He lifts an eyebrow that clearly says I’m full of shit. I shoot my eyes over to our driver and back. As happy as I am for Inez, losing her after being together for a decade makes me feel raw, and I don’t want to lay my heart out right now. He nods and turns his attention back to his phone. But every five minutes of the forty-five minute drive, I feel his eyes back on me.
All I can think about is how things will change if she leaves. She’s been my only close friend in Boston for a decade. My go-to person for weekend plans and after-work drinks. If she leaves, it’ll just be me and Colton. And if I let myself explore something physical with Colton and it backfires on me, who else would I have? It’d be like the beginning of grad school all over again, with a best friend across the ocean and no one else, and that had been the loneliest, darkest time of my life.
If Colton doesn’t feel the same tension, I could mess up our whole dynamic by making a move he isn’t interested in. And if heisinterested, we could still fuck it up if one of us decides we want more.
I need to keep my focus on winning over the faculty, on keeping my dream of the three of us in Boston together. The last thing I need is another complication.
12
COLTON
Something’s wrong.I don’t know what it is, but Quinn’s barely said two words all day. My chatterbox is gone, leaving blank smiles and faraway looks in her place. I want her back. I need her addictive laughter and the conspiratorial glances that come right before she makes an inappropriate comment.
A very passionate man stands in front of the table, which sits six other guests who are fully engrossed in his speech. The Chianti mountains rise in the distance behind him, each peak lowering in elevation the closer they move toward us, like kids lined up on risers for a class photograph. Picturesque villas dot the slopes, and the weather’s perfect—warm but with a breeze to keep us all comfortable outside. A setting for an incredible day, if Quinn were actually here.
“There are other regions where you can get fine wine,” the man says, “but the Chianti region will always be a league above. Our deep, complex flavor profiles have made our wines famous around the world.”
The audience murmurs their agreement, everyone but Quinn grabbing the glass he indicated to take a sip before pairing it with the slice of cheese he suggested.
“Now, there are many classifications for Chianti wine, and I will not bore you with the details, but if you take one thing from this lunch pairing, remember to look for the black rooster on the bottle. If you see a rooster, you can confidently pick up the bottle knowing it has come from this region and meets certain quality standards. Plus, you have the convenience of not having to read the label as your vision becomes more impaired!”
He grabs one of the bottles off the table, bringing it close to his face and squinting at the rooster like he’s too drunk to read, then nods and mimes drinking it straight from the lip. Everyone laughs, and he waves us off to finish our wine and enjoy our lunch. I look over, but Quinn still has that same distant look in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask, popping another piece of cheese in my mouth.
“What?” she replies, blinking up at me like she forgot I’m here.
“You’ve barely spoken since we got in the car. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she says with an exasperated laugh. “Can I not just be quiet?”
I turn to face her fully. “Yes, you can be quiet, but I know your quiets, and this isn’t a comfortable one. Your brain is running so fast I swear I can hear a whirling like your computer fan is trying to cool it down.”
Quinn chews on her bottom lip. “I’m fine.”
I point to the man from the presentation, who’s now leaning against the far wall talking to another employee. “He made a joke about being too drunk to read the wine label and mimed drinking Chianti Classico from the bottle, and you didn’t even crack a smile.”
“Wait, really?” She blinks at the man like she’s finally waking up to the world around her. “Okay, I guess I have been a bit distracted.”
My lip twitches. “I noticed.”
She tugs her lip between her thumb and pointer finger as she looks at the food in front of her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re going to talk to me eventually,” I say.
“I know, but not right now.” She smiles, even though it doesn’t reach her eyes.
She shakes out her arms like she’s warming up for a sprint, then grabs her glass of Chianti and downs it in one gulp. Someone gasps in horror of her treatment of wine said to have been made from the blood of the gods.
“Okay,” she says. “I’m here. I’m present. Let’s do this.”
I raise a wry eyebrow. “Are you? Because if you’re going to zone out all day, we could’ve gone to the Etruscan museum like I wanted to.”
There’s a small museum in the area with one of the best collections of Etruscan artifacts. Quinn argued this was a work-free weekend, and I argued I was aRomanhistorian, not an Etruscan historian. Apparently, learning about Rome’s cultural predecessor is too close for consideration.
“I’ll take you to the museum if you really want,” Quinn says with an indulgent shake of her head. Her brow pinches a little, then she turns back to me with a determined expression. “Didn’t Alessandra study the Etruscan civilization?”
I jolt. “Alessandra as in my ex?”
