Take the Long Way Home by Judith Arnold

Author:Judith Arnold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: golden boy high school weird girl cookie store owner homecoming magic jukebox inheritance series billionaire
Publisher: Judith Arnold

Chapter Eight

A gray drizzle softened the edges of the city. Quinn huddled under the overhang, savoring the chill in the air. At the far end of the overhang, two other residents, both in blue scrubs like him, smoked cigarettes, their voices muted. He pressed his cell phone to his ear and listened to the rhythmic purr of the phone ringing on the other end.

After a few rings, a woman’s voice reached him: “Cookie’s, how can I help you?” He recognized her voice. She’d answered the last time he’d phoned, too—and that time she’d identified the store as Torelli’s by mistake. She must have rehearsed her lines since then, because she said the right name this time.

“Hey. Is Maeve there?”

“Just a minute.”

He waited, watching tiny raindrops glisten like dewdrops in the hair on his forearm. Then the voice he wanted to hear reached him: “Hello?”

“Maeve. It’s Quinn.”

An SUV cruising down Cambridge Street hit a puddle, spraying water toward the sidewalk. Quinn took a quick step to the left and the water missed him. Years ago, he’d been able to evade linesmen racing toward him on the field; now he evaded cars hitting puddles. He still had the moves.

“Hi,” she said. He might be imagining it, but her voice sounded warm and welcoming.

“Those cookies you gave me last night were great. No, better than great. The best cookies I’ve ever eaten.” That was no exaggeration. It had taken him nearly a half hour to eat them. He’d nibbled them slowly, one luscious bite at a time. Like a wine expert, he’d tasted them mindfully, trying to divine the mix of flavors in each mouthful: sweet, spicy, crumbly, crunchy, chewy.

“Can I put that in an advertisement?” she asked.

“Sure. I’ll be your pitchman. Give me a sandwich sign and I’ll march up and down Mass Avenue.”

“I’m not planning to sell my cookies in Boston,” she said.

“Not yet. Wait until word spreads about them. You’ll have to set up franchises. You’ll be bigger than Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks combined.”

She laughed. Her laughter reminded him of that tinkly little bell above the door of her shop. It reminded him of the blended colors of her eyes, green and gray and gold. It reminded him of her kiss.

Then again, pretty much everything reminded him of her kiss.

“So,” he said, “I’m on call in the ER tonight. It’ll probably be a busy night. Bad weather means car accidents, and car accidents mean broken bones. But I’m getting sprung Friday night, and I’m off through the whole weekend. I was hoping we could do another late-night run to the Lobster Shack on Friday.”

“I can’t,” she said.

He refused to be discouraged. “Doesn’t have to be Lobster Shack. We could go someplace else.”

“I’m having dinner Friday night with my father,” she said, the bell-like tinkle gone from her tone.

Another car cruised by, and he once again skip-stepped sideways to avoid getting splashed. “You don’t sound too excited about that.”

“It’s going to be stressful,” she predicted.

“Maybe we could meet afterward and do something stress-free.

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