Page 37 of Four More The Merrier

"Like this?" The girl's face scrunches in concentration.

"Perfect, sweetie. Now strum - just like we practiced."

A wobbly note rings out and Quinn beams like she's just heard Carnegie Hall. "That's it! You're a natural."

My grandma used to look at me that exact same way when I'd fumble through my first chords. The memory hits hard - her patient smile, the way she'd brush my hair back when I'd get frustrated.

"Mr. Austen?" A boy tugs my sleeve. "Can you teach me too?"

I run a hand through my hair, about to make some excuse, but Quinn catches my eye. There's something in her expression - not judgment, just... understanding maybe.

"Sure, kid." The words come out before I can stop them. "Pull up a chair."

More kids gather around as Quinn leads them through "Rudolph," her voice clear and sweet. She's got them all singing along, even the shy ones in the back. Just like Mom did with her music students.

"Earth to Austen," Lyle whispers, nudging me. "You're missing your harmony."

I clear my throat, jumping back in, but I can't take my eyes off Quinn. The way she lights up when a kid gets something right. How she notices the quiet one hanging back and gently draws her into the circle.

Grandma would've liked her.

The thought ambushes me and I hit a wrong note, earning concerned looks from both Lyle and Quinn. I wave them off, focusing on the music. But the parallel's there now and I can't unsee it - that same natural warmth, that gift for making people feel seen.

Maybe I've been a little hard on her.

After the kids' show, I catch Quinn in the hallway as she's packing up her guitar. My fingers twitch with the urge to run through my hair, but I force them still.

"Hey, uh, that thing you did with the kids... it was good."

She looks up, surprise flickering across her face. "Thanks. They're sweet kids."

"Yeah." I shift my weight, searching for words. "Look, I've been a super dick." The words tumble out before I can overthink them. "And not like, the fun kind that makes good stories at bars."

Quinn straightens up, one eyebrow raised. "Is there a fun kind of super dick?"

"You'd have to ask Jarron." A surprised laugh escapes her, and something in my chest loosens. "What I'm trying to say is... I'm gonna aim for mediocre dick from here on out. Baby steps, you know?"

She snorts, shouldering her guitar case. "Mediocre dick? Is that like the store brand version of being an asshole?"

"More like the diet coke of douchebags." I hold the door open for her as we head outside. "All the attitude, half the calories."

"Well, I appreciate the effort to downgrade your dickishness." She steps into the crisp afternoon air, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Though I have to say, watching you with those kids... you might be in danger of dropping below mediocre entirely."

"Don't tell anyone," I stage-whisper. "I have a reputation to maintain."

She laughs again, and this time it reaches her eyes. The sound reminds me of wind chimes - clear and bright against the December chill.

"Your secret's safe with me," she says, heading toward her car. "See you at rehearsal, Diet Douche."

19

QUINN

Afrantic knock at my door startles me from my own personal pre-show ritual of pacing and humming scales. I open it to find Lyle, his face flushed and breathing heavy like he's run up all six flights.

"Quinn, we need you. Like, right now."

"What's wrong?"

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