Page 65 of Finders Keepers
“Where’s she been, anyway? There aren’t that many places for her to hide.”
“Under the bed, most likely.”
“Or in the shadow realm,” I mutter.
“Don’t be too rude to her,” he chides. “She likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because she won’t sleep beside just anyone. Back when Charlene and I were together, Faustine would only come up on the bed if it was just me.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well. I’m honored, I guess.”
“You should be,” he says, and moves into the room. He’s showered since he woke up, and changed into a different pair of sweatpants and that Franz Ferdinand shirt he wore the night he came back from France. He’s also holding a mug. “Coffee, if you want it,” he says, and holds it out to me as I sit up.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him. “Did you…were you in here with me and Faustine too at some point?”
“I was, until about six. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Of course. I just…don’t remember it.”
“Well, you wereout,” he says. “I didn’t know you still slept so heavily.” Until now, the last time Quentin and I had a sleepover was when we were six and camped out with my father in a tent in my backyard, during which I notoriously slept through a surprise severe thunderstorm. Dad picked me up and hauled me inside, and I never once stirred.
“Sorry if I snored.”
“Oh, you certainly did,” he says with a smile. “But it was cute. Like Shemp in the Three Stooges.Honk-mee, mee, mee, mee, mee.”
“Cut it out,” I laugh, reaching for the pillow to throw at him,but Faustine has stretched out to take up both pillows now, and I don’t have the heart to displace her.
“You fell asleep on my chest,” he adds quietly.
“Oh. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. It was…it was nice.” He smiles beautifully, genuinely, and I realize I haven’t seen that too-charming version of him in a long time. He’s only showing me this side now—the real Quentin. “Well, it was,” he adds, “until you shifted and kneed me in the balls.”
“Geez. I reallyamsorry about that.”
“That you can be sorry for,” he agrees.
He watches as I drain my coffee, then takes my mug back and hands me my glasses from where he thoughtfully placed them on the windowsill after I drifted off.
“I, uh, I should get home. I’m sure my mom…” I grab my phone from where it’s shoved beneath the pillow. There are indeed three missed calls from her.
“She texted me when she couldn’t get ahold of you,” he says. “I told her you were spending the night here and not to worry.”
Oh, great. Now she’s probably even more convinced that Quentin and I are sexually involved. Somehow her thinking that when it isn’t the truth, though I wish it was, is worse than if she thought it and we actually were. I get out of the bed and Faustine spreads farther into the space I’ve vacated as if she is liquid and the boundaries of her container have changed. “Still, I should…Thanks for dinner and um, the nice things you said to me and uh, letting me crash in your bed and uh, into you. Into your testicles with my knee, I mean. Not like in the Dave Matthews Band allegorical way…Anyway! Thanks for a fun time.”
I look up from my rambling to see such fondness inQuentin’s smile that my heart stutters. “Thanks for sharing what you found with me,” he says. “And for hanging out. It really means a lot to me that you wanted to.”
“Of course I wanted to,” I say, sliding my laptop into its bag and putting my shoes back on.
We exchange a quick kiss on the cheek, and I head over to my own house, ready to face the music. And I guess the name of this song is “Patti Hunnicutt.”
My mother has always been an early riser. Which means she’s wide awake and already knitting on the couch, watching one of the morning shows, as I attempt to creep into the house. She turns her head, registers that it’s me and not an intruder, and…goes back to clacking her needles together while Savannah and Carson talk about their Fourth of July plans.
I guess that’s coming up in a few days. Weird that I’ve been back in Catoctin for almost a month now. Time flies when you’re treasure hunting and platonically sleeping with a sexy man and his hairless cat.
Mom’s lack of interest in where I’ve been feels almost insulting. More so than when she had no questions after thinking she caught Quentin and me fooling around on the couch. Not that Iwantto talk to her about any of it. I just thought she’d be more curious at the very least.
