Page 71 of Digging Up Love
He backed up a step. Another. “Enlighten me.”
Shaking her head, she followed, intent on showing him he wasn’t the only one capable of teaching a lesson, but her flip-flop caught on something in the grass, and she fell forward, crashing into his chest. Quentin stumbled backward and hit the ground, cushioning her fall with his body.
She pressed one hand to the dry grass to leverage herself up, but he put a hand at the back of her neck, urging her down for a kiss. Ice cream forgotten, she pressed her mouth to his. He kissed her back, parting his mouth, his tongue a cool contrast from the warmth of his lips. A drip of something cold on the small of her back sent her upright, off his chest.
He pulled his arm away, revealing a cone dripping with pink rivulets.
One eyebrow quirked, he held up the intact cone. “Told you I had moves.” She shoved at his chest playfully, and he grinned, licked at a drip that threatened to run over his fingers, then said, “Didn’t even break the cone. Looks like my bad luck’s finally on the upswing.”
“Yourbad luck?” Alisha inclined her head toward the chisel she’d tripped over. “I’m the one always falling down around you.”
“Tripping isn’t bad luck; it’s clumsiness.”
“Okay, then what’s bad luck?”
“Being left at the altar,” he said, without hesitation.
“Oh man ... yes, that does qualify as bad luck. Although I’d have to actually have a fiancé for that to happen.” Suddenly the shoe dropped. “You were engaged?”
“Yeah. About a year ago. She broke it off, though.” He took his time sitting up, not meeting her eyes.
“So your fiancée ... she left you.” Alisha could hardly bring herself to say it. “She broke up with you at yourwedding?”
“Rehearsal dinner.” Quentin hunched forward, lat muscles flexing against his shirt like he was bracing for impact. “Though she never actually made it there. She, uh ...” He cleared his throat. “Somewhere between the church and the restaurant, she decided to bail on me. On us. Our relationship. She did send me a text before the main course, though. So there’s that.”
“Atext? What kind of heinous person does that?”
Quentin merely shrugged, picking at his ice cream cone.
“You’re seriously not pissed about it?” she asked, incredulous.
“Oh, believe me, I’ve been pissed, and hurt, and angry.”
“But ...”
“But now ...” He raised his head, squinting down into the prehistoric tableau laid out in front of them. “Now I think it’s for the best. Obviously I wasn’t what she wanted. At least we didn’t wind up in a messy divorce.” He swiped a drip of ice cream off the cone, wiped his thumb off in the grass. “I should’ve seen it coming.”
“Are you kidding me, Quentin? You should’ve expected your fiancée to dump you the day before your wedding?” He flinched, and she instantly regretted her words. He wasn’t the one she wanted to hurt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She blew out a breath and hugged her knees to her chest, searching for the right words.
“What I mean is—she said yes. No one gets engaged to someone they don’t enjoy being around, to someone they’re not in love with. Or if they do, they’re the one with issues. I get that you’re trying to be kind and noble.” His shoulders hunched, and she continued, softer. “And succeeding, by the way. But I’d hate for you to believe this is somehow your fault, or something you had coming. You didn’t deserve to be walked out on.”
Rolling his shoulder blades down, he uncurled his spine. “You’re right, and thank you.” He flashed a small smile her way. “I thought justifying it would make it hurt less. Not true, really. The thing is, she and I are both career driven. But I also wanted a family.Wanta family,” he said, and she knew the words were meant for her. Which should terrify her. But it just ... kind of ... didn’t.
“I think I pushed us toward marriage because we made sense on paper. She was steady and reliable. Or so I thought. Until she literally fled the country to be rid of me. Took a job in Spain.” He laughed without humor. “But now I know there was something missing. SomethingImissed.”
“Quentin, I’m so sorry.”
He swept his gaze toward her, eyes darkening to a slate-gray smolder. “But hey, if Cedes and I would’ve gotten married, I never would’ve met you.”
Mouth suddenly parched, she swallowed. “Technically you still would have, back in March.”
“Mmm, but I would’ve been married when I met you,” he said, voice husky and warm, like a furnace on full blast.
“And that would’ve been a bad thing?” There was a twisting in her core, painful and sweet.
“Definitely bad, Alisha Blake.”
Letting his ice cream cone fall into the grass, Quentin tipped up her chin and kissed her, soft and slow.
