like somebody who smokes a pack a day, but hey, at least I have my voice back for now.

“I’m a shit cook, but if there’s alcohol involved, I can generally pull it off.” Steph grins.

“Sutton’s at work?” Steph asks and places his own cup down. I frown at him. Work?

“He went out to get some nasal spray,” I say. “Breathing is a bit of a challenge right now.”

Steph nods.

“Mystery solved,” he tells Quinn before he glances at me. “So how long has this been going on?”

I almost choke on my drink at the casual straightforwardness of that question, and then I take another slow, measured sip to buy myself some time to think about what to say.

“A couple of months,” I finally say.

Steph tilts his head to the side. “Why do you look so grim about it? As far as I understand it, most people enjoy this whole song and dance.” He raises his brows at Quinn as if to confirm.

“Yes, Stephen. Unlike you, a lot of people do enjoy the song and dance of being in a relationship.”

Steph aims his gaze my way while motioning to Quinn.

“See? Straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“I don’t—” I still have no idea what to say. What I should say. Or maybe more importantly what I shouldn’t say. “It’s not… We haven’t really discussed anything,” I finally say.

I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not Steph simply shrugging and saying, “Okay.”

Quinn is still eyeing me thoughtfully, and the urge to fidget under his penetrating gaze becomes almost overwhelming.

Steph smacks his shoulder.

“Can you reel in the resting disappointed face a bit?”

Quinn snorts and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he tells me. “It’s nothing personal.”

“I didn’t think it was,” I say.

He nods.

And keeps looking at me.

I feel like a bug under a microscope.

“It’s just that…” he eventually says. “It’s not going to be… easy.” It looks like he’s concentrating very hard to pick just the right words, and after he’s found them, he sends me an intent look like I’m supposed to get what he’s saying.

And I do understand why he thinks it’s complicated. He’s my employer, and Sutton is his friend. It’s not ideal.

It could be worse.

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