Timeless

CHAPTER 13

“F uck the ending. Just throw the whole damn book out the window,” she said to herself in a huff as she paced in her office.

Abby was in the part of writing that all writers hated. She understood this to be part of the process, but she hated it every time it arrived. It happened multiple times per writing project or book, though, so she should’ve been extra practiced with it by now. This was the phase of writing after the initial ‘this is the best idea in the world’ phase. And, normally, these phases were more spread out because she wrote a draft over several months, but this time, they were happening quickly. She’d gone from that initial phase, where she couldn’t believe this story had never been told before and couldn’t stop typing it, to this being the worst idea anyone had ever had, and she wasn’t sure why she was wasting her time.

She was now dealing with her brain trying its best to convince her to delete the whole file, throw her laptop into her yard, and let her automatic sprinklers take care of the rest for her. She could do that and then, go for a walk to recenter herself, come back, pick up her now ruined and soggy laptop, toss it into the trash, and use her phone to apply for another job somewhere in town. Maybe the convenience store was hiring. She could bag groceries there or push the popcorn sale.

A few minutes later, Abby sat back down at her desk, knowing that she’d never throw her laptop out of the window. There was no reason to ruin a perfectly good computer when she could just hit delete and empty her trash. Pulling up her email and ignoring the blinking cursor on the open document file, she found a new one from her publisher.

Hey Abby,

I’m hoping to get whatever you’ve got so far. If we can get ahead, given the possible delays with this one, that’ll really help out your editor. I’ve already talked to everyone I needed to talk to on my end, and they’re all excited about the prospect of a historical romance from you, given the success of your first historical fiction. Everyone thinks it’s a good way for you to branch out a bit but still use that cred you built up with your first book because you know the time period so well. When can you get me everything you’ve got? If you have the outline, I’d love that most of all because I can get it to marketing, and they can start figuring out how best to promote it.

Thanks,

Margo

Her outline was still missing the ending, so while she could send it, it might not make marketing happy. Deciding to put that off for at least a few hours, she checked the time and noticed that it was eleven-thirty. Quinn hadn’t told her when she was planning on taking that lunch break, but most likely, it would be sometime after noon, so Abby closed her laptop, stood, and walked into her bedroom to change. She rarely put on what she called outside clothes when she was spending a day writing, so she needed to change out of her red-and-black flannel pants and old college T-shirt that she’d borrowed or, rather, stolen from her previous girlfriend. Abby put on a pair of jeans and a decent-looking sweater and having grabbed what she needed, she was out the door. She wanted to look good when she saw Quinn again, but she’d also happened upon the shop twice now wearing whatever she’d been wearing at the time, so she thought she’d be fine going as herself and not some made-up version of that.

She didn’t know if Quinn was into women. Abby had her suspicions, yes, but she’d want a confirmation before she decided to share any feelings that she might be having. They were already so confusing and strangely intertwined with the book she was trying to write, which didn’t make much sense to her. Yes, she’d gotten the picture from Quinn’s shop, but that didn’t explain why she thought of Quinn Jordan herself sometimes while she was writing Deb and Harriet’s story, a story which had so solidly gripped her that she’d written pages and pages without even having a solid outline.

At the end of the long street, there were two small parking lots. One was in front of the church, which didn’t let people park there unless they were members of the congregation or attending a service, and the other was in front of a restaurant that let people park there anytime, regardless of whether or not they were customers. The irony of that whole thing was not lost on Abby. She parked in front of the 1950s-themed diner that was generally always busy, finding a small spot near the dumpster but not caring because at least she’d found a spot at all. When she got out of her car, though, she realized that she didn’t know what to do.

They hadn’t exactly made plans because she’d been non-committal, expecting the book to continue to flow from her fingers and needing the whole day to focus on it. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to say yes to lunch with Quinn immediately when the woman had asked. She had. Her first instinct had been to say yes to an invite from another person, which wasn’t normal for her, but she needed to focus on her writing in the same way that Quinn had needed to focus on packing an order yesterday. Abby had nearly said yes anyway and had almost blurted it out, in fact, but she’d held back because, for a second, she pictured Harriet – or the woman she’d associated with Harriet in her mind, at least – which had thrown her and had convinced her to give Quinn a ‘maybe,’ expecting Harriet to need her to focus on telling her love story with Deb.

Now, she was regretting not committing to a plan with a time and some more details. She didn’t know if she should get food for herself, bring them both food, or have no food at all and just walk in. Maybe Quinn brought her lunch with her every day to save money. Maybe the woman was currently starving while standing behind the counter, waiting to see if Abby would show up with a meal for them to share. She really hated the moments of not knowing something like this, and she always wondered what it was like for those who didn’t have a care in the world about a situation like the one she found herself in. There were people on this planet who could just make a decision and not worry about Quinn having had lunch already or showing up empty-handed when Quinn was hoping that they’d bring something. Abby was not one of them.

She heard her phone ping in her pocket then, and that ping meant it was a notification for one of her social media accounts. She’d long ago set up distinct sounds for certain kinds of notifications on her phone to know which ones to avoid. When her mother called, that was three rings in a row. A text from her was two knocks. Abby had never had many personal social media accounts, and some that she did have were old and outdated. She’d made them all private after the book went on sale and started seeing success. The ones she had now were her author profiles, and she had to interact with them sometimes, or the marketing department yelled at her because they were posting amazing content for her, and if people commented, liked, or shared, she needed to thank them. She knew she was really lucky because most publishers these days didn’t help much with marketing, but thankfully, hers did. Since she was still trying to decide how to handle the lunch situation, she pulled out her phone and found that the notification wasn’t for a comment, like, or share. It was a direct message request. Technically, it was only a request, so she could ignore it. She got a few DMs a day usually, a bunch of them just being from ever-evolving scammers promising unrealistic book sales or something, hoping an author might bite, but she caught the DM’s social handle, and her eyes went wide.

Quinn_Jordan: Hi. I just realized that I don’t have your phone number, so I hope you still get this. You’re famous, so maybe some intern checks your DMs for you. Anyway, I’m about to go get lunch. I was thinking about getting some sandwiches from the diner down the street, but I don’t know if you’re coming or not or what you eat, so maybe if you get this, you can let me know, and I’ll grab us both something. If not, totally cool. I’ll go over there in about ten minutes.

Abby breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, Quinn had just helped her make her decision. Instead of replying to the DM, she searched for the phone number of Jordan Antiques and dialed.

“ Jordan Antiques ?”

“That’s a horrible way to answer the phone, you know?” Abby said with a smile.

“Sorry? Who is–” Quinn stopped. “Wait. Abby?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She chuckled. “I just saw your DM. I thought I’d call instead of reply.”

“So, you do check your own messages?”

“I’m not that famous,” she said. “And I’m stopping by. I just parked, actually.”

“Yeah?” Quinn checked, sounding excited at the prospect of them having lunch together.

“Yes. In front of the diner, in fact, so if you want to tell me what you want, I can get us both lunch and walk it down to the shop.”

“That sounds good,” Quinn replied. “And just a BLT for me. If you tell them it’s for me, they’ll know my usual order.”

“Okay. Can do.”

“And I’ll give you cash when you get here.”

“Just consider it me repaying you for the photo.”

“You already did that by telling me why you wanted it.”

“Then, you’ll owe me a lunch in the future,” Abby said, knowing how that sounded and not caring.

It was easy to flirt with Quinn, easy to be with her, talk to her, and listen to her tell Abby why she kept the shop the way it was, even though it might not make the most fiscal sense. She had no idea why it was so easy, but she decided that, for now, she wouldn’t question it and would just focus on the good parts of this whole thing. Quinn was beautiful, kind, funny, and smart, and Abby liked her. She continued to remind herself that she didn’t know if Quinn was into women or not because she hadn’t asked her to confirm, but the way it felt to be around her and how Quinn seemed to feel the same way, Abby had a pretty strong idea that Quinn was not only into women but also at least a little into her.

About twenty minutes later, she pulled open the door to the antique shop and found Quinn standing in front of the counter for the first time. It was only then that she actually got her first full look at the woman when she wasn’t walking down the street. Quinn turned when the bell clanged over Abby’s head and smiled at her softly, looking perfect. Her blonde hair was back in a messy bun this time, with a pencil sticking through it, and she was wearing an old P.E. shirt from Moriarty High School. Abby didn’t know if that was where Quinn had gone to high school or if she’d just bought the shirt at a thrift shop. Then, she thought back to the shirt she herself had been wearing that morning and how she’d stolen it from her ex-girlfriend. Maybe this shirt was one Quinn had stolen from someone in that same way, too. Abby didn’t like that idea, so she cleared her throat.

“Hi,” Quinn greeted before she dropped the clipboard that Abby hadn’t noticed had been in her hand, along with another pencil, onto the glass counter.

“Hey,” she replied. “Moriarty?”

“Sherlock Holmes?” Quinn returned.

Abby chuckled before she pointed with her hand, that wasn’t holding the food bag, toward Quinn’s shirt, causing her to look down.

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know. I found it at that thrift store on Pine. I got a whole bunch of stuff there when I first moved here. I have a few band shirts, some college stuff, and a few 80s TV show shirts, too. Super cheap, vintage, and comfortable.”

“I thought maybe you went to school there.”

“Nope. Don’t even know where it is,” Quinn replied. “Oh, shit. Here. Let me help you with that.” She hurried over and took the drink carrier out of Abby’s hand.

This was now the closest they had been without the counter between them, which felt important somehow. It was like they were moving beyond needing the counter between them, which was how Abby had viewed it her first two times in the shop. She breathed Quinn in, and despite the smell of food at her nose, she could swear that Quinn smelled like flowers.

“Honeysuckle,” she let out softly before she could stop herself.

Quinn stopped in her tracks and said, “Sorry. What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied quickly. “Where do you want to set all this up?”

“Did you just say honeysuckle ? Like the flower?”

“Um… Yeah. Your shampoo or lotion?”

Quinn shook her head and said, “I thought it was you.”

“You smell it, too?”

Quinn nodded slowly, as if trying to process, and set the drink carrier with their two sweet teas on the counter.

“Maybe it’s something in here,” Abby suggested.

“It’s never smelled like that before,” Quinn replied. “I smelled it when you were here yesterday and again now.”

“Well, I also smell bacon and fried food, so not sure I can be trusted,” Abby said, feeling strange about them both smelling something that was very clearly nowhere near them.

“Yeah,” Quinn echoed, appearing unconvinced, but she still moved over to the carrier and removed the drinks. “So, we can eat in the back. When you called, I moved stuff off the desk and pulled up a couple of chairs.”

“Are either of those chairs worth a lot of money? I don’t know that you should give me that kind of responsibility.”

“They’re folding chairs,” Quinn said with a little laugh. “I got them for about ten bucks apiece years ago, so I think you’re okay. If you break one, it’ll just pay you back for the lunch you bought me.”

“No,” she replied quickly, and Quinn lifted a confused, sexy eyebrow at her. “I just… I mean, I still want to reserve my repayment for another lunch or coffee. Coffee is good, too.”

Quinn smiled and said, “Unless it comes from the new place down the street. ”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s like they added twenty pounds of coffee for every two cups of water.”

“And really bad coffee on top of that,” Quinn noted.

“How long do you think they’ll be in business? If you had to guess or were taking bets.”

Quinn carried their two drinks, and Abby followed her to the back of the shop. She smiled when she looked around because it was clear that Quinn had at least cleaned up a little bit based on how she’d described the back room of the shop to Abby just the previous day. Boxes no longer lined the wall or were in the way. Instead, they were all stacked in a back corner. Packing and shipping materials were neatly organized on the wall that separated the front from the back, and the small shipping counter by the same wall looked like it had been organized and wiped down. There was a door on the opposite wall, that probably led to the bathroom, but it was closed, so she couldn’t see inside. Other than that, there were a few filing cabinets and a desk that had nothing on it. Two chairs, one on each side, had been put in place, and Quinn walked over to the desk, setting down the drinks.

“Did you clean up back here?” Abby teased.

“Uh… Yeah. A little. I don’t usually have people in the back of the shop, and I didn’t think you’d want to eat with the mess that was here before.”

“I would have,” she replied, knowing it was the truth. Then, she placed the plastic bag with their food containers on the desk and added, “But do you mind if I wash my hands before we eat?”

“No, go for it.” Quinn pointed to the bathroom door.

Abby headed that way, and when she pushed open the door, she couldn’t help but smirk because Quinn had cleaned this room, too. There was a small sink against the wall opposite the door, and on it was a new bottle of cucumber-mint soap and a candle that was lit, smelling like oranges and cinnamon. Even with all those scents, though, Abby could still smell honeysuckle.