Page 44 of Finders Keepers
“I don’t need candlelit dinners and rose petals on the bed, no. But I do want to be…wanted, I guess.” Ambitious Nina was fine with putting romance second (or third, or sometimes eighth), prioritizing the hustle with the understanding that affection and togetherness were something to enjoy at a later date, when the work was done. In academia, the work is never really done, though, and I simply went without for so long I stopped noticing. But now, with Quentin sitting so close that I can count his faded freckles, I’m noticing again. Noticing quite intensely. “I don’t mean wanted sexually, although ideally that would also be the case. I mostly just want someone who genuinely enjoys being with me. Someone who wants to spend time together. Who feels like I’m equally worthy of their attention and love, whether I’m a massive success or a huge failure or doing just fine.” I think back to the first time I visited Cole afterhe moved to Alabama for his first tenure-track job. How I spent most of the trip alone in his house because he said he didn’t want to introduce me to anyone there “until I had some good news to share.” God. I completely understand what Quentin means about feeling stupid.
I look down at the glinting ring again and let out an overwhelmed chuckle. “It’s such a relief Cole and I hadn’t gotten this far yet. Breakup logistics are already annoying enough with the new place we were leasing together. Can’t imagine how much of a pain it is to move out of a shared space and also cancel a whole wedding.”
“I do not recommend,” Quentin says with a tight smile. “Very expensive and not super fun.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then softly, I say, “You are worth a lot more than it sounds like she would have given you. And maybe it makes me a jerk, but I can’t help but be glad that you’ve wound up here instead of there.” I have apparently lost control over my words and also my hands, because one is now resting on his knee. At least I am touching a relatively innocuous part of him instead of doing something egregious, like licking his jaw.
His sleep-heavy eyes go wide for a second before his expression turns warm and his hand comes to rest over mine. Our fingers weave together, and the sudden rush of electricity through my system sets off a mental siren. The feelings coursing through me hold an echo of familiarity. They’re the grown-up version of the ones that once led me to believe that I loved Quentin Bell. And Idefinitelydo not have any business going back there, to that long-ago, foolish version of myself.
“So!” I say with a nervous smile as I yank away. “Thanks for the…” I hold up my hand—the right one at first, the one that was touching him, and have to quickly switch it for my left,where the ring sits on my finger like it belongs there. “Definitely a nice touch.”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem.” Quentin nods, and it might be my imagination, but he seems slightly muddled too. He follows me to the front door. “It is worth, like,severalthousand dollars, though, so please take care of it.”
“Thank god you said something, since I was planning to be extremely careless,” I retort.
The corner of his mouth kicks up. He takes my left hand and rubs his thumb over the diamond on my finger, twisting it back and forth for a moment, his mouth in a straight, pensive line. I’m expecting him to be serious again, but he says, “If for some reason they ask…I was thinking we’d combine our names into a new one. We could be the Bellicutts.”
“I think I prefer the Hunnibells. Less violent sounding.”
“Mr. and Dr. Hunnibell,” he says. “That’s delightful.”
“Did you want to come up with more of a backstory? Make sure we’re on the same page about any other questions they might have?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says. “Too tired. Let’s just wing it.”
19
Winging it wasprobably not the way to go.
Our vibes are all over the place. We can’t seem to settle on if we’re madly and disgustingly in love, or if we actually hate each other a little and just don’t realize it yet. As we head upstairs with Avanti, Sprangbur’s event coordinator, I lean over to Quentin and ask, “So are you going to tell me exactly what your plan is here?”
“We’re going to make things super awkward until she leaves us alone for a minute.”
Oh. Well in that case, we could not be doing a better job. We are being nothing if not off-putting.
“Here on the second floor we have rooms where you and your bridal party can get ready before the ceremony,” Avanti says.
“Very nice,” I say, eyeing the Star Parlor.
“Speaking of the ceremony,” Quentin says, “if it’s usually outside in the gardens, what happens if it rains?”
“It’s up to the couple. Some people decide to get a tent just in case. Others choose a backup space indoors. Depending on thefinal guest count, we use either the conservatory or the downstairs sitting room that opens up into the drawing room.”
“Oh, the conservatory! That would be beautiful, wouldn’t it?” I lay my hand on Quentin’s arm and look up at him. “All the windows. Like being outside without being outside, you know? And with the rain dripping down the glass…”
“Eh. I think I’d rather the tent,” he says without looking back at me.
“Except a tent rental would be an added expense”—I elongate the word as if teaching it to a toddler—“while the conservatory is—”
“Wait, why would we rent? We can just buy one,” he says. “I’m sure it’s more cost-effective.”
“You want tobuya tent that will cover eighty people?” I take a step away and put my hands on my hips. “To use one time? And you think that will bemorecost-effective?”
He matches my indignant posture. “Eighty? I thought we were only inviting close family and friends.”
“Yeah, and that’s about eighty guests. I told you, it adds up. Especially if we’re including children and plus-ones.”
“But that’s way too many people. Didn’t we agree we wanted something more intimate?”
