Page 80 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“I’m serious. There hasn’t been a single moment since the day I met you that I haven’t thought you were a fucking… forest fire.”

I squint at him. “You’re comparing me to a natural disaster?”

“No, I’m saying…” he laughs, dragging a hand across his face. “What am I saying? You’re intimidating. All consuming. Devastatingly beautiful. We agreed I’d conduct myself like I never noticed, but I always notice. There isn’t a single day I haven’t wanted to be irrationally close to you. Haven’t imagined what it would be like to…”

“Feel me up on your couch and leave me for your stepmother?” I finish.

He gives me a wistful smirk.

“To hold you. To wake up next to you. Make you breakfast. And yeah, maybe feel you up on my couch. You know you make this sound?”

“What sound?” I blink.

“This soft, sexy, completely maddening sound, every time I kiss you. I’m pretty sure I’ll never get that sound out of my head. It’s like once you know it exists, you can’t understand how you ever lived without it.”

My gaze slides up to his, heavy and searching. “Why are you saying this?”

“We’re going for broke here, right? Isn’t that what this trip is?” he half-smiles.

“Tell me what’s going on with your…” – I choose my words carefully – “family situation.”

He takes a breath, and I feel that he’s about to spill it. Whatever it is. This could make or break us. This could be everything.

It’s at this moment that Billy Barnacle himself approaches our table, and it’s increasingly apparent this man has no concept of timing. He gives us an oversized grin and an overloud, “H! Q! I’ve got great news! I found you a place!”

***

Quentin and I make the short walk from Barnacle Billy’s to the house located five doors down without speaking. The gentle rush of low tide and the sound of our shoes crunching across the loose gravel of the road’s shoulder suck up the conversation – if that’s even what that was back there. The wheels of my suitcase rattle along beside me in the bike lane. After a few long minutes, we’re being greeted by a tall, auburn-haired woman who looks shockingly like Susan Sarandon.

(I cannot promise this is not the result of old contacts and copious amounts of discount tequila. But seriously, if I could still have boobs like that when I am almost eighty? Sign me up.)

“I rent the room out. To fishermen, mostly,” she explains. “Gone all day, just need a place to rest their rods for the night. You two do much fishing?”

“We’re here for –”

“Antiquing,” I interrupt with a smile. I can’t take a chance and have him telling everyone – especially some potentially gossipy old lady we don’t know – that we’re here searching for Teddy Glass. He’s not Johnny Depp famous, but he’s not exactly a nobody either.

“Oh, well there’s plenty of that!” she says. “I can tell you about all the best spots first thing in the morning. But I’m sure you’re ready to get to bed now. Billy told me what a day you’ve had. Such a sweet man but no head for hospitality, let me tell you.”

“Bed sounds great,” Quentin says. “We appreciate your help, Norma. Really.”

As she leads us down the hot pink hallway, I know in my very soul of souls that there is only going to be one bed in this room. That’s how it always goes, right? The couple who hates each other is forced to share a double bed – or worse – a twin.

God, please don’t let it be a twin.

I am already considering how much I’m not above making him sleep on the floor when Norma leads us into the small room and clicks on the yellow-orange bulb of the table lamp. The entire room is overwhelmingly navy blue, with a heavy-handed nautical theme, like something an eight-year-old might request if he got really into mermaids or Moby Dick. The furniture is bright white. The throw pillows have little anchors embroidered on them. There’s a woven rug covering the tile floor that looks like it was made out of weathered rope from a pirate ship.

“I’m sorry to say I only have bunk beds. I’m sure you were hoping for something a bit more intimate.”

“We’ll make it work,” Quentin says. His hand finds my low back again. Just briefly – so briefly, that I wonder again if I imagined it.

“Bunk beds are perfect,” I tell her.

“Do you need any help getting your things inside?”

“We’ve got everything we need,” he assures her.

“Okay. Well, I’m right down the hall, so just yell if you need anything,” she smiles.

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