Now here was an open goal...
He set his glass down, contriving a pained expression. ‘I don’t know. We girls do suffer, don’t we?’
Her gaze solidified. ‘Oh, ha-ha-ha.’
He felt a chuckle coming loose. ‘Sorry! Couldn’t resist.’ He reached for the bottle. ‘How about a top-up?’
‘Oh, go on then—just the full glass, mind.’ And then she was laughing quietly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. ‘I don’t know where I heard that, but I can never resist saying it.’
So funny—so lovely!
A thought which was probably dancing a jig all over his stupid face.
Sensible conversation, Will...
‘It’s a good one.’ He refilled her glass then his own, then parked the bottle. ‘So, all in all, a good day, inspiration-wise?’
‘Definitely!’ She scrunched her face up. ‘My head’s buzzing.’
‘I get that feeling too, when I’m about to secure a new hotel site, when it all starts coming together.’
‘So, you like the hotel business?’
Surprise in her eyes, in her voice. Perhaps his big, bad attitude to Dad’s project had skewed her perception.
‘I do but, to be fair, probably not in the way you’re thinking. Dad built the business so I signed up, but hotels per se don’t excite me. It’s the mechanics of business I love, the push and pull, expansion, strategizing and so on...’
‘So it could be widgets and you’d be just as happy?’
‘Maybe...who knows?’
She grimaced, making him laugh.
‘I take it liking business for itself is an alien concept for you.’
‘I suppose.’
‘So, that begs the question: did you always want to be an interior designer?’
‘No...’ She picked up her glass, exuding mischief. ‘I was aiming for astronaut, but I’m scared of heights so, you know...’
He felt his cheeks creasing. ‘Ah, now I get your reluctance to ride the Santa Justa Lift.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘You got me!’
‘Seriously, though, was it a calling? I mean, I know you studied design, but was it always interiors you liked?’
‘Yeah. I like homey stuff, making things nice.’ She took a little drink from her glass then set it down. ‘My mum was an architect so maybe I inherited something from her—not her patience though! Seven years is a long time to study...’ She let out a little sigh. ‘Doesn’t seem fair that after all that effort she only got to practice for a few years.’
His heart dipped. Because her mum had died in childbirth, hadn’t she? Not remotely where he’d meant this conversation to go.
‘I’m sorry, Quinn.’
‘It’s okay.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I’ve had twenty-nine years to get used to it. I don’t miss her or anything because you can’t miss something you’ve never had...’ Her gaze drifted for a moment then came back, softening. ‘Harder for you, I think...’
He felt his blood draining. What was she doing, blindsiding him with Mum like this?! He didn’t want to talk about his mother—didn’t, ever, with anyone—but if he clammed up it would rock their boat, put a dent in things, and he wanted that even less.
He swallowed to buy a moment. ‘It was hard, yes.’
‘And now?’
His heart clenched. ‘Now it’s just awkward, stilted and excruciating.’
‘So, you haven’t been able to...’
‘What? Get over her waltzing off into the sunset with Gabe the hedge fund jerk when I was fifteen?’ Because that was what her eyes were asking. ‘Strangely enough, no!’
She pressed her lips together slowly. Signalling that the floor was his?
Well, she could take it back because he didn’t want it! His heart pulsed. Then again, if he didn’t take it, where would that leave them, except on opposite sides of an awkward silence?
He drew in a breath. ‘Look, don’t get me wrong. I get that she and Dad weren’t in a good place before Pete died. I get that Gabe seemed like a better bet than Dad, but after that the only song I can seem to hear playing is the one about how she abandoned me.’
‘Which is completely understandable.’ She was leaning forward, her eyes welling with kindness, making his own prickle. ‘You were fifteen. You’d been through so much already...’
Blue lights flashing... Uniforms at the door... His legs failing... Dad’s grey face... Mum curling like a leaf, disappearing inside herself...
He swallowed. ‘It didn’t seem fair.’ He could feel the familiar ache spreading, the familiar hot, thick spot swelling in his throat. ‘Not when I tried so hard to take care of her after Pete died. I did everything I could to make her happy, to bring her back to herself, but I failed. And then she left, and I know I need to put it behind me, but I can’t. She wrecked everything and now I can’t look at her the same, can’t feel any love...’
