Page 8 of Dilectio

I lean against the wall and let out a sigh. “It’s just that she was so opinionated.”

“Get over yourself. So what? She bruised your ego by calling you a spoiled trust fund kid.”

My jaw tightens. “Those weren’t her words.”

He shrugs. “Close enough.”

I let out a small laugh and shake my head. “You make it sound so simple.”

Dane gives me a knowing smile. “It is that simple, Ezra. If Paige likes her, hire her. She’s more than qualified. Talk to Quinn tomorrow morning and apologize for your behavior. You owe it to her.”

I hedge.

“I know it’s hard for you to admit you were wrong.” He claps me on the back. “But do it for Paige.” He grins. “It won’t kill you.”

I stroll over to my recently stocked bar. I nod and make up my mind. “You’re right,” I say. “I’ll go talk to Quinn tomorrow morning.” I run my hand through my thick hair. “I need a drink after today.”

My eyes scan the bar taking in the glint of light reflecting off the bottles of whiskey and vodka that line the wall. I take down a crystal glass from one of the shelves and fill it with ice cubes before pouring a generous amount of whiskey. The smell of the amber liquid brings me back to childhood visits to my father’s bar.

I can still feel the panic of not knowing where Paige was before Quinn found her in the garden. I sip my drink, savoring its smoothness on my tongue. I offer Dane a drink, and he declines.

“Today,” I say, “was one of the scariest days of my life.” I take another sip of my drink.

“I know,” he replies. “When you couldn’t find her, I was worried, too. But she’s safe now, and that’s all that matters.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer than before. “I thought I’d lost her.”

Dane shakes his head. “It was just a misunderstanding, but it could have been worse. We were lucky Quinn figured out what happened so quickly.”

I take another sip and put down my drink. “Joanne is on a work trip, but I still called her. Telling her what happened was unpleasant. She screamed, cried, and called me everything she could think of.” I shrug. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Ezra,” Dane consoles me, “you’re a good dad, and you love Paige more than anything. That’s all that matters.”

I nod, thankful for my brother’s support.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah, thanks for coming by.”

He smiles and heads for the door. “Go talk to Quinn tomorrow morning,” he calls over his shoulder.

I take one last sip of my whiskey and smile into the glass as I think about seeing her again.

I check my GPS to be sure I’m in the right neighborhood.

The streets are lined with aging houses, all painted in bright pastels. The yards are tiny, and the lawns are well-kept. People sit on their porches, drinking coffee and chatting with neighbors. Dogs bark, and children laugh. Despite its run-down appearance, this neighborhood has much love.

People didn’t hang out on each other’s porches in the neighborhoods I grew up in. I’ve always wondered what it would have been like to go bike riding with the neighborhood kids instead of rushing off to violin lessons, tennis lessons, and an endless assortment of after-school activities.

I spot her house easily, a small blue cottage with chipped paint surrounded by wildflowers in full bloom. The front porch is swept clean, and potted and hanging plants are everywhere.

I park in front of her house, where a couple of kids are drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. They eye me and my sports car suspiciously.

I take a deep breath and make my way up to the front door. I knock, and Quinn answers a few moments later.

Her eyes are slightly bloodshot, and there are faint shadows beneath them, but she is breathtaking even in her disheveled state. Her tousled hair frames her face in a wild halo, and her full lips are slightly parted in surprise. She’s wearing an oversized shirt that hangs off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her collarbone, and it takes all my self-control not to reach out and brush my thumb over that exposed skin.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her voice husky from sleep. I can tell she hasn’t slept much, and I find myself wondering what kept her up. Was it the job she needed so badly? The thought makes me feel guilty for not being more understanding during our interview.