by Susan Stoker
“I agree.”
Driftwood smiled. “Good.”
“Are you sure I can’t bring anything tomorrow?” she asked.
“Nope. I have no idea what we’ll do, but we’ll think of something.” He didn’t mean for his words to sound as sexually suggestive as they did, but he figured drawing attention to them by backpedaling would make things worse.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what books are on your shelves.”
A burst of laughter left his lips before he could stop it.
She chuckled along with him. “Wow, that sounded like some really bad pickup line, didn’t it?”
“It wasn’t any worse than mine,” he told her. “I’ll be happy to show you my shelves. And I’ve got some chicken I need to grill up by tomorrow; we can have that for lunch along with some veggie kabobs…if that’s okay.”
“Sounds perfect. John?”
He’d never get sick of the way his name sounded on her lips. He’d always thought his name was super boring and ordinary, but hearing Quinn say it gave him a whole new perspective. “Yeah?”
“You really don’t mind staying in tomorrow? We could go see a movie if you wanted. Or go out to lunch.”
He could hear the trepidation in her tone, and figured it wasn’t just Quinn reassuring herself that he wanted to spend time with her. “I really don’t mind. I spend a lot of time being ‘on’ while I’m working. No matter how rude people are to me, or if they’re out of their mind on drugs or something, we always have to be helpful and nurturing. It’s nice to just sit and be me when I’m not at the station or working.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sleep well,” he said.
“You too. Night.”
“Good night.”
Driftwood sat on the couch long after he’d hung up, thinking about everything Quinn had said. He couldn’t imagine what life had been like for her. He’d done a lot of research into port-wine birthmarks, and just about everything he’d read said that people who were afflicted always had psychological issues stemming from being so different from their peers.
There was a huge emphasis on beauty in this country, and anyone who didn’t fit the norm of the stick-thin, beautiful model was judged unfairly. He hated that for Quinn.
Starting tomorrow, he would make it his mission to be sure not a day went by without her knowing how much he admired her and how pretty she was to him. She wouldn’t believe him, not at first, but hopefully if he said it enough, his words would sink in.
Chapter Three
“S-So?” Sophie asked first thing Monday morning when they were all settled in the lab. “How’d the weekend go?”
Pretending she didn’t know what her friend was talking about, Quinn said, “Fine. Yours?”
“Oh, don’t give m-me that,” Sophie protested. “We all know Driftwood took you home Friday night, and then when Chief called him to s-see if he wanted to get together on S-Sunday, he s-said he couldn’t, that you were coming over. S-So? How’d it go?”
Quinn looked at Sophie and sighed. “It was perfect.”
Sophie squealed in joy and rushed over to hug Quinn. “I told you s-so!”
“Told her what?” Tory asked.
“That when s-she finally let down her guard and let Driftwood in, he’d treat her right.”
“And does he?” Autumn asked.
Quinn nodded.
“What’d you do yesterday?” Sophie asked.
“He picked me up around ten and took me back to his house. We hung out and talked for a while, then I got to look around his office and bookshelves. Then we had lunch, talked some more, and played cards. He brought me home around five because I told him I needed to get going.”
“And did you?” Autumn asked.
“Did I what?”
“Need to get going?”
Quinn shrugged. “No, but I didn’t want to wear out my welcome, and I figured he had stuff he had to do before his shift today.”
“And?” Sophie asked impatiently.
“And what?” Quinn asked in confusion.
“Did he kiss you? Did you do m-more than that? I need details, woman!”
Quinn knew she was blushing, but pushed past her embarrassment. “He walked me inside and up to my apartment. I was going to invite him in, but he said something about how he’d had a great day and not wanting to hog all my attention. He was just leaning in to kiss me, but then my creepy neighbor—you know, Willard—walked by.”
“What’d that asshole say?” Tory asked.
“Nothing. He never does. And I can’t really figure out his looks. Sometimes I think he looks almost friendly, and other times I swear he’s trying to tell me telepathically that I’m going to Hell.”
“At least he didn’t m-make the s-sign of the cross. What’s up with him?” Sophie asked. “It m-makes no s-sense. Do you really think he believes you’re going to Hell because you happened to be born with a birthmark?”
Quinn shrugged. “My mom did. You know the notes in my foster paperwork mentioned she refused to touch me after seeing my birthmark.”
“Don’t even get m-me s-started on her,” Sophie huffed.
“Please don’t,” Autumn said. “I want to get back to Driftwood kissing Quinn.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up too high. Willard walked by and stared at me in that creepy serial-killer way he has, and John immediately got all protective. He pushed me behind him and glared right back at Willard.”
“Ooooh, then what?” Tory asked.
“Then nothing. Creepy neighbor looked away and went to his apartment down the hall, and John was pissed. The mood was broken. He said he’d see me later and left…after ordering me to make sure I locked the door behind me. As if I wouldn’t.”
“I think that’s s-so romantic,” Sophie sighed.
Autumn rolled her eyes and Tory giggled.
“Romantic? What’s so romantic about it?” Quinn asked.
“That he was s-so upset that s-someone dared look at you wrong, the only thing he could think about was getting you s-safely behind a locked door. I bet you a m-million dollars he desperately wanted to lock himself behind the door with you, but couldn’t think of a good reason that would convince you to let him s-stay the night.”
Quinn hadn’t thought of it that way. She’d just figured he was so irritated, he wasn’t in the mood for kissing anymore. She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“No m-maybe about it,” Sophie said. “Trust m-me. I’m an expert at reading alpha-m-male behavior. Roman is over-the-top protective.”
Quinn felt much better about John’s behavior after considering Sophie’s statement for a moment. Roman was very protective of Sophie, especially after everything that had happened. And thinking about Blythe, and how Sawyer acted with her and his unborn baby, she knew her friend had a point.
The rest of the morning went by quickly, the four women chatting while they worked. Sophie headed off to the hospital to meet with the doctors and the newest cases of burn victims she was working with. When she came back, she told Quinn, “I s-saw M-Mark when I was over there. He asked about you and s-said he m-missed you.”
Quinn liked Mark Prescott. He was in his mid-forties, but had the mental capacity of a little kid. He was huge, both tall and overweight, but wouldn’t hurt a fly. She hadn’t seen him in a while, as she’d been eating lunch in the break room at the lab instead of heading over to the cafeteria.
“Maybe I’ll go over there for lunch today,” Quinn mused. “See if I can find him.”
“He’d love that,” Sophie said.
Around eleven-thirty, Quinn shut down her computer and headed for the door. “See you guys in a bit.”
Everyone said their goodbyes and Quinn headed to the glass walkway that connected the hospital to the Burn Center Annex. Looking down at her feet as she went was as natural as breathing to her. As was making sure her hair was untucked from behind her ear and fell over her face, hiding her birthmark from the casual passerby.
Instead of heading straight for the cafeteria, Quinn detoured to go down to the children’s ward, where Sophie said Mark was working. She heard him laughing before she saw him. Smiling, she picked up her head and waited for him to see her.
As expected, the second he did, he dropped the broom he was holding and ran straight for her. Quinn braced, but still stumbled a few steps back when Mark hugged her.
“Quinn!” he exclaimed, holding her tight in his embrace. “I missed you!”
“I missed you too, buddy,” she reassured him, then gently stepped out of his hold. She loved him, but he didn’t know his own strength. “How are you?”
“Good! I saw Sophie today!”
“I know. She told me.”
Then Mark went off on a long explanation of what he’d been doing for the last week or so. His ramblings included something about a stray dog, his caretaker, eating watermelon, and hurting his big toe.
“What’s wrong with her face?”
The question came from a kid who was around six. He’d come out of his room with his parents, his IV pole on wheels next to him.
His parents shushed him and hustled him in the other direction.
Mark looked confused. “Is there something wrong with your face?” he asked Quinn, tilting his head and staring at her.
Quinn opened her mouth to answer, but someone beat her to it.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her face.”
Quinn turned to see John standing there. He was wearing a pair of navy-blue pants and a matching Station 7 T-shirt. She saw a pair of scissors sticking out of one of the pockets on his pants, and he had a huge smile on his face.
Leaning down, he smoothed her hair behind her ear, kissed her cheek—right on her birthmark—then turned to Mark and held out his hand. The two men completed a series of hand gestures that had Quinn completely confused. “Good to see you, Mark,” John told him when they’d finished.
“You too, Driftwood. Look, it’s Quinn!”
“I see, buddy. How are you?”
Then Mark went off on the same explanation he’d just given Quinn about how his previous week had been. But instead of blowing the man off, John listened and nodded where appropriate. When Mark had finally wound down, John said, “It sounds like you had a good week.”
“Yup, yup. Good week. Good week.” Then Mark turned around and headed for the broom he’d dropped without saying goodbye.
Quinn was used to his abrupt mannerisms. “What’re you doing here?” she asked John.
“We just brought a patient by, and I thought I’d see if you were free to grab some lunch. I went up to the lab and saw Sophie and the others. They said you came over here. I’d hoped to run into you before you ate.”
On one hand, Quinn was thrilled. On the other, she wasn’t sure she was ready to be with John in public, even if she did offer to go to a movie with him. She’d been with him before, of course, but that was in groups. Not one-on-one, and not since deciding they were dating.
His face didn’t change expression but she could hear the disappointment in his voice when he said, “If you don’t have time, I understand.”
Putting her hand on his arm, Quinn reassured him. “I’d love to have lunch with you.”
The smile that lit up his face was worth any uneasiness she felt.
He took her hand and draped it over his bent elbow. “Only the best for my girl. Cafeteria food it is.”
Quinn chuckled. It wasn’t until they were in line in the cafeteria that she’d even realized she’d forgotten to make sure her hair was covering her face. John had tucked it back behind her ear right before he’d kissed her cheek, and she’d been so flustered by his nonchalant affection, she hadn’t even thought about re-hiding her birthmark afterward.
Shocked, she immediately brought her hand up and fluffed her hair, bringing it out from behind her ear in the process and making sure it at least covered her neck.
John didn’t say anything, but she knew he noticed.
They went through the line and chose their meals and John led them to an empty circular table near the back of the room. He pulled out her chair and waited until she sat before taking the seat next to her.
Quinn immediately felt awkward. She wasn’t sure what to say. Talking to him on the phone was so easy compared to this. Even hanging out at his house yesterday was laid-back and comfortable. This? At her workplace? Not so much.
She picked at her mac and cheese and racked her brain trying to come up with a good topic.
“Relax, Emmy,” John said softly.
“I can’t,” she told him honestly. “I feel like everyone’s staring at us.”
“No one is. They’re all either talking medical stuff or looking at their phones.”
Quinn took a deep breath and looked around.
John was right. No one cared that she was eating lunch with one of the hottest men she’d ever seen. Which was crazy. If she was sitting by herself eating and John walked in, she’d certainly notice him. She relaxed a fraction.
“How’s your shift going?” she asked.
“Pretty good, all things considered. We’ve had one MVA, two patients with heart attack symptoms, two lift assists, and three smoke alarms.”
After hanging around with Sophie and the other firefighters for a while now, Quinn knew an MVA was a motor vehicle accident, and a lift assist was when someone fell and couldn’t get back up. She also knew better than to comment on how easy his day had been so far. That was akin to telling an emergency room doctor how quiet things were…inevitably, as soon as those words were uttered, things got crazy.
As if he knew what she was thinking, John smiled. “So, what are your plans for the week?”
She let him change the subject. “Nothing exciting. Just normal stuff. Tomorrow night, I’m going with Autumn to a farmers market near her house.”
“Hmmm. What about this weekend?”
Quinn’s heart sped up. She shrugged. “No plans. Why?”
“I’m working Friday and Saturday, but on Sunday, me and the guys thought we’d head over to The Sloppy Cow for a few hours. Nothing crazy, I know you have to work on Monday, but we haven’t all gotten together in a while.”
She smiled. Even though she knew they were dating, it felt good to be included. “Sure,” she said as nonchalantly as possible. Hanging out at bars wasn’t really her thing, but she loved Adeline, Blythe, Beth and, of course, Sophie.
“Cool,” John said with a smile of his own. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a man set his tray on the table, across from them, and sat.
Looking up, Quinn saw a doctor she hadn’t met before. That wasn’t unusual, the hospital was a big place. But the second the man saw her face, he stilled and stared at her.
Looking down, Quinn stiffened.
“Dude. Not cool,” John said in a quiet but stern tone.
Quinn felt his hand on her thigh, and when he found hers, he took it in his own and squeezed.
“Sorry,” the man apologized immediately. “My name is Doctor Stuart Ballard. I’m visiting from Southern California, and I couldn’t help but notice your nevus flammeus.”
“What?” John asked.
“My birthmark,” Quinn translated.
“Oh.”
“I work at the Irvine Laser Institute and Medical Clinic back in California. I specialize in the treatment and management of children and adults with port-wine birthmarks, hemangiomas, and other vascular malformations.”
Quinn winced. She’d done a lot of research on the treatment for port-wine birthmarks, and the consequences of not getting those treatments. Before she could cut the man off and tell him she wasn’t interested in hearing his pitch, he continued.
“It’s remarkable. You don’t have any indications that you’ve had laser therapy, and you don’t have any nodules forming yet. It’s also still pink, whereas usually they start to turn dark red or purple by now. Interesting.” He finally looked into her eyes. “I’d love to t
alk to you more about your skin regimen, your history, and about the possibility of you flying out to California so I can study you more thoroughly.”
“Slow your roll, Ballard,” John said with a glare. “She’s not a specimen you can just shove under your microscope.”
The doctor looked startled, then chagrined. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m here for a consult and a conference, and I forget to act like a normal human being when I’ve been in the trenches, so to speak.” He leaned across the table and held out his hand. “As I said, I’m Stuart Ballard.”
Quinn tentatively held out her hand and shook his. “Quinn Dixon.”
“It’s good to meet you, Quinn.”
She nodded at him.
John held out his hand as well. “I’m John Trettle. Her boyfriend.”
Dr. Ballard’s lips quirked up but he shook John’s hand as well.
“I know I didn’t exactly go about this the right way, but I’m serious, your skin is beautiful. You’re what…twenty-five?”
“Twenty-eight,” Quinn told him.
“Hmm. And older than I thought. Have you considered laser treatment?”
Quinn glanced at John and saw that he was still frowning at the doctor, but she didn’t really see anything wrong with his particular question. Yes, he’d startled her by commenting on her birthmark. Most of the time people talked about anything but or said something rude. In many ways, his candor was refreshing. “When I was in college, I did a lot of research about it, but I wasn’t in a position to pay for the expensive treatment at the time. Then I just got busy.”
“Mmmm,” the doctor mused. “And I’m correct that you didn’t have any treatment as an infant?”
She shook her head.
“Unfortunate. Baby skin is thinner and the stain is usually smaller, so it’s easier to treat.”
“My mother took one look at me and refused to touch me,” Quinn told the doctor bluntly. “Apparently, she said I had the sign of the devil, and signed the papers to give me up for adoption the day I was born.”
The doctor didn’t even look shocked. “Sometimes I really hate people,” he said softly.
Quinn liked him even more. “Yeah. Well, I went into the system, and I don’t think I have to tell you that the state wasn’t going to pay for me to have any cosmetic surgery.”