* *
Quinn heard the soft whisper of small feet across the tiled floor as he stared out the window at the single light shining from inside Chloe’s house. “Go back to bed, Annabanana,” he said softly without turning.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“The monsters are very noisy. And I’m not a banana. You know that, Daddy.”
“Yes, you are.” He turned and dropped to a crouch. “You’re my favorite banana.”
Dragging her ancient pink blanket and her one-eyed teddy bear, Annabelle marched right up to him and put one of her little hands on his shoulder. “No, I’m not. I’m a girl.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Ah. Gotta remember that.”
“Pick me up, Daddy,” she instructed. “Get the flashlight.”
He wrapped his arms around her and stood. She giggled and hugged his neck, shoving her musty old teddy bear into the side of his face. He detoured to the kitchen, where he got the flashlight from a drawer. Then he returned to the living room and mounted the stairs.
She didn’t object as he carried her up to her room, set her down on the bed, flicked on the lamp and then pulled the covers up over her and the stuffed bear, smoothing the ancient blanket atop her butterfly-printed bedspread.
“Closet,” she said, when he bent to kiss her plump cheek.
He went to the closet, pushed the door open and shone the light around inside. “Nothing in here.”
“You have to tell them,” she said patiently. “You know that.”
He ran the light over her neatly hung-up dresses and the row of little shoes and said in his deepest, gruffest voice, “Monsters, get lost.” He rolled the door shut. “That should do it.”
But Annabelle didn’t agree. “Now under the bed.”
So he knelt by the bed and lifted up the frilly bed skirt and shone the light around underneath. “Holiday Barbie’s down here. With her dress over her head.”
The bed skirt on the other side rustled as small hands lifted it and Annabelle appeared, upside down. “Oops.” She snatched up the doll and let the bed skirt drop. “Okay, tell them.”
“Monsters, get lost.” He gave a long, threatening growl for good measure. On the bed, his daughter laughed, a delighted peal of sound that had him smiling to himself. “So, all right,” he said. “They’re gone.” And then he got up and sat on the bed and tucked her in again, bending close to press a kiss on her cheek and breathe in the little-girl smell of her. Toothpaste and baby shampoo, so familiar. So sweet. “Anything else?” he asked, suddenly worried about how she might answer, recalling Chloe’s wise advice of the night before. She wants to know it’s not her fault, whatever happened that you and her mother aren’t together and her mother isn’t in her life...
Annabelle shook her head. “That’s all.”
He felt equal parts guilt and relief. Guilt that he wasn’t as good a father as Annabelle deserved. Relief that he wouldn’t have to tackle the tough questions tonight, after all. “You know there are really no monsters in your room, right?”
She nodded slowly. “But I like it when you scare them away.”
He got up. “Sleep now, princess.”
She beamed at him. “Princess is good. Not banana.”
“Close your eyes...”
“I want a princess room. All the princesses. Snow White and Cinderella and Mulan and Elsa and Belle and Merida and—”
“Time for sleep. Close your eyes...” He heard Chloe’s rich alto again, as though she whispered in his ear. She wants to know that you love her. “I love you, princess.”
“Love you, Daddy.” With a little sigh, Annabelle closed her eyes. He turned off the light and shut the door silently behind him on the way out.
Back downstairs, all was quiet. Manny had gone to Boulder for the night to visit his current lady friend. Quinn took up his vigil at the wall of windows in the living room. Up at Chloe’s the light remained on. He could see it glowing through the pale curtains that covered the slider in her bedroom. He pictured her, wearing that big pink shirt, propped up against the pillows in her bed, with her laptop or maybe a good book, which she would read effortlessly, turning the pages fast to find out what would happen next.
And then, well, after last night, he couldn’t help picturing her other ways—like, say, naked beneath him, moaning his name in that low, sexy voice that drove him crazy. He told himself it was a good thing that Manny wasn’t there to watch over Annabelle if he stepped out.
Because climbing that hill again?
Way too much on his mind.
* * *
“Crush, I gotta say it,” Manny grumbled. “I’m disappointed in you.”
It was Friday night, five nights since the one Quinn had spent with Chloe. Annabelle had been tucked safely in bed, the monsters chased away. Quinn and Manny sat out on the deck having a beer under the clear, starry sky. Quinn took a long, cool swallow and said nothing.
Manny wiggled his white eyebrows. They grew every which way and he never bothered to trim them. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why?”
Quinn gave a low chuckle. “We both know you’ll tell me anyway.”
Manny snorted. “Yes, I will. I’ve spent over a decade makin’ sure you learn what you need to know. No reason to change now.”
Quinn only looked at him, waiting.
Manny announced, “Romance is like everything else worth doin’ in life. You gotta follow up, put some energy into it, or it goes nowhere.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“I’ll give you a hint. Chloe Winchester. Only a fool would pass up his chance with a woman like that.”
“That’s given that he had a chance in the first place.”
“See there? That’s defeat talkin’. Quinn the Crusher, he spits in the face of defeat.”
“Quinn the Crusher retired, remember?”
“From the Octagon, sure. But not from life. Last time I checked, you still got a pulse.”
“Leave it alone, Manny.”
Manny did no such thing. “A woman like that, she lets you in her house in the middle of the night, you got a chance. You got more than a chance.”
“You need to stop sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Somebody’s likely to break it.”
“Won’t be the first time.”
