Page 43 of The Lovers
“What?” Quinn gasped. “I’m on the news?”
“Yes. ‘Historian attacked when she walked in on a robbery,’” Rhys quoted.
Quinn nodded in disgust. “I might have known. There was a reporter at the hospital last night—for an entirely different case, mind you. I feel strangely violated,” Quinn joked. “It seems odd that strangers know what happened to me.”
“That’s life in the public eye for you,” Rhys replied as he shrugged off his jacket.
“I’m hardly in the public eye. I’m a historian, for God’s sake.”
“Get used to it. Once our program is aired, you’ll get a lot more attention than you ever expected. Believe it or not, people lapthis stuff up. ‘History made real, the dead brought back to life,’” he intoned, using an announcer voice that made Quinn laugh.
Rhys handed her a shopping bag. “Here, I brought you something to make you feel better. I know I promised not to force-feed you cake, but I think you’ll like these. I made them this morning just for you.”
Quinn pulled out a square plastic container out of the shopping bag and stared at the bell-shaped blobs of dough. “What are these?”
“Canelés. They’re French. Caramelized crust on the outside, chewy on the inside, with just a small dollop of custard filling,” he said, somehow making the description sound seductive. “I dare you to resist.”
“You truly are evil,” Quinn replied with a chuckle as she opened the container and inhaled the heavenly smell. “Are you trying to make me fat?”
“No, I’m trying to give you a moment of pleasure,” he replied, all innocence. “And if you don’t want to get fat, come for a walk with me. It’s a lovely day outside. I’ve never been here before, so you can show me around the village. Was this a church?” he asked with some surprise as he gazed up at the vaulted ceiling and stained-glass windows.
“It was a private chapel a few centuries back. Now it’s my home, and I love it,” Quinn said proudly. “There’s such…”
“Peace,” Rhys finished for her. “It just envelops you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Will you show me the rest?” he asked.
Quinn was glad she’d made the bed before getting into the shower. She led Rhys into the bedroom, watching his expression of delight.
“It’s breathtaking,” he said as he took in the massive four-poster bed and the heavy carved armoire. “Simply stunning. It’s like walking into another century. No television?” he asked as he looked around.
“No, I don’t actually own a television. I do have electric lights and running water, but those are my only concessions to modernity. I like the ancient feel of this place, and I don’t wish to spoil it. If I want to watch something, I watch it on my laptop.”
“It really is beautiful. The candles are a nice touch,” he added, referring to two massive candles in tall, medieval stands on either side of the bed.
The kettle began to whistle, and they returned to the main room, where Quinn poured them tea. She reached for a canelé and took an experimental bite. “Oh my God,” she murmured with her mouth still full. “This is delicious.”
“I know,” Rhys replied with a satisfied grin. “My specialty. I make them only for the most deserving people.”
“Flatterer.”
“Guilty as charged. Now, pass me one of those.”
Quinn laughed and passed him the container. She suddenly realized that she felt happy and light despite everything that happened the previous night. Gabe’s presence had been comforting and reassuring, but there’d been a spark of tension between them. Gabe had made it clear that he no longer wished to be just friends, and Quinn felt cornered by his sudden intensity. She was flattered by Rhys’s attention, but they didn’t know each other well enough to have any expectations of each other, and it felt good just to spend time with him without feeling as if an answer were expected.
“Take a coat,” Rhys said as they got ready to leave. “It’s chilly outside.”
“You sound like my mother,” Quinn protested but reached for her leather jacket and wound a colorful scarf around her neck.
They walked at a leisurely pace down the lane and toward the village. The air was crisp and fresh. Leaves fluttered and twirled in the wind, slowly falling to the ground in front of their feet. A cool sun held court in the cloudless sky but didn’t provide much warmth, and Quinn was glad that she’d listened to Rhys and taken a jacket.
“Did you grow up around here?” Rhys asked as he admired the pastoral views.
“No, my family lived near Lincoln, but I no longer consider it my home. Not since my parents left. I have a cousin who lives in London. She recently opened a vintage clothing shop,” Quinn said. “She was in corporate accounting for years and then just up and left.”
“There’s always a fork in the road,” Rhys replied. “You know when you reach it, but sometimes you’re just not ready to choose. I guess your cousin took the right path.”
