Page 15 of Any Girl But You
“Yes!” I pick back up the mug. “How about ‘Did you just release the gimp?’”
“Whoa, this took a dark turn fast.” Quinn tosses up her hands, chuckling. “Time to reel that back in.”
The time flies by. Our conversation morphs into our favorite movies, what we’re streaming, and a random shared deep dislike ofThe Catcher in the Rye(don’t judge,it’s sold a gazillion copies). Much like when I laughed, I also couldn’t remember the last time I sat and chatted like this with anyone. For the last six years, I’ve always thrown everything I have into my bakery. My free time, my love, my sweat. The last two years, the rest of my energy went into nursing my broken heart. Even though I’ll never tell her, today is proving I need to seriously consider taking my mom’s advice and get out more often.
My gaze flickers across the pavilion as folks add the very final touches to their displays. It might be the end of August, but this place is saturated with the Christmas spirit. “I think making ornaments and crafts would be so much fun. I make some every year during the holidays. If I didn’t have a bakery, I’d have a craft store.”
“Really?” Quinn crosses her legs toward me. “Well, you’re welcome to come out anytime you want and make Christmas crafts with me.”
“I’msoooin. Seriously, don’t offer something like that if you don’t mean it. I have an unhealthy obsession with crafts and would probably spend all my off time there if I could.” Sitting among the smell of pine and cedar trees while painting ornaments sounds like a perfect day off. Not to mention, I am so curious what the farm looks like now. Last summer, Morgan and Frankie transformed the barn on Quinn’s tree farm to be useable for a small wedding venue. The rumors on the street said the place was pretty gnarly before they revamped it all. I wasn’tthere, but I saw some before and after pictures online. It looked phenomenal.
Quinn has the corner of her lip tucked into her teeth, and if I’m not mistaken, a tiny hint of pink sweeps beneath her freckles. “Is there, ah, is there someone who would miss having you around if you spent all your free time making crafts at my place?”
Huh?“You mean like my family or staff?” And then…Ohhhhh. I know what she’s asking, and now I feel like my cheeks mirror hers. “Oh, you mean like someoneat home. Yeah, um, no. Just me. And some very, very sad plants. I don’t even have a cat.”
It looks like she releases a breath. Wait…is Quinn interested in me? No. What? No. I mean, good Lord, I’ve been out of the game for a decade, but I think I’m reading into what she’s throwing down.
Stop.Man, this is sad. Having a friendly chat with someone for an hour does not mean they’re interested.
“Is there anyone for you that might be upset you have someone hanging out so much with you?” My attempt at being smooth fails, and I try not to scrunch my face into a cringe. But I can’t take it back. And now I’m not breathing, waiting for the answer.
Quinn reaches for her mug. “Either a hundred of them, or none, depending on how you look at it.”
Okay, I am a certifiable dork. We aresoclearly talking about two different things.
“I don’t do the dating thing at all,” Quinn says.
So wearetalking about the same thing. But this revelation twists my gut more than it should, and I’m not totally sure why.
“I have all the time in the world to do what I want, when I want,” Quinn says. “No one to answer to.”
Surely, when she says she doesn’t date “at all,” she doesn’t meanat all, at all. Maybe she had a bad breakup and is nursing atender heart, but is still searching for Ms. Right. Or maybe she’s taking a break. “You don’t date at all. Like ever? Or like right now?”
“Ever,” Quinn says, pulling the mug to her lips. “I’m a single-serving kind of woman, you know? Maybe two servings if we really click. My longest relationship was two weeks, and honestly—and I will fully admit I’m a total asshole—it’s because I had a rare week off work and wanted to spend the time between the sheets. Me and relationships… Nope.” She laughs and crosses her forearms to make an X. “What’s a terrible combo… Oil and water? Olives and chocolate? That’s me and monogamy.”
I grin, hiding my disappointment. My deep, deep, delusional disappointment that shouldn’t hit me as hard as it’s hitting me. “That bad, huh? Although, I make a sweet pickle cupcake, so maybe olives and chocolate wouldn’t be terrible.”
Quinn scrunches her nose. “Pickle cupcake, huh? I’ll give it a try. Just once.” A short moment lapses when she shifts and tugs at the edge of the tablecloth. “Are you a single-serving type of person?”
Well, gah. My chest, my head, my ears are flaming pink right now. Is Quinn asking if I’m the type of person who has casual hookups? Is this because she wants to have a casual hookup with me? Nothing like diving into the deep end of a getting-to-know-you conversation while surrounded by Christmas ornaments. And what if Iamsomeone who likes casual hookups? Will it just be something we have in common, or will she see if I want to meet later?
I wish my limbs and loins weren’t tingling the way they are. It’s been three years since I’ve had sex, minus one sad time during the last year of my and Josie’s relationship where it felt like a last-ditch effort to save us. I’ve never had a one-night stand in all my life. But that night, with Josie, would’ve been theclosest to it, even though she was my partner. And I cried in the shower after.
So, no, I amdefinitelynot a single-serving person.
“Nope, but you do you. I’m all about claiming whatever power makes sense for you,” I say. Which is true. There is no judgment. I’m simply wired different. But there is a tiny bit of me looking at Quinn’s bright smile, beautiful eyes, and sunburst hair that makes me wish Iwaswired a bit more like her. “I’m like one of those weird people who mate once, mate for life.”
“Ah!” She smacks her hand against the table. “You are the emperor penguin!”
“The what?”
She shifts towards me with a mega-grin. “That’s what I call Morgan and Frankie—emperor penguins. Have you ever heard about them? So technically they don’talwaysmate for life, but basically they find their mate and stick with them, and usually return to them season after season.”
Ah. I feel like I’ve heard about these penguins. Not that I would classify myself like this, but I understand what Quinn is getting at. “Yeah, I guess I am, then.”
A heavy moment follows this. I wish I knew Quinn better, could read her eyes that flicker downward while her smile remains the same. “Well, good for you. I hope you find that perfect mate someday.”
A crackly announcement over the intercom says the doors will open in five minutes. “I should probably head out and let you meet all your new fans.”
