Quinn spun his seat so his back was to Ben. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it.”
Ben grabbed the chair and twisted him back around, preventing him from ignoring the conversation. “You told me that love didn’t ask permission. It came when God wanted you to have it—ready or not.”
Quinn glared. “You’re misquoting me. I’m not that eloquent.”
A slow smile crept up Ben’s cheeks. “I may have embellished a little. I guess falling in love has made me sentimental.” He pulled an engagement ring out of his pocket and set it on the desk.
Quinn barely glanced at the velvet box. His brother was getting married. He surged from his chair, nearly knocking Ben over with his half man hug, half tackle. Pounding him on the back, he laughed hard. “You son of a gun! Avery?”
Ben laughed. “Yes, Avery! Who else?”
Quinn gave him another manly squeeze. Avery Croft was the secretary at Savannah’s private school. She and her son, Landon, had worked their way into Ben’s heart and life. Not a night went by that they weren’t all together for dinner or studying or fun. Quinn tagged along as often as possible, never feeling like an outsider but definitely feeling like part of a growing family.
He released his brother. “I’m happy for you, man.”
“Thanks.” Ben pocketed the box. He picked up the invitation and held it out. “I’d like to be happy for you in the same way.” He shoved the envelope into Quinn’s chest. “Go get the girl. And bring her home, would you? Avery wants to meet her.”
He left Quinn standing there, holding the envelope to his chest.
Getting back into marriage after his first one had shattered showed just how brave Ben was when it came to love.
Quinn could be that brave. He glanced at the computer screen and then up at the mural on the wall. Who was he kidding? Ginny wouldn’t be there—she was never the type to jump into formal affairs, preferring to hang out in the library in a pair of cut-off jeans. She’d be right at home in his office here, working on her thing while he did his.
Except he didn’t even know what her thing was anymore.
He threw the envelope on the far desk, as far away from him as he could get it. He wasn’t going. All the deadline meant was that he’d wasted ten years of his life hoping for a miracle. Well, if love was meant to find him, then it would have to come to the office, because he had better things to do than put on a tux and chase after a woman who hadn’t so much as sent him a text in ten years. She probably didn’t even remember him.
Chapter Three
Ginny
Outside the casement window, the sky was a brilliant kaleidoscope of pink and purple with diamond jewels sprinkled throughout, laid there by the Creator. Ginny Lockwood had seen sunsets all over the world, and none of them compared to the one that decorated the sky each night in India. She rocked, holding six-month-old Aria close to her bosom. Aria’s parents would be there in three weeks to pick her up.
“Miss Ginny, you will spoil her,” scolded Sister Mary, the nun who ran the small orphanage. She’d painted the iron cribs turquoise blue and decorated the walls with multicolored handprints left there by children who had been adopted or grown old enough to make it on their own in the world. Heaven help them. Somehow, Sister Mary managed to give each graduating boy and girl a bicycle. Some of them were in better condition than others, but the children knew such a gift was an opportunity to work, and they accepted them with grateful hearts.
“You can’t spoil an infant, and you know it,” Ginny responded. The nun may get away with frightening the other sisters and the children into obedience, but Ginny was a lost cause. She’d forever say what she thought and do as she pleased. Like kissing the baby’s downy head before laying her in the crib.
Sister Mary preceded her out of the room, pausing to tuck in a corner of a sheet here and pull down a shirt there. Her gray habit swished, and Ginny wondered how she wore such heavy clothing when it was so hot.
They didn’t have many babies in their orphanage, so the little one she’d been cuddling was a gift. India had a rampant problem with baby trafficking. It took three to four years to adopt a child through the official channels, but families could pick up a new son or daughter fresh from the hospital if they went through the black market.
Ginny stayed out of the politics. As long as the children were with loving families, she would let the politicians take care of the details.
Sister Mary stopped at the small table perched in the hallway. “Your mail came through today. The letter on top looks official.”
Ginny accepted the small stack. The cream envelope did indeed look official with her alma mater’s seal in the upper left-hand corner. “It’s probably from the alumni association asking for money.” She ripped the flap open, and a delicately written invitation to her ten-year reunion slipped out.
The oxygen left the room. She stared, read, and reread, trying to make sense of the number. Ten years couldn’t have gone by. It was only a short time ago that she’d donned a cap and gown, skipped out on the party, and kissed Quinton in the library. Her fingers went to her lips as they did every time she thought about that kiss. Never in all her life, before or after, had she experienced a kiss that opened her soul the way that one had.
She’d thought about that moment at least once a day, and every time her lips tingled. She hadn’t called, texted, or sent a postcard to Quinton in all her travels. There didn’t seem to be much more to say after a kiss like that. She still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it.
And then there was the marriage pact. It was her stupid idea—an act of desperation as she clung to the time she’d spent with her best friend. Quinton never told her what to do, rarely offered advice. He was her champion. When she’d come up with the idea of seeing the world before settling down, he’d bought her a hiker’s pack.
Not that he had contacted her, either. She frowned, wondering if he even remembered the pact. Or cared. He could be married—happily. Not that she’d want him unhappily married. He was her friend, and she didn’t want it any other way.
“Bad news?” asked Sister Mary, her gaze dropping to the invitation.
Ginny stretched her arms over her head, working out the sore muscles. “Not in the usual sense. It’s an invitation to my ten-year college reunion.”
