Page 24 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“I’m sorry,” I say. “If there’s anything I can do…”

She shakes her head and pushes her shoulders back, doing everything she can to look like she’s not about to fall apart. “Thanks. It’s just all hitting me now. I went back last week to gather some of my things. I flew back yesterday with overly stuffed suitcases and my cat in a carrier. But it wasn’t until I woke up this morning that this feels real, you know? It might be temporary, but I don’t know…things feel real today.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I don’t regret what I did. I did what I thought was right, and I stood up for what I believed in. It’s just…today was the first day I woke up with the thought that I’m thirty-four and starting my life over.”

“Change is scary,” I say. “Especially when it’s sudden.”

At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’m not the guy who changes much. I’ve worked at the same bar since Pops was legally allowed to hire me, and even before that, I was washing the dishes for payment under the table. I live in my childhood home. I serve the same food and pour the same drinks that he did when he was alive. When I added the live music, people thought I lost my fucking mind.

“It is,” Quinn says. “All I can do is take it one day at a time. One task at a time.”

“That’s a good plan. What’s on today’s agenda?”

“A job,” she says with a little more confidence. “Today’s task is to start looking for employment. I might only be here for now, but now still requires money.”

“Okay, then,” I say, suddenly getting an idea. Because luckily for her, I’m hiring. “Have you ever bartended?”

She gives me a confused look. “Yeah. In college. Why do you ask?”

I clap my hands. “Then it’s settled. You can work at The Joint. I need a bartender. You need a job. Two birds. One stone. Look at me! Monday morning and I’m solving problems.”

Her raised eyebrows and tilted head signal that she’s not as excited as I am. “Really, Porter?”

I shrug. “Yeah? Why not?”

She just stares at me like I’m supposed to know what she’s thinking. I’m great at reading her mind when we’re in my bedroom, but apparently in the light of day, not so much.

“Porter. I can’t work for you.” She leans down closer to whisper the next part. “Not with our…history.”

She makes it sound is so dirty.

Which I mean, it is.

Dirty. Spontaneous. Hot. Intense.

Unexpected.

That’s actually the word I’ve always felt best describes us. Nothing about us was expected. Not that first night and not in any nights since then.

Our saga started eight years ago. I’ll never forget it, because it was the night of Pops’ funeral. I had private services and burial for the family, but I knew that the town wanted to pay respects. I figured there was no better way to do that than a true celebration of life at The Joint in his memory.

It was the only night in the history of the establishment that it was truly an open bar.

I shouldn’t have gotten as drunk as I did, but then again, I felt like my world was flipped upside down. The man who raised me was gone. The bar that he built with his own two hands was now mine. And while I was honored and touched by all the people who came out to pay respect to the life of Frank McCoy, I just wanted to be alone.

So I did what I do best when I’ve had one too many: I said an Irish goodbye and snuck out the back door. I planned to go sit on the front porch of my house, close enough if anyone needed me, but far enough way to catch my breath. But when I walked out of the back, I saw Quinn, who was home during her summer break, sitting on an empty crate, beer between her hands, and tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Quinn?”

She jumps at the sound of my voice as I take a few steps closer to her.

“Hey, Porter. Sorry, I’ll get out of here.”

“No, stay,” I say, taking a seat next to her. I know I came out here to get away from people, but I’ll always take the chance to hang out with Quinn. “Everything okay?”

She nods and tries to wipe away her tears. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

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