Chapter 10: The Workbench

I didn't cry until I got to Quinn's door.

I'd held it together through the store, and the car, and the whole drive home.

Then I knocked twice, and he opened it, and I couldn't breathe.

"Hey," he said. "Hey. Come here."

I walked into his chest, and he shut the door with his foot.

He didn't ask me anything.

He just held on while I shook.

"She said it in front of the whole store," I said, into his shirt.

"I know."

"You weren't there."

"Ewan called me from the back room. He saw the end."

His hand moved up my back.

"I should've been there."

"You were at work."

"I should've been there anyway."

I pulled back and looked at him.

He had sawdust in his hair.

"Take me downstairs," I said.

His workshop was in the basement, a long warm room that smelled of cedar and oil.

A scarred wide bench ran down the middle, with a vise at one end.

His tools hung in rows on the wall.

I'd never been down there.

He flicked on one lamp, and the light turned the sawdust to gold.

"I'm not good company tonight," I said.

"I don't need company."

"What do you need?"

"You." He said it simply. "Just that."

I walked up to him and took his face in both hands and kissed him, hard.

It wasn't tender.

I wanted to be somewhere that wasn't a hardware counter, and I wanted him to make that happen.

He kissed me back.

His hands went to my hips and lifted me onto the bench.

I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him in by his belt.

"Slow," he said, against my mouth.

"I'm done being slow. I've been slow my whole life."