Her Best Friend

She’d been going out with Aaron Reid for over a year.

“I don’t want to get married yet. I’ve got the Grand to think about first.”

“You can get married and still restore the Grand.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“You’ve missed your big opportunity, you know. We could have had a double wedding if you’d played your cards right.”

“Aaron and I aren’t like you and Lisa,” she said. It came out more sharply than she’d intended and Quinn took a pull on his beer before responding.

“I just want you to be as happy as I am, Ames.”

“I know. Sorry.”

He shifted one of his feet so it rested on hers, big and warm, letting her know without words that she was forgiven. He smiled at her, his eyes heavy-lidded from all the alcohol.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a great day. The best day of my life,” he said.

Her heart ached with sadness and happiness as she looked at him, the two emotions so hopelessly mixed she knew she’d never get them untangled.

“You’re going to be a great husband.”

“I know,” he said. Then they both laughed at his shameless arrogance.

SHE TWISTED in bed, rolling over onto her side. God, how she hated the idea that he was in pain, that all that hope and happiness had gone up in flames. Worse, that she hadn’t been around to comfort him because she’d chosen to push him out of her life when he’d needed her the most.

How could Lisa have done this to him? Amy could still remember the way her friend had glowed on the morning of their wedding. And the way Quinn had looked at Lisa when she’d walked up the aisle toward him. A match made in heaven, everyone had said.

And Lisa had thrown all that away. Amy simply couldn’t comprehend it.

She was drifting toward sleep when an insidious little thought weaseled its way into her mind: now that Quinn was getting a divorce, he was free again. Available.

Her eyes snapped open. Her heart kicked out an urgent, panicky beat.

Don’t. Don’t even think it. Not for a second, you idiot.

But she was wide-awake, and the thought was lodged in her brain, glowing like neon.

Quinn was free to love again. If he wanted to.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said out loud.

Because she’d been waiting for Quinn Whitfield to notice her since she was fourteen years old. A full sixteen years of yearning, longing, jealousy and heartache. Long enough to know better.

She closed her eyes and pushed the weasel words down into a deep, dark corner of her mind. Because she did know better. Even if some aberrant, hope-springs-eternal, deluded part of her psyche refused to lay down and die, most of her knew the truth: Quinn had never seen her as anything other than his good friend. And nothing she ever did would change that.

SHE SLEPT BADLY and woke early. Her first thought was that Quinn was getting a divorce, her second that she now owned the Grand.

Great priorities. Not.

She lay in bed reviewing the evening’s momentous events, then started to formulate plans for the day ahead. The way she saw it, she had two options—hunt down Quinn and ask all the questions she hadn’t asked last night, or find Reg Hanover and talk him into giving her early access to the Grand.

She chose option B, because she might be a hopeless case where Quinn was concerned, but she wasn’t stupid. No matter how wonderful and sad and torturous it was to have him in town, tomorrow he would fly home to Sydney. The Grand was her future, her big dream come true. She needed to keep that fact top of mind no matter what other distractions were on hand.

By nine she was waiting out at the front of the council building, keeping watch for Reg’s distinctive beige Volvo. She saw him turn in to the parking lot and waited until he’d parked before walking toward him.

“Ms. Parker,” he said stiffly as he exited her car. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Amy spared a glance for today’s tie—a sketchily drawn blue marlin leaping on a purple background—before focusing on Reg’s face.

“I want to talk to you about getting access to the Grand before settlement.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” His tone implied that he thought her request was inappropriate, to say the least.

Amy gave him her brightest smile. “I don’t see why not. It happens all the time, and it’s not as though there’s a tenant. The place has been empty for years. Surely it’s to the community’s benefit that the restoration start as soon as possible?”

Reg opened his mouth to reject her again.

“Before you say no, I should warn you that I’ll be back tomorrow to ask the same thing. And the day after that, and so on. I’ve always been stubborn like that.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“I know, but I also know where you live, Reg.”

He glared at her, his thick eyebrows meeting in the middle. She could see his desire to punish her for last night’s defeat warring with his need to be rid of her. She held her breath, waiting to see which way he would jump.

Ten minutes later she was pushing the chrome-and-glass front doors of the Grand wide open. She stepped into the dusty foyer and glanced around.

“Honey, I’m home,” she called, her voice echoing in the empty space.

It was tempting to gloat a little, but she’d done her celebrating last night. She rolled up the sleeves on her bright orange sweater and performed her first act as owner of the Grand, tearing down the tattered yellow paper that had masked the front windows for years. Light streamed into the foyer, unkindly highlighting the old cinema’s many flaws.

“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll put you right.”

An hour later she was dragging a small mountain of damp cardboard out to the rear parking lot. She’d arranged for an industrial-size rubbish bin to be delivered first thing Monday, but she was too impatient to wait until then to get started. She hefted the cardboard onto the pile she’d created near the door just as a dark sedan pulled up next to her rusty old station wagon. It took her a moment to recognize Quinn behind the wheel. She dusted her hands down the front of her jeans as he exited his car.

“I should have known you’d be here,” he said.

He was wearing faded jeans and scuffed brown boots with a charcoal-gray sweater. Her heart did stupid, teenage things as she took in his broad shoulders and lean hips and wry smile.

“No point in wasting time.”

“How much rent are the council charging you to have early access?”

“None.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “How’d you pull that off?”

“I have my ways,” she said mysteriously.

He looked amused. “Sure you do. You want a hand?”

He’d caught her off guard. “It’s nice of you to offer, but it’s mostly donkey work. Clearing out all the crap the old tenants have left behind.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to chew up all your time. You’re only home for the weekend.”

Plus I’m a little out of practice putting on my game face when you’re around. Witness the fact that I’ve got goose bumps just because you’re standing a few feet away, smiling at me.

“I came home to help you, Ames. I’m all yours for the weekend.” He walked past her toward the entrance. “Want to show me what needs doing?”

He disappeared inside the building. She stared after him, thrown.

It’s no big deal, Parker. A few hours aren’t going to

kill you. It’s not like you’re going to suddenly jump on him after sixteen years of self-restraint.

Sliding her hands into her back pockets, she followed him into the corridor.

The power wouldn’t be connected until Monday, but there was enough light filtering through the archway to the foyer and the propped-open back door to see what they were up against. She gestured toward the moldering piles of carpet, tattered cartons, broken furniture and other flotsam and jetsam littering the floor. The worst of it had been masked by the shadows last night, but now it was revealed for what it was: a lot of backbreaking work.

“Like I said, it’s mostly donkey work.”

He surveyed the space with his hands on his hips. Then he glanced at her. “You realize you’re going to owe me dinner after this, right?”

“How does McDonald’s sound?”

“Inadequate.”

“I’ll see what else I can come up with.”

Quinn gave her a dry look before reaching for the waistband of his sweater and pulling it over his head. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt underneath, the soft fabric molding his shoulders and chest and belly. She deliberately looked away.

Nothing to see here. Please move on.

“Let’s get this party started, city boy,” she said.

IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME since Quinn had used his muscles for anything except lifting weights at the gym. It felt good to do something real for a change. To get out of his head and lose himself in the rhythms of physical labor.

By midday they’d cleared more than half of the debris from the main theatre and the balcony section. They walked across the road to get sandwiches for lunch and sat on the marble steps to eat, talking occasionally but mostly just eating and thinking their own thoughts.

For the first time in a long time, something inside Quinn relaxed. He felt … okay. As though he was exactly where he needed to be.

He glanced at Amy. She had a far-off look in her eyes as she gazed around the foyer while she munched on her sandwich. A faint smile curled his mouth. No doubt she was imagining the foyer as it should be. Or turning over some other notion in her mind. You never knew with Amy.

He liked that she didn’t feel compelled to fill every lull with meaningless conversation. It was one of the things he’d always appreciated about her.

Lisa, on the other hand, couldn’t tolerate silence. She was always the first to talk if there was a pause in the conversation. When they’d lived together the radio or stereo had always been on, music blaring to fill up the empty corners of the house. In the months before she’d left she’d progressed to leaving the TV on while they ate dinner. She’d claimed she found it comforting. Even though it had sometimes driven him nuts, he’d tolerated it because he’d wanted her to be happy.

Sitting next to Amy, he belatedly realized that his soon-to-be ex-wife had been hiding behind all that noise. Disguising her guilt and excitement over her affair, creating a buffer between them. And he’d been so busy bending over backward to please her that he hadn’t noticed she’d been pulling away from him.

“You okay?” Amy asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re frowning.”

“No, I’m not.” He made an effort to smooth his forehead.

She was silent for a beat. “Want to talk about it?”

She was sitting so close he could see the gold flecks in her eyes when she turned to look at him. He studied her long lashes, the curve of her cheek, the turned-up end of her nose. Her face was as familiar to him as his own. More so, in some ways, since he’d spent a hell of a lot more time looking at her over the years than he had looking in the mirror.

“You don’t want to hear me bitch and moan.”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”

He glanced down at his hands. “Not much to say, really.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes. Of course I am. She cheated on me for two years. Lied to me.”

“Your pride’s hurt. You feel humiliated.” It was both a question and a statement.

He glared at her but she just cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he finally said.

“Do you miss her?”

He frowned, focusing on his hands again. He’d skinned his knuckles earlier and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the raw skin.

Did he miss Lisa? The sound of her brisk footsteps on the polished floors. Her ready laughter. Her eternal restlessness and need to go one better, one better, one better.

“Not as much as I should,” he said.

That shut Amy up. He glanced at her. She was picking at a worn patch on the knee of her jeans.

“Shocked you?” he asked.

“No. I guess. I always thought you and Lisa were happy. Whenever I visited, you always seemed to be. Which was why I was so surprised last night.”

“We were, for a while. But Lisa always wanted more. Bigger house. Better office. Faster car.”

Amy nodded. She knew Lisa almost as well as he did. She knew how ambitious Lisa had always been, how much she’d wanted to get ahead.

“And you didn’t want any of that stuff?” Amy asked.

“Sure I did. Up to a point. But there are other things in life. Family. Children. Having a life, instead of spending every freaking hour at the office or at some client function, trying to drum up more business.”

He could hear how resentful and angry he sounded. Amy didn’t need all this crap dumped on her.

“It’s okay,” she said. Reading his mind, as always.

“It’s done.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s still eating you up inside.”

He looked into her gold-flecked eyes again. Typical Amy, straight for the jugular, no messing around.

“Because I was dumb. That’s why I can’t let it go.” He hadn’t meant to say anything more, but the words were suddenly in his throat. “Because I should have said stop. Made us both look around and acknowledge what we were doing. But I played along way past the point when it wasn’t what I wanted anymore.”

“It’s not your fault, Quinn.”

“It’s partly my fault. And now I’ve got this life, this job, and I have no idea.” He clamped his jaw shut and stood. “Talk about a pity party. Next I’ll be asking you to braid my hair and lend me a tampon. Do me a favor and pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen, okay?”

She stood, as well. “I’ve seen you rolling around on the ground after being kneed in the cojones on the football field. I think I can handle a bit of existential angst.”

As always, she made him laugh. He hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her close, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. “I appreciate the ear.”

“You know me, all ears.” She pushed away from his chest. “We’d better get back to it.”

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