Yours at Midnight

by Robin Bielman

  Lyric halted and turned back around. Her forehead creased and she waved her arms frantically back and forth. No, no, no, she mouthed.

  He grinned. Apparently she didn’t want him talking to her mom, and he enjoyed seeing her squirm. It reminded him of their younger days.

  “I’m up to my eyeballs in grandchildren and loving every minute of it. Is Lyric there?”

  “She’s standing right here in front of me. Thanks for the muffins.”

  Lyric scowled and tried to pull the phone from his grasp, but his six feet were no match for her five and a half when he raised it above his head. Her flushed cheeks and agitated exhalations, not to mention the full-body contact when she took swipes at the phone, made him grin. He looked down, their mouths mere inches from each other, and thoughts of claiming hers filled his mind.

  “Quinn?” Caroline’s voice carried over the phone. “You still there?”

  He twisted away from Lyric. “I’m still here. Sorry. Dealing with a pest issue.” It was hard not to laugh at Lyric’s grumbles. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her a pest.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got a mouse again,” Caroline said.

  “No. No mice. Something much worse.”

  The punch to his bicep stung. In a good way. He turned. Lyric picked up the muffin bag, took one out, and gave it to Teddy.

  “Drat,” Caroline said. “Well, the reason I’m calling is to invite you to dinner tonight.”

  “What’s that? You want me to come over for dinner tonight?”

  Lyric put the bag on the counter and shook her head. She very carefully mouthed NO, her lips moving in slow motion so there would be no mistake.

  “Of course I do. And you know I’m not going to leave you alone while you’re here.”

  “I know. And I’d love to. What time?”

  Lyric slid down the side of the mahogany cabinet and landed on her ass with her legs out in front of her. Teddy put his head in her lap.

  “Six o’clock.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll see you then.” Quinn put the phone down and joined Lyric on the tile floor. Her defeated look confused and wounded him. He guessed she could still dislike him so much that she’d rather not be around him. But he wasn’t the same guy he’d been back then. He wanted a chance to show her that. Her forgiveness might be the only thing that could free him from his guilt.

  “Is it a problem that I see your family?”

  “Yes, it’s a problem,” she said softly.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t explain why.” She buried her nose in Teddy’s fur, hiding her face from him.

  Quinn rubbed Teddy’s back. If Lyric saw he could be nice to the dog—wanted to be nice to him—maybe she’d believe he could be nice to her, too.

  “It’s just dinner,” he said. But honestly, it didn’t matter how much she protested. He wanted to be with her family. He didn’t want to spend another night alone in a big empty house. A house that held just as many painful memories as happy ones.

  She sighed. “I thought you wanted to go back to New York.”

  “I never said that.”

  Staring across the kitchen, her head tilted to the side, she said, “Why can’t you just go home?”

  “Because I have unfinished business here.”

  Chapter Three

  Whetstone family dinners consisted of three things: too much food, too much noise, and too much discussion.

  Lyric hoped tonight the too much would be enough to send Quinn running back home. He’d told her he didn’t mind being alone, which meant his decision to come to dinner was solely to piss her off. She ground her teeth together.

  He hadn’t changed at all.

  “You look miserable,” Ella said, taking the spot next to her on the leather couch in the family room. “What’s up?”

  The kids sat around the floor playing Legos. The guys stood with beers in their hands. Her mom and sisters-in-law were finishing up in the kitchen.

  “I’m just tired,” Lyric half-lied. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Not with Quinn right next door.

  “You sure that’s all?”

  “I had some trouble with a client today, too.” Mrs. Garcia’s son had been in a terrible car accident a few weeks ago, and while he was improving, the language barrier made it difficult for Lyric to be sure she was meeting their needs. She’d had problems with a few other patients the past month, too. With her business barely making a profit, she couldn’t afford to lose clients.

  “I’m sure it will all work out.”

  “Yeah.” She watched Max and Hank Jr. build boats with their Legos. Their little noses scrunched up in concentration.

  Max caught her staring and rushed over to climb into her lap. “Look what I made,” he said, proudly. “A submarine.”

  “That is a very cool submarine.” A smile bloomed across Lyric’s face.

  “You know what happens to submarine builders,” Ella said, pulling Max into her arms and hugging him tight. “They get lots of kisses.” She proceeded to kiss Max’s entire face until he squirmed out of her hold and raced back to his cousin.

  “That kid is so God damn cute,” Ella said.

  “Yeah, he is.” Lyric watched him wipe his long sleeve up and down his cheek and smiled. Max was still allergic to aunt-cooties. It’d probably be years before he outgrew that.

  The grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck six o’clock at exactly the same time the doorbell rang.

  Panic, the kind that made every gland in her body sweat and every follicle on her skin pinch, hit Lyric. She simultaneously wanted to answer the door and run out the back to hide in the guesthouse.

  She was saved from a decision when her father entered the room with Quinn at his side. Shit. Panic had stolen twenty seconds.

  Her brothers shook hands with Quinn. Her sister got up and hugged him, then pointed at the kids and introduced them one by one.

  Lyric couldn’t watch. She didn’t want to see the look on Quinn’s face when he took in her family. She sank deeper into the couch and picked the lint off her black pants. Her mother and sisters-in-law swept in with greetings and a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  Now would be a good time for a latent concussion to strike so she could excuse herself. Or she could just slip away. Since Lyric was the youngest of four and spouse-free, no one would probably even notice she’d left.

  “Hey,” came a deep, sexy, entirely annoying voice.

  The couch dipped and someone—someone who smelled really good—almost brushed his leg against hers as he got comfortable.

  Her breath caught. “Hi.” And damned if she didn’t peek at him without meaning to. Despite the conflicting feelings swirling around inside her, she wanted Quinn to touch her again. Like that. She hated that she’d always been drawn to him because of the attention—even unwanted—he gave her.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d call a girlfriend and make plans to go to a bar next week. She needed to flirt and have fun. She needed to take steps toward her resolution.

  Quinn wore a dark green button down shirt, his fawn-colored hair was neatly combed, his jaw was clean-shaven. Damn him. He looked more handsome than she ever remembered. He smiled—the kind of smile that made a girl’s toes curl.

  No, no, no.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Good.”

  “Still pissed at me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turned her head. The sincerity in his eyes caught her off guard. She wanted to drown in their depths and remember only the good parts of their relationship. The time he’d picked her up in the pouring rain when her car had broken down. His way with words when he wanted to be sweet. The love letters. God, she hadn’t thought about them in forever.

  The time he’d made love to her so that
she forgot everyone and everything but the two of them.

  “For what exactly?” she asked.

  “A lot of things.” His knee grazed hers. He nodded toward the kids. “The family’s grown.”

  Lyric rushed to her feet. “I need to help in the kitchen.”

  In her haste to escape, she tripped over a scattering of Max’s Lego’s, fell, and bumped her chin on the coffee table.

  In less than five seconds, concerned family members surrounded her. But it was Quinn who brushed the hair out of her embarrassed face. The contact sent quivers through her that were totally inappropriate in present company. In any company, actually.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She waved everyone off.

  “Jesus, sis, where’s the fire?” Hank asked.

  “Jar, Dad,” Hank Jr. said from in between his dad’s legs.

  Lyric cracked up. And couldn’t stop. Hank Jr. didn’t miss a thing. Pretty soon uncontrollable laughter filled the entire room. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d all laughed so hard. She caught Quinn’s brown sugar eyes on her. They sparkled like there was a galaxy of stars behind them just for her, and she knew, knew, at that moment, that the plans she’d carefully laid out were about to change again.

  Because honestly, no girl could resist a look like that.

  “Aunt Ric,” Joey said, the giggles finally subsiding, “do you need a Band-Aid?”

  “That’s very sweet of you to ask, but I don’t think so.”

  “If you change your mind, I know where they are and I can get you one.” Joey beamed up at his mom. Ella patted his head, pride written all over her face.

  Max stepped over a pile of Legos and wrapped his arms around her neck. He placed a kiss so tender on her chin, she thought she might die. “Better?”

  “Much.” She wrapped him in a bear hug and didn’t ever want to let go.

  For the next half hour she was spared from any interaction with Quinn while her family asked him a gazillion questions about New York, his work, his travels, could he teach them a few bad words in Japanese?

  Lyric listened to every word Quinn said. He spoke with a warmth and confidence she’d never heard before. Growing up, he’d always been the quieter brother. The less fussed over brother. She knew she was partly to blame for their battered friendship. She’d only ever had eyes for Oliver, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and an ease that made everyone around him comfortable.

  Quinn was different. In looks, in temperament, in attitude. She’d butted heads with him constantly. His teases and put-downs stung, but she’d dished it right back. She knew he’d felt inferior to his brother, and that’s why he lashed out.

  Tonight, though…tonight, he bamboozled her family with stories about his travels, the people he’d met, and the time he’d walked down the wrong street in New York and been mugged. Her heart positively stopped when he mentioned a gun.

  The boys thought it was the coolest thing ever.

  “Did they catch him and arrest him and put him in jail?” Joey asked.

  “They did,” Quinn said.

  “I’m in kindergarten,” Lola said, changing the topic of conversation to her.

  “Kindergarten? That’s the best place to be. What’s your teacher’s name?” Quinn leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and gave Lola his undivided attention.

  “Miss Colby. But she’s getting married and her name is gonna be Miss Becker.”

  “Mrs. Becker,” Emma corrected.

  Max lifted the bottom of his blue ribbed cotton shirt and put Legos into the pouch it created. He walked over to Quinn, bumped his tummy into Quinn’s knees, and then dumped the Legos into Quinn’s lap. “Wanna make something?”

  “Sure, buddy.” Quinn slid down the front of the couch, careful to keep the Legos in place, and sat on the floor. “What do you want to make?”

  Lyric’s fingertips tingled. Quite possibly someone would need to check for her pulse. Because the tender way Quinn handled Max vanquished every mean thing he’d ever done to her.

  And it took every ounce of strength not to pick Max up and flee the room.

  …

  Quinn couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much a part of something. Sitting around the large dining room table with good food, lively conversation, and Lyric beside him, he forgot about the years of being second best.

  The Whetstones had always treated him as one of the family, but tonight he’d let himself believe it for the first time—which made him either the smartest or the stupidest man on the planet.

  Lyric had been unusually quiet. A few times her natural sun-kissed complexion had paled, and Quinn wondered if maybe she wasn’t feeling well.

  “That is so not true!” Lyric said, raising her voice for the first time all night. “Just because I’m the baby of the family doesn’t mean you all have a better memory than me.”

  “Just a longer one,” Hank said.

  “And everyone knows longer means better.” Ella winked at Lyric.

  Lyric’s cheeks reddened. She scowled at her sister. The innuendo didn’t go unnoticed by the men around the table. Her brothers and brother-in-law raised their eyebrows.

  Did Lyric and Ella talk about stuff like that all the time? Quinn’s stomach rolled over. Did Ella know about his one night with Lyric? Worse, though, was the thought of other guys with Lyric. The muscles in the back of his neck bunched.

  “Moving on,” Lyric’s brother, Neil said. “I’ll never forget Lyric and Oliver working on their science fair project together, and practically burning the house down.”

  “That’s right!” Ella slapped her hands on the table at the same time Lyric covered her face with hers. “Something with different colored candles. You guys had them all lined up under the wood cabinets on the kitchen counters.”

  Quinn remembered that, too. He’d been upset they hadn’t included him in the project. Their fifth grade teacher had said to work in groups of two or three, and they’d formed a partnership without him. That had been the first time he noticed Lyric wanted to be with Oliver much more than she wanted to be with him. Of course, it might have had something to do with the frogs he’d put in her backpack the day before.

  “We wanted to find out if the color of a candle affected its burn rate,” Lyric said, looking only slightly mortified.

  “How many cabinets caught fire?” Ella asked.

  “Two.” Neil scooped more mashed potatoes onto his plate. “It was a good thing Oliver had his wits about him and smothered the fire, rather than panicking.”

  “Oliver always had a good head on his shoulders,” Hank added. “He was a bright kid.”

  Quinn took a deep breath. Listening to them talk about his brother, he half expected him to come strolling through the doorway, sit his ass down, and charm everyone like he always did. Hell, Quinn still picked up the phone at least once a week to call him, before remembering the accident wasn’t a dream.

  That Oliver was never coming back.

  Lyric’s warm, soft hand took his underneath the table. It fit inside his better than any other girl’s ever had, and the urge to pull her up and drag her to the guesthouse, where he could do what he should have done four years ago, raced through his veins. He should have stayed. Should have made love to her over and over and over again.

  He looked at her. She looked back with tenderness etched around her eyes, her lightly glossed lips soft and parted.

  “Mom did get a new kitchen out of it.” Ella raised her wine glass.

  Laughter sounded from the kitchen. Caroline, Douglas, and the kids were definitely having a great time eating dinner in there. They’d thought it a nice idea to spend dinner alone with their grandchildren so their grown children could enjoy a meal without interruption.

  “My favorite Lyric story—”

  “When did this become the Lyric hour?” Lyric
protested, releasing his hand far too soon and glaring at her sister.

  “As soon as you were born, baby sis.” Ella looked at her brothers. “Remember when Lyric tried to legally change her name?”

  “You tried to change your name?” Quinn asked. He loved her name.

  “Who names their daughter Lyric? It’s embarrassing, and kids used to ask me all the time if I was related to limerick, and did I carry notes around with me. Was my favorite TV show The Sopranos? It sucked.”

  “She thought the principal could do it—and when he said he couldn’t, she asked the librarian.” Ella chuckled.

  “My library card was the only official looking thing I had with my name on it! What did I know?”

  “The best was the mailman, though. What was his name? Phil? He really wanted to help you and brought you that letter, remember?”

  A smile so genuine and beautiful crossed Lyric’s face that Quinn gulped and prayed no one noticed.

  “Jill Whetstone.” Lyric leaned back into her seat. “He brought me a letter addressed to Jill Whetstone. I still have it somewhere.”

  “You wanted your name to be Jill?” Quinn asked.

  “Yep.”

  “What was in the letter?”

  Lyric’s eyes lit with joy. “A note from the Name Fairy telling me that I was very lucky to have such a unique name, because not every little girl who had a dad working in the music business got to be special like that.”

  “Aww,” cooed Lyric’s sisters-in-law.

  “It’s too bad you can’t even carry a tune.” Hank put his napkin on his empty plate.

  “Says the guy who’s tone deaf.” Lyric sat up and put her elbows on the table.

  “At least I didn’t go around singing at the top of my lungs all the time, hoping to be the next Madonna.”

  Lyric pointed at her brother. “You were Madonna!”

  “For Halloween. Won best costume, too. Shit, that was a great party.”

  “Quarter, Dad,” Hank Jr. said, walking into the room and shaking his head. “Grandma said to tell you guys that Lyric and Quinn are on dish duty.”