could even imagine the slight smile he would have been wearing when he recorded the message. Self-aware, wry. Charming as all hell.
The answering machine beeped and she took a quick breath.
“Lisa and, um, Quinn. Long time no speak, huh? Lis, I was actually calling to talk to you. I need some legal advice and it’s kind of urgent—”
“Amy. Hey. How the hell are you?”
Amy’s heart banged against her rib cage as Quinn’s deep voice sounded down the line. Not a recording this time. The real thing.
“Quinn. Hi.”
She closed her eyes. He sounded so good. And so pleased to hear from her.
And why not? She’d been the “best person” at his wedding. They’d grown up next door to each other. He’d taught her how to fish, and she’d taught him the best way to climb the apple tree at the bottom of her parents’ yard. They’d learned to ride their bikes together, and they’d been punished together any number of times for too many pranks to count. Rotten eggs in the air-conditioning vent at school. Releasing Quinn’s pet ferret in class. Filling the neighbor’s exhaust pipe with water from the garden hose.
Their exploits had been legendary. Then Lisa moved to town the year of Amy’s fourteenth birthday, and everything changed.
“I’m good, thanks. How about you?” she said.
“Keeping body and soul together. Man, it’s been a long time since I heard your voice.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Wondered if he guessed she’d been deliberately pushing him away, or if he thought it was just time and distance that had come between them.
“I was thinking about you the other day, actually,” he said.
She’d been about to ask if Lisa was home, but his words caught her by surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah. I was thinking about the wedding. The night before, actually. How you and I went down to the lake and drank all that beer. Remember?”
“I remember.”
How could she forget? She’d matched him beer for beer, desperate to prolong every last second with him before he stopped being her best friend and became one half of Mr. and Mrs. Quinn and Lisa Whitfield.
Would it have been easier if Lisa hadn’t been her close friend, the third musketeer? Would it have hurt as much if Quinn had fallen for a stranger from out of town?
Amy would never know.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. This was why she’d hesitated over calling. So many memories, all washing over her.
Time to get this conversation back on track.
“Listen, I, um, don’t want to keep you too long. Is Lisa around? I need to ask her advice on a legal thing.”
There was a short pause as Quinn registered the abrupt shift in conversation. She’d been too sharp, too quick to cut him off. She held her breath, waiting for him to ask the questions that were bubbling beneath the surface of their conversation.
Why did you stop returning my calls?
Why aren’t we friends anymore?
What did I do wrong?
“Lisa’s not around at the moment. Is it anything I can help with?”
“It’s fine. I’ll wait for her to call me back.”
“What’s the problem, Ames? Lisa might have gotten better marks than me but I made partner before her.” Quinn was joking, but there was an edge to his tone.
Because, of course, Quinn was a lawyer, too. One of the many things he and Lisa had in common. He could just as easily answer her questions, yet Amy had made a point of asking for Lisa, of thinking of Lisa and not him when she’d realized she needed legal advice.
“It’s not that. I didn’t want to bother you,” she said quickly.
“But you’re happy to bother Lisa?”
Because I haven’t been in love with Lisa for more years than I can count. Because talking to her doesn’t make me think about all the hours I’ve spent aching over you, wishing you loved me instead of her. Making myself sick with jealousy and guilt and lust.
“No. It’s just we haven’t spoken for a while, and I don’t want to be one of those fair-weather friends who calls out of the blue and hits you up for a favor because I need some legal advice.”
Quinn made an impatient noise. “For Pete’s sake, Amy. We grew up together. You’re my oldest friend. Tell me the problem.”
She hesitated a moment longer. But he was right. She was being stupid. She’d always been stupid where Quinn was concerned.
“I’ve been negotiating with the council for the past few months to buy the Grand. We have a contract all ready to go—”
“Whoa. Hold on a second. You finally got the money together to buy the Grand?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Ames. That’s fantastic. What an amazing achievement.”
It scared her how much his praise meant to her, how much it made her chest ache.
“Well, I’m not there yet.”
“Right. You’ve got a contract …?” he prompted.
Over the next few minutes she briefed him on the situation. It made her feel sick and angry all over again as she thought about the peremptory way Reg Hanover had delivered the news. As though she was a pesky child to be shooed from the room.
“If the contract wasn’t signed, there’s not much you can do to hold them to the agreement. You know that, right?” Quinn said.
“This isn’t about my contract. I need to know if there’s anything I can do to protect the Grand. It’s on the town’s heritage register. Surely that means Ulrich can’t knock it down?”
Her voice broke on the last few words and she felt immeasurably foolish.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to need some time to do a bit of research, find out more about the local heritage register and council bylaws. In some municipalities, what Ulrich is proposing is acceptable—a compromise between heritage preservation and commerce. Can I get back to you?”
“Of course.”
“Probably won’t be until tomorrow morning, okay?” “Sure.”
“Try not to freak out in the meantime.”
“Too late. And thanks, Quinn.”
