Perfect Pairing (17 page)

Tears stung Quinn's eyes, but she blinked them back. She wasn't a crier. Hal was right. She couldn't have known, but did she really deserve to be let off the hook completely? “I made a terrible mistake.”

She raised her hand, cutting her off. “It's over. It's done. If there's one thing my upbringing taught me, it's that you can't get hung up on every bad break. You have to keep rolling down the road. Food-truck chef, remember?”

Quinn pondered the connection as she took another strong pull from her drink. Hal had chosen a transient business. No ties, no expectations. She stayed in one spot only as long as the crowd or the food lasted. She got what she needed, then moved on, and she never expected anything more, because she didn't think she could have anything more.

She deserved so much better.

Quinn's fingers tightened around her drink as the protective instincts snaked up through her again like vines stretching across her brick façade. She tried to tamp them down, to cut them off at their root. Hal did not need her help, not in business, not in life. She'd learned that multiple times over. She couldn't make the same mistake again, no matter what motives drove her now.

“Your turn,” Hal said, not at all liking the look in Quinn's eyes. The blue that had swirled with surprise and sympathy now tossed with a darker tint, the deeper, fiercer longings Hal had come to recognize as signs of turmoil. She had to break through to Quinn again, and fast. “I told you my sad story. Time for you to tell me yours.”

“I don't have a sad story. Nothing like yours anyway.”

“We all have scars. Just because yours are different than mine doesn't mean they don't matter.”

Quinn sat back, her expression once again guarded as she put more distance between them. “I had your run-of-the-mill dysfunctional family.”

“I have no idea what that's like. Tell me,” Hal said, then gently added, “please?”

“Well, I lived in Buffalo, not far from here actually. One of those squat little houses on a street that dead ends into the thruway. Very blue collar. You know, the kind of place Bruce Springsteen sings about.”

Quinn smiled faintly, and Hal liked the look on her, a touch of something genuine. “We were happy. It sounds clichéd, but I don't remember a lot beyond that. A lot of laughter, a lot of hugs, a lot of kids around—just vague memories really. I was only like three or four when the Chevy factory my dad worked at closed. It caught my dad off guard. It was the mid-eighties. They'd survived the worst years when the big steel plants went under. The politicians said the economy was on the upswing, just not for people like us.”

“I don't remember any of that time. I was just a baby.”

Quinn tipped her glass to Hal. “Way to point out you're younger than I am.”

“I didn't mean it that way, but now that you mention it . . .”

“Stop right now,” Quinn said, then laughed lightly, “or I'll have Dom throw you out.”

“You said it, not me.”

“You're only a couple years younger. Funny isn't it? Just a few years, that's all it took to fall apart. The longer my dad was out of work, the more he drank, and the more he drank, the more my mother yelled at him. My dad never yelled at her, but he did yell. He was a big union guy, yelling about politicians killing the working class. When they divorced in eighty-seven, I thought it was Ronald Reagan's fault.”

“It could have been,” Hal said. “Trickle down divorces.”

“I might tell my dad that next time I see him. He might find that funny, but his new wife doesn't like to talk about those years. It's like I'm some living reminder of a life she'd rather pretend he never lived.”

“You still see him?”

“A couple times a year. He runs a lawn care and snow removal service now. They have this whole second family. He was drunk my whole childhood, but I have a set of half siblings that are in middle school, and he's become a total hockey dad.”

“Wow. Is the new wife Ian's mom?”

“No, he's from my mom's second husband. Number two of four. Husbands, not kids.”

“Four husbands?” Hal's mouth dropped open again, and she raised her hand for Dom to bring them another round.

“Yeah. She went as far away from blue collar as she could and married a tax auditor when I was eight. She had Ian, and the auditor had an affair,” Quinn deadpanned. “Then came a car salesman who wanted a hot wife, but not really her kids. She got a boob job and lots of vacations to Vegas. Ian and I got left at home alone a lot. I got a job.”

“And you've been working ever since.”

“Yeah. Husband number four, Jim, actually seems like a pretty nice guy. They married four years ago. He's quiet. He likes boats. They winter in Pensacola. He treats my mother really well, and she's learned
to cook for him. Or maybe she just remembered how to be a wife once she got a real husband instead of a boy toy. I don't know. I can't bring myself to care much.”

“Too little, too late for you and Ian, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Dom set their drinks down and beat a quick retreat. Quinn picked up her glass and shot back a big swallow. “I probably sound like a bit of a bitch. I should be happy both my parents have their shit together now, but where the fuck were they when we needed them? Where was the desire to do better when we actually could have done better? I felt like some multinational corporation decided we weren't worth fighting for and my parents agreed with them. They just let us all go under like we were one of the plants or mills.” Quinn shook her head slowly. “My mother made this big Thanksgiving dinner last year, and all I can remember thinking is, ‘You took my childhood. It's too late for a do-over. You only get one shot at that, and we all missed it.'”

“Yeah.” Hal stared at her beer. “We sure as hell did.”

“Oh shit, Hal. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to complain about what I lost when you never even had a real shot at it.” Quinn reached for her hand again. Hal let her take it. She loved the smooth feel of soft skin against hers, this time without all the anger and need. The touch was simpler, but no less powerful.

“I don't know what's worse. At least I didn't really know what I was missing. You had a family and then had it taken away. But you're right. Those days are gone. We don't get do-overs. No one does. We just get to try to do better from here on out.”

She wondered what that meant for the two of them. They couldn't undo their past with one another any more than they could change their childhoods, but that didn't mean they couldn't go forward.

Chapter Twelve

Quinn stared out the window of her office. The view wasn't much, just a standard city street, but she'd never really cared. She wasn't the type of person who spent much time enjoying scenic vistas. Today though, and for the past two days, she couldn't stop people watching. Ever since she and Hal had opened up about their pasts, she couldn't help but wonder about other people's stories. How many people did she interact with every day without ever knowing a single thing about them? The checkout girl at the store? The guy who changed the oil in her car? Her pharmacist? Did they all have secret scars and hidden triggers? They must. And yet everyone functioned, or at least most people did most of the time. But were they all just playing Russian roulette with their emotions? She and Hal certainly had, and that gun had gone off in a big way, but how could it not?

She prided herself on her research. Of course investment always involved a bit of a gamble, but she didn't take risks lightly. She had read every piece of information available on Hal before ever approaching her. She knew she'd grown up in the area and had started as a line cook. She knew every restaurant she'd worked in and that she'd gotten an old, broken-down truck as back pay when the last of those restaurants went under. She knew Hal and Sully had fixed and outfitted Cheesy Does It themselves over the course of the next year. She'd checked not only her references, but also her financial score and her criminal record. She had done her homework better than anyone could be expected to, and yet she still felt she'd got all the really important information too late.

Or was it?

Too late to go back? Yes. Too late to parlay the pop-up into a
restaurant, but not too late for her and Hal to . . . to what? Go into business together? That seemed both far-fetched and ill-conceived. Even knowing what she knew now, she wasn't sure she could avoid tripping those triggers again. She wanted her own restaurant. She wanted to put down roots in this community. Hal didn't believe in putting down roots. She didn't trust them. And even if she learned to trust Quinn, she wouldn't go to work for someone else, and Quinn got it.

She understood Hal now.

The whole roving business made sense for her. She even respected her for it, on some intellectual level. Hal had taken the worst parts of her childhood and turned them into a way of life she could be proud of, but Quinn didn't like living day by day. She needed to have a plan. She believed stability could and should be built, and she wanted to be a part of that here in Buffalo. She didn't want to miss her chance at something great. She was driven to go after the best, both for herself and the people she cared about. Just as Hal had learned nothing good ever lasted, she'd learned the only person she could depend on was herself. Maybe she hadn't known everything she needed to about Hal, but the things she did know about her abilities as a chef, as a businesswoman, even as a person held true. Hal was special. She was the best. None of her recent revelations had changed her initial assessment. They only reaffirmed it, and that scared her.

She didn't trust herself not to push Hal for something more than she wanted to give. And she didn't want to hurt her. Again. She couldn't even stay strong against her anguish that night in the kitchen, and that was before she knew the whole story. They'd gone too far with each other, both physically and emotionally, to ever have a strictly business relationship, and she didn't know how to have a purely personal one. So where did that leave them?

“I mean, she said she wants to dance, but I don't know how to do that, like with a girl. I mostly just dance in my room by myself.”

It was near ten o'clock when they got everything cleaned up from the Saturday night dinner rush. They'd been down at the Buffalo
River Works for the pre-bout, roller derby festivities. The clientele had been young and enthusiastic, lots of women wearing not a lot of clothes. Sully and Ian had been all over themselves trying to score numbers, invites, or just a little bit of flirting. Sully had done better, but given Ian's beginner handicap, he'd actually had a respectable showing. One prospect in particular had lingered longer than the others and left him with an invite to the official Queen City Roller Girls afterparty, which had sent him into a tailspin from which he'd yet to recover. Now, sitting in the truck in front of his house, the poor kid looked like he might hyperventilate.

“I've never even danced with a girl other than that hand-on-the-hips-and-sway thing we did in middle school.” He hopped out of the passenger seat and down from the truck before spinning around to look up at Hal expectantly. “Is that still a thing?”

She tried not to laugh. “Sorry, I don't think so.”

“What then? How do you dance with a girl?”

“I don't know. It's just like dancing on your own, I suppose. You lose yourself in her as much as in the music.”

“Yeah, I'm feeling pretty lost. Can you, like, just come in for a second and show me or something?”

“Come in? Like to the party?”

“No, I mean you could, but Sully's going. I just thought if you came into the house real quick, you could, like, teach me while I get ready.”

Oh, this was so much more Sully's department, but she'd stayed at the Roller Derby. God love her, she just couldn't stay from away from a group of women in fishnet stockings crashing into each other. Now Hal wished she'd left Ian there too.

“I'm sorry.” He rubbed his face. “That was a stupid thing to ask, wasn't it?”

“No.” A wave of guilt clenched her stomach. While she mostly thought of him as Sully's pet project, she liked him too. He might be a little high strung, but maybe that ran in the gene pool since his sister came across the same way a lot of the time.

“You're just being nice. I'm such a dork.”

“Ian, it's cool. I can show you.”

“Really? 'Cause you don't have to. Sully's going to pick me up
before the party. You don't have to come in.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “My sister's home.”

She hadn't seen Quinn since Tuesday at Dom's. She hadn't avoided her. They were both busy with work. Why was she even justifying this to herself? She and Quinn left everything on friendly, neutral territory. Their friendship, if they were meant to have one, would evolve naturally. Where did that leave things like her dropping in unannounced late on a Saturday night? But she wasn't just dropping in. She'd been invited, genuinely, if awkwardly, by Ian.

“Yeah, sure. It's fine. I can come in for a bit.”

“Thank you!” He grinned. “I mean, cool.”

She killed the engine and followed him to the house. She'd never been inside, which for some reason seemed like a big deal all of a sudden, but Quinn met them at the door. Had she waited up for Ian? Had she seen them pull up? Had she hoped Hal would come in or hoped she wouldn't?

“Hey, I got invited to a party . . . by a girl!” Ian said.

Hal shook her head. Sully was right. He was a lot like a puppy. Maybe he could learn to work that appeal because he clearly didn't have it in him to play cool.

“Sully's coming to pick me up. I gotta change.” He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Hal and Quinn standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” Hal finally said.

Quinn smiled. “Hi.”

“I was supposed to help him learn to dance or something, but I think he forgot.”

“Well he did get invited to a party . . . by a girl.” Quinn smiled and leaned against the doorjamb. She looked more relaxed than Hal had ever seen her. Not the attire, as she still wore flat-front khakis and a cream-colored blouse, but her posture, her expression, none of it seemed put on or practiced.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. It's a lot to process.”

“Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Hal stepped into the living room. The space had a cozy feel. Not huge, but open and inviting with tan walls and natural hardwood floors. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. You're welcome to sit.”

“No.” Ian thundered back down the stairs in a fresh pair of jeans and a new black T-shirt. “We have to have a dance lesson.”

“Wow, you're fast.” Hal's head spun, mostly from his speed, but the healthy dose of cologne he'd applied didn't help either.

“Yeah, Sully's coming soon. I have to be ready. I don't want to be late.”

She stopped herself from saying, “That's adorable.” The only way he could be late for a party with the roller girls would be to show up the next morning.

“So, like, what do I need to know?” Ian asked.

“Um?” Hal ran her hand through her hair and tried not to scrunch up her face as every possible piece of advice ran through her mind. She couldn't teach him everything in a few minutes. She needed to boil it down to the basics, make sure he didn't make the big mistake.

“Well, you said you dance on your own, right?”

“Yeah, like in my room, or bob my head to the music in the truck.”

“Okay, well there's not much difference to the actual moves. It's just being mindful of someone else with you.”

“How so?”

“Well, every woman has a circle around her. It's not huge, maybe a foot in each direction. That space forms a thin, invisible bubble, and if you're a gentleman, that bubble is impenetrable.” Hal looked up into his eyes, wanting to make sure he understood. “You can't move into that space unless you're invited.”

“Like a vampire?”

She smothered a laugh. “Kind of, but not creepy. You want to keep your vibe as creep-free as possible. You like her, and it's okay to admit that, but you're not needy. Look at her, appreciate her appeal, but don't leer.”

“So like, licking my lips and . . .”

“No.”

“You didn't hear what else I had to say.”

“Doesn't matter. The answer's no. None of that silly stuff you see on T.V. You need to be chill, you need to be cool, you need to dance.”

He wrung his hands and scrunched up his forehead, beginning to look overwhelmed.

“Hey.” She pulled his attention back to her. “You got this. You've already done the hard part. You got invited out, and you know she wants to dance, so all you have to do is lead her to the floor.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“You dance. Show her your moves. Take a song or two to enjoy hers, always remembering the bubble.”

“So I never get in the bubble?”

“Not at first. And maybe not ever,” Hal said seriously. “You have to earn that invitation.”

“What does the invitation look like?”

She thought for a moment. These weren't the kinds of things she'd ever had to put into words. Talking about women to someone who didn't get them, at least as much as anyone could ever get them, was like trying to describe the color red to a person who'd been blind his whole life. She turned to Quinn for help, but she just leaned up against the wall, her smile amused. Having her there made Hal feel like she was giving this speech on a stage. Was she being judged too? “Well, you just know when you see it, or feel it. You'll be fine.”

“Okay.”

“But know for sure,” she added quickly. “You don't want to be wrong. If you misjudge, you might never get another shot.”

“Wait, I thought I would know.” The panic returned to Ian's blue eyes. “How can I mess up if I know it? You're getting more confusing all the time.”

“Yeah, it's hard to explain. Here.” She pulled out her phone and cranked up the volume as loud as the small speaker would go. “Moves Like Jagger” came on, and she nodded to the beat as she walked over into the open space where the kitchen met the living room. “Quinn, help me show him.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows as her baby blues danced with amusement. She didn't agree, but she didn't disagree either.

“Quinn doesn't dance,” Ian said.

“Oh, she does,” Hal said confidently. “She just does it on her terms. As she should. She's a woman in control.”

Ian seemed skeptical as he looked from Hal to his sister, but Hal's eyes remained fully on Quinn's. “She just taught you and me an important lesson there. Let me try again. This time I need to remember my manners.”

Hal took a deep breath, trying not to overanalyze the rush of jitters she felt suddenly running along her skin. Somehow things had shifted quickly from being about Ian to being about . . . about something she couldn't quite comprehend yet, but dance lesson or not, her question felt a lot more personal when she met those mischievous blue eyes once more. “Quinn, I would love to dance with you. Would you like to dance with me?”