Borrowed Heart

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Borrowed Heart Page 26

by Linda Lamberson


  “Look, Quinn, it’s not that I don’t want to …” My voice trailed off momentarily. I looked down at the floor of his loft, avoiding his face.

  “I know … don’t worry. I’m getting pretty used to hearing that response.”

  Inside, I cringed. I was doing exactly what I didn’t want to do—upset him. But this was the way it had to be—the only way it could be, whether he liked it or not.

  “Come on, let’s go outside. The day is slipping away,” I said, changing the subject. Quinn’s face brightened as he remembered his initial goal of taking a walk with me. He looked me over once more and then flashed me a little grin.

  “Um, Evie, you might want to put on a pair of shoes,” he remarked.

  “Oh! Right.” I ran back into his bedroom and re-emerged wearing a pair of sandals. Quinn just shook his head back and forth and smiled at me in wonderment.

  * * *

  We headed east from his apartment into the Loop; it was like a ghost town. The only signs of life were the occasional car or pedestrian.

  “Wow,” I remarked. “It’s hard to believe that this place was teeming with life just yesterday.”

  “I know. Pretty amazing, right? I guess people avoid the place they work like the plague on the weekends if they can help it,” Quinn commented.

  When we reached Grant Park, I quickly realized why nobody was downtown. There were softball games to the south; people meandering about Buckingham Fountain ahead of us; music being played to the north; and boats, hundreds of them, out on the water. The scene was so picturesque. I turned around, admiring the skyline behind us. By all standards, no one could deny that Chicago was impressive.

  There were no buildings to shade me from the sun. I looked up and felt its rays beaming across my face and my arms. It felt amazing. I took a deep breath, inhaling the hot summer air and the smells around me. I looked at Quinn and noticed that he was observing my reaction. He smiled.

  “I told you this was a good idea,” he said smugly.

  “What can I say—when you’re right, you’re right,” I admitted.

  We walked through Grant Park and up north along the lakefront. I watched people playing Frisbee, running, biking, and rollerblading. Men and women were playing in beach volleyball tournaments. Children were digging holes in the sand, building sandcastles, and frolicking in the water. And couples were walking hand-in-hand.

  I saw one especially cozy young couple walking with their arms around each other’s waists. The couple stopped momentarily in the middle of the bike path to give each other a sweet little kiss and stare affectionately into each other’s eyes. I looked up at Quinn; he had noticed the same couple. He looked at me longingly for a second. I knew seeing the couple was like a slap in the face for him, reminding him of what he couldn’t have with me.

  “Quinn,” I began somberly, but he didn’t let me finish.

  “I know. You can’t,” he said bitterly.

  I hated when he threw my own words back at me. He sounded angrier than ever. I couldn’t let him stay this upset; it wasn’t fair. He deserved a better explanation.

  “Don’t you think I wish we could be like that couple? Don’t you think I would love to have the freedom to hold your hand? To hug you? To kiss you?” My body tingled a little at the very thought.

  “How in the world would I know that, Evie?” He maintained control of his voice, but I could tell he was angry. He kept on walking, looking straight ahead. “You flinch every time I get close to you—like I’m some kind of creep,” Quinn continued. “And, other than putting your hand on mine once, you haven’t said or done anything to indicate that you’re even the slightest bit interested in me. So, tell me, Evie … please explain just how I’m supposed to know what you think about me or how you feel about me.” He stopped and turned towards me. “Just how long do you expect me to sit back and wait … hoping that you’ll remember me?” he demanded.

  I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? That I felt a rush every time I said his name? That the very thought of him touching me sent shock waves surging through me? That I couldn’t wait until we were alone in his apartment so I could spend time with him? That I didn’t have to remember him to know I was in love with him?

  I wanted Quinn to know all of it—everything—but I would be crossing too many lines already drawn in the sand. Not to mention how unfair it would be to him. How could I justify being so selfish as to tell him that I loved him? I couldn’t expect him to give up what life had to offer him—a wife, children … a real future—for me, even if only temporarily.

  I looked at him, struggling to think of something to say. I opened my mouth, but no words came out, so I promptly shut it and looked straight ahead. Quinn followed suit. We continued to walk next to each other without so much as saying a thing. But his silence was eating me up inside, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Against my better judgment, I took a step closer towards Quinn. I let my hand wander even closer towards him until the back of my hand purposefully brushed against the back of his. He continued to walk, his head still facing forward. But I could see that his expression had softened a little. My fingers found their way around his; they intertwined together so naturally, as if we had held hands a thousand times before. Maybe we had. I looked up at Quinn, who was now glancing down at our hands. Maybe he’d just realized how perfectly our hands fit together too. Or maybe he was just reminded of the same.

  “Quinn,” I said, barely louder than a whisper as knots formed one on top of another in my stomach. “I am interested in you—and it terrifies me.”

  He said nothing in response to my admission. He simply squeezed my hand and flashed a quick smile. He knew he had won this battle. More importantly, though, he knew he had won me over. In my own way, I had just let him know how much he meant to me.

  We continued to hold hands as we walked past Oak Street Beach all the way to Diversey Harbor. I walked on the beach whenever possible; I loved the feel of my toes sinking into the sand. Most of the time we didn’t speak—we didn’t need to. What we were doing was much more intimate. It was as if in that one gesture of taking his hand, I had touched his soul, and by him accepting my hand, he had touched mine.

  As we headed back south, Quinn told me about his upbringing, his parents, and his brothers. He left out the more sordid details about Brady, and I understood why. I never did tell Quinn that I had eavesdropped during the dinner with his parents in Greektown.

  Quinn also spoke of his experience attending IU, carefully omitting any mention of me—or any other girls—and working at his summer internship here in Chicago. He was subletting his place until the middle of August, at which time he would go back to IU to complete his junior year. Quinn was planning on quitting the swim team at the end of the coming season, although he had yet to tell anyone, including his parents. He wanted to travel abroad his senior year, and staying on the swim team would prohibit him from doing so. Moreover, swimming wasn’t a part of his future, not swimming competitively anyway. The only issue that remained would be his scholarship—Quinn would lose it if he quit the team. But, he figured, he would make enough this summer and the next to cover his tuition abroad and living expenses during his senior year.

  “I feel like I’ve been boring you with my life story,” Quinn said apologetically. “What about you? I mean, if you can’t remember your past, and you won’t tell me about your existence now, then what can you tell me about yourself?”

  “I’m … I’m not sure, exactly.” It seemed like a simple question, but it was nearly impossible for me to answer.

  “Well, what kinds of food do you like? What kind of music, or movies, or books do you like? What do you like to do in your spare time?”

  “Oh, you mean the few minutes I get here and there when I’m not busy watching over you?” I teased.

  “Yes, aside from that tedious imposition,” he joked.

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t really know.” I looked at him. “I know that
sounds like a cop-out response, but I really don’t.” I was scanning my mind for something, anything, but it was a blank slate. Further, since becoming a Shepherd, my sole interest was—well, had to be—Quinn, and I was not about to profess that to him.

  “I haven’t been … who I am … for all that long. In fact, you’re my first assignment. So, aside from my training,” I said rather pathetically, “I’ve spent most of my time with you—and traveling. I like seeing the world.”

  We kept walking for a few minutes before Quinn stopped and turned towards me. A mischievous grin spread across his lips.

  “Hey, are you busy tonight?” he asked.

  “Very funny,” I replied. He knew full well that I would be watching over him in some capacity.

  “Well, it just so happens that I have come up with an ingenious idea.” Quinn’s smile got wider and there was a definite sparkle in his eyes. No doubt he was up to something.

  “What is it?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Well, it’s a surprise of sorts—for you. I mean, I don’t know how much of a surprise it can be considering you can hang around without me knowing and all. But I really want to do this—or at least try to anyway.” He was buzzing with excitement. “I don’t mean to sound like a prick, but can you leave me alone for a couple of hours when we get back to my place? I need time to prepare. Oh … and can you give me some forewarning before you come back?” He stood there smiling like a little schoolboy.

  “Time away from you … so you can surprise me, huh?” I pretended to give it serious consideration. Quinn was practically bouncing up and down in anticipation, hoping I would agree.

  “I think it can be arranged,” I said, smiling playfully.

  Quinn was so surprised by how quickly and easily I’d agreed to his plan that he swept me up in his arms and swung me around. He suddenly stopped, tensed up, and put me back down.

  “Sorry about that,” he said apologetically.

  “It’s okay. But I’m glad breathing is no longer a requirement for me,” I said, holding my ribs as I began to laugh.

  Quinn relaxed his expression and laughed too.

  * * *

  We didn’t get back to Quinn’s building until half past four in the afternoon. Rather than going up with him, I said good-bye in the lobby. We agreed I would return in two hours. I watched him bolt up the stairs two at a time. Once I made sure he was safely in his apartment and checked my watch to confirm nothing had changed on that end, I left. I really did want to be surprised. He looked so eager and hopeful that his idea would work that I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fake it if I had discovered his plan prematurely.

  24. Our First Date

  Two hours later, I stood outside the front door of the apartment and knocked, giving Quinn the forewarning he’d requested.

  “Hold on!” Quinn said loudly. I could hear him running around his apartment, scrambling to finish last minute preparations for my surprise. A minute later he unlocked the door and opened it. I had to catch my breath when I saw him; he looked absolutely stunning. He was showered, clean-shaven, and his hair was tucked loosely behind his ears. He was wearing a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled midway up his forearms and khaki pants. He was barefoot, which only perfected the look. I glanced down and surveyed myself; I was wearing the same clothes from that afternoon. I suddenly felt underdressed for the occasion.

  “Maybe I should go change,” I said self-consciously.

  “No need. You look great!” Quinn exclaimed as he opened the door and invited me inside. I peeked over his shoulder through the door only to confirm that my appearance was definitely sub par for the evening he had in mind. The blinds were pulled, the lights were dimmed and there must have been two dozen candles lit and strategically placed throughout the living and dining room areas.

  “Now I know I’m underdressed,” I remarked as I wondered what was going on. That’s when I paid attention to the smell—or should I say smells—wafting through the door and into the hallway. I had been so curious about the evening and so taken by Quinn’s appearance that I hadn’t even noticed the variety of scents permeating the air around me.

  I walked inside his apartment and was blown away. I had to laugh. The breakfast bar, the dining room table, and the coffee table were lined with every type of takeout you could possibly imagine. There must have been three dozen different containers of food. I was truly astonished … and more than a little impressed.

  “Wow! You did all this in a couple of hours?” I asked, still trying to get over the shock of what I was seeing.

  “Internet,” he replied nonchalantly, but he couldn’t hide his smile. He knew he had succeeded in surprising me.

  I suddenly felt horrible. How was I going to break it to him that I couldn’t eat any of this? I took off his baseball cap and set it on the glass shelf to the right of the front door along with his sunglasses.

  “Um, Quinn,” I said reluctantly, avoiding eye contact.

  “I know,” he interjected immediately. “You can’t eat any of it, right?”

  “How did you know that?” I turned to look at him, even more surprised.

  “Evie, I have yet to see you eat or drink anything, even when I am, so I just assumed you probably couldn’t, being … you know …”

  “No longer capable of digesting food?”

  “Yeah … that.” He shifted uneasily. I wondered what made Quinn more uncomfortable—hearing me say the words or trying to come to terms with why I couldn't eat; I presumed it was the latter.

  “But,” his eyes twinkled slightly, “I also remembered one night last week when you commented on how good my pizza smelled, and I figured you still must have some appreciation for food. I mean, you obviously can still tell which foods you like and which ones you don’t through your sense of smell, right? So I thought we’d try it out. We’ll have our own private culinary aromatic adventure to help you discover more about yourself—even if only in a small way.”

  “Quinn … I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. I didn’t even remember making the comment about his pizza. I was truly taken aback, overcome with emotion. I was so grateful for what Quinn had done—what he had even thought to do. I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t dare. I found myself really looking forward to this “aromatic adventure,” and I didn’t want to complicate the evening.

  “I can’t believe you did all of this … I’m just so surprised.” I looked up at Quinn. “Thank you.”

  “So what would you like to try first?” He flashed me a big smile, satisfied with my reaction.

  “First, I’m going to freshen up,” I insisted. “If you went through all of this trouble, the least I can do is dress up a little for the occasion.” I ran into his bedroom before he could protest. After a few minutes, and several outfit changes, I settled on a summer dress that I remembered seeing in one of the fashion magazines Quinn had bought me. It was a simple, long, white spaghetti-strapped dress that reminded me of ancient Rome. It was very feminine and not too sexy—although it did cling to the curves of my body. I wore my hair down in loose curls and added a hint of makeup.

  “Being immortal does have its advantages,” I noted as I looked myself over with approval in Quinn’s bedroom mirror.

  I walked back into the candlelit room. He was sitting in my chair waiting for me.

  “Whoa,” he gasped when he saw me, his mouth hanging open slightly. He stood up and walked over to me.

  “Too much?” I asked nervously.

  “No … not at all. I just … I mean, you look absolutely … angelic.” Quinn paused for a moment and chuckled slightly, having realized the unintended humor in his choice of words. “No pun intended.”

  “I guess this outfit would suggest that, wouldn’t it,” I added, feeling a little silly.

  “Well, you look stunning.” He just stood there and stared at me. Now I really felt self-conscious.

  “Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you when you opene
d the door,” I said a little awkwardly. I cleared my throat and looked at the tables of food.

  “So what’s on the menu?” I asked, purposefully breaking up the moment. I walked past Quinn and into the living area to survey the variety of food out on display.

  “Well, Mademoiselle,” he said with a fake French accent as he rubbed his hands together and walked over beside me.

  I looked at him like he was nuts.

  “Lose the accent?” he asked.

  I crinkled my nose and nodded in confirmation.

  “Okay.” He cleared his throat, dropping the accent. He quickly got back into the swing of the evening as the anticipation of our endeavor took over.

  “So over here,” he explained, walking over to the kitchen counter, “are your classic American favorites.” He pointed to each item as he ran through the list of my choices. “Here’s a hot dog with relish, onion, and mustard. To its right is a half slab of barbeque ribs, followed by a cheddar bacon cheeseburger and ultra spicy buffalo wings with blue cheese dressing on the side.

  “Next stop is Italy,” Quinn continued. “I don’t know if this food looks as appetizing as what you saw in Rome, but it’s the best I could come up with on such short notice. We have a personal-size, deep-dish, Chicago-style pepperoni pizza; spaghetti Bolognese; gnocchi in tomato vodka sauce; and chicken marsala.

  “And, of course, we can’t forget Mexican food … one of my personal favorites.”

  “Of course,” I repeated in jest. I was already overwhelmed by the selections thus far.

  “I ordered some beef burritos, chicken enchiladas, and chicken and pulled pork tamales,” Quinn announced. He took my hand and walked me over to the dining room table.

  “Over here we have a small sampling from France, namely, French onion soup, duck pâté, and escargots, as well as some Indian dishes including lamb kebabs, chicken tikka masala, vegetable curry, and something called palak paneer.”

  “What’s palak paneer?” I asked.

  “I have no idea, but I’m willing to sacrifice my taste buds for you,” he replied.

 

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