Page 16 of Rushing Into Love

“How long are you staying?” Quinn asked her.

Bree shrugged. “Not really sure, it’s kind of up in the air.” She shifted in her seat, sipped her wine.

Quinn didn’t let up. I was torn between telling him to get lost and having him continue to mine for info.

“So, are you working remotely then? On assignment? Independently wealthy?” Quinn’s eyes twinkled at his own wittiness and Bree shot him an appreciative grin.

“Definitely not the latter,” she said, shaking her head. “I can work remotely for a while. I’m a relationship expert,” she explained, setting her glass down on the bar. “I’m in private practice, so I can teleconference with my clients. Plus, I do weekly podcasts and run a dating blog, both of which I do from home. So my job is pretty flexible.” She flipped her hair, smoothing it over her shoulder.

“So—you give dating advice, then?” Quinn asked, his eyes narrowed. He steepled his fingers together, intrigued.

“Yes and no. My blog has articles about different aspects of relationships: listening, communication, building and maintaining trust, that sort of thing,” she ticked each topic off on her fingers. “My readers sometimes write in with comments and ask for advice, but my job is to guide them, not tell them what to do,” she explained, shaking her head adamantly. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and continued. “My podcasts are much like the blog—various issues that come up in relationships and how best to deal with them. I give hypothetical examples, discuss different ways to handle things. Sometimes I have guest speakers to keep it exciting. It’s a fun little project I started and it’s kind of taken off.” Bree rested her elbow on the bar, chin on hand, and smiled.

“Sounds interesting,” I said, nodding and locking eyes with her.

“Oh, it is. My favorite part of the job is helping people, really. That’s what it’s all about—we dive into their most personal stuff and hopefully, in the end, they find happiness and love. Sounds corny, but that’s my job in a nutshell.” She smiled at me, an attractive pink flush tinting her cheeks. She was stunningandnice. Already a big-time departure from Shayna.

“Not to sound cynical, but how exactly does one become qualified to be a relationship expert?” Quinn asked, interrupting my moment with Bree. I glared at him over her head—one of the advantages of being 6’4”.

He avoided my glare and waited for Bree to respond. She tilted her head to the side, contemplating. Meanwhile, Durbin Academy had the ball, threw it twenty-five yards down the field, and Peachtree Grove intercepted. A huge cheer erupted from the crowd.

Bree waited for the noise to die down, then said, “I earned my degree in Psychology and Business, then went on to graduate school. I have my Master’s in Psychology. Plus, I had to sit for boards. The state of California, at least, believes me to be qualified.” She sat up straighter on her bar stool. She seemed a little irritated, like this was a sore subject. I supposed she got asked this all the time.

I tried to smooth it over. “So, advice for my single brother here then. Because clearly he needs it.” Slapping him on the back, he choked a little on his beer. Payback.

Bree smiled, her green eyes glittering under the lights from the bar. She rested her head on her hands, contemplating Quinn. “I need a little more info than that, I’m afraid. Do you have a particular area of concern?” she asked, looking first to Quinn, then to me.

“Hey, I’m perfectly content, brother,” Quinn shrugged. “This is your question—what’s my problem?”

“Long list,” I joked, shaking my head. “No, in all seriousness, why is an eligible bachelor like my brother still single? What’s his deal?” I locked eyes with Bree.

She gnawed on her lower lip. “Occupation?” she asked Quinn.

“Firefighter.”

“Hmmm.” Bree nodded. “Last serious relationship?”

“I don’t do serious,” Quinn deadpanned.

“Why not?” she shot back without hesitation.

“Not my style.” Quinn stared straight at the TV, took a sip of beer. Peachtree Grove scored another touchdown and more whoops and cheers rang out. The game was looking like a runaway.

“My quick-and-dirty, thirty-second, take-it-for-what-it’s-worth professional opinion: fear of failure. Classic hero complex. You’ve probably churned through half the girls in Peachtree Grove,” Bree glanced behind her, gesturing to the room, “rescued them from various situations, then cut them loose before things could get serious. You have to always be the good guy, the hero. You don’t want to put yourself in a position where you might fail, so you keep it light, nothing too deep, then cut and run.” She flipped her hair again, letting it fall down her back, and folded her hands in her lap. “How’d I do?” She turned to me.

I let out a low, soft whistle. “Damn. Sounds spot on.” I shook my head, impressed.

Quinn squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. Bree had his number, with only two data points.

“Half seems a little high,” Quinn retorted, “but thanks for the vote of confidence. Maybe I like to keep things light. Nothing wrong with that.” He shrugged, took a long chug of beer.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Bree nodded, agreeing with him. “Until one day, when you’re of a certain age, you’ll look around and all your friends are married, with families, and you’re still alone.” She pointed at him. “Now that works for some people,” she tilted her head, squinting at Quinn through narrowed eyes, “but I’m guessing you’re not going to be one of them.”

Quinn turned to face her. “And how would you know that?” His tone was slightly defensive now.

“You’re a family-oriented oldest child in a helping profession. Not exactly the classic loner profile,” she pointed out.

Bree had pretty much just described my brother to a tee. Quinn stared at her, dumbstruck. “Well, this has been fun, kids.” He signaled to Macy for the check. “But I’ve gotta go. Early pick-up basketball game tomorrow morning with the crew.”

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