Page 18 of Fragile Heart

“Did we. . .?” I look her up and down. I assume we didn’t hook up since I woke up alone and fully clothed, but I am in her apartment, so I just need to be sure.

It takes her a second to realize what I’m asking, but when she does, she answers, “Oh, god, no.” The smile falls from her face, and she looks absolutely horrified. I don’t think anyone has ever been horrified at the idea of sleeping with me. It almost makes me want to laugh. Almost.

I nod, thankful I don’t have to apologize for a drunken performance. “What happened?”

Quinn gives me the recap about the bar, which I remember. How I passed out on the bar, and she and her friends had to drag me out of there, which I don’t remember. I watch her as she explains what happens. She’s trying her best to act like it’s no big deal, but she keeps glancing at me to gauge my reaction. She must think I’m going to explode or something.

When she finishes, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a complete stranger help me out like that before. I’ve had strangers steal from me, take pictures of me while I was passed out, and even try to take advantage of me. But never help me.

Is that what people do in places like this? They go out of their way to help people? Maybe it’s not as terrible as I thought to live in a place like this.

“Thank you.” My throat feels dry all of a sudden. “For not calling the cops or anything.” I would’ve been in even deeper shit if that had happened.

“Oh yeah. No problem.” She doesn’t ask why I did what I did or if I’m ok, like she can sense that it isn’t something I want to talk about. She just points to the carton of eggs on the counter like this is a normal morning for her. “I was about to make an omelet and bacon. Do you want some?” I look at the clock on the stove and see it’s just after eight in the morning. I have nowhere to be for hours. I should say no and figure out a way home, but for some reason, I don’t want to leave yet.

As if on cue, my stomach growls. “Sure,” comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. She nods and gets to work.

“Bathroom is across from the bedroom if you need it. The TV remote is on the coffee table. Make yourself at home.”

I stand there for a minute, stunned that she’s not making a bigger deal out of this or trying to get something from me to keep her silence. But when she starts cracking eggs, I realize she’s really just going to make me breakfast to help my hangover without asking for anything in return. She isn’t going to judge me, and I don’t know how to feel about it. I’m so used to defending myself, but this woman isn’t interested in any of that.

I watch her crack the eggs into a bowl. She even has a smile on her face while she does it. I knew she was pretty—anyone can see that. But when she looks up at me, I see something else. Quinn is someone who genuinely cares about people. Maybe she really isn’t as bad as I thought. People like her are heard to come by back home.

Before it starts to feel too weird that I’m staring at her, I go sit down on the ugly-ass couch and stare at my blank phone screen, debating if I want to ask Quinn for a charger. There isn’t really anyone I want to talk to this morning. In fact, this stupid phone is what got me into this mess to begin with.

Pocketing it, I look around Quinn’s tiny living room. Besides the ancient couch I’m sitting on, she has a loveseat with a weird blue paisley pattern. I have no idea where someone would even find furniture like this. A small wooden table in the center of the room has a single remote on it for the TV that’s sitting on a small entertainment center against the wall. Finally, there’s a bookshelf overflowing with books, and that’s it. It’s small but feels homey. Nothing like the empty rental house I’m currently living in. Or even my actual home in LA, for that matter.

“Breakfast is ready,” Quinn calls from the kitchen. I move from the couch to her table in the kitchen. She sets a plate down in front of me and sits down with her plate across from me.

I thank her for breakfast and realize I’ve already thanked her twice this morning. I’m not used to people doing things for me for nothing, so it feels weird to be handing out thank-yous.

“Do you have to work tonight?” I ask her after eating a piece of perfectly cooked bacon. I feel like I should make conversation since I’m invading her personal space. Throughout my career, I’ve mastered the art of small talk. I just try to avoid it if possible.

“Yeah, I’m on dinner shift. Do you work tonight?”

“Yep. We have a few overnights this weekend to get some of the night shots down.”

“Do you like being an actor?” she asks, taking a sip of her orange juice. I watch her throat as she swallows, getting oddly turned on for a second.

I shift in my seat and move my eyes back to my plate. “Um, yeah. I do. I can’t see myself doing anything else.” She nods like she understands.

“What about it makes you love it so much?” I look back at her, considering her question. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.

“I like becoming someone different. Being on a movie set and getting into character is like an escape from real life.”

Her head tilts to the side, and I can feel her eyes on me, but I refuse to make eye contact, like I’m worried she’ll be able to see into my soul if I look at her. “Is your real life that bad?”

I shrug. “I really can’t complain. Other people have it way worse than I do.”

“That might be true, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to your feelings.” This surprises me. Most people just tell me to shut the fuck up and stop whining. But Quinn. . . she seems like she genuinely means that.

I take a sip of juice. “So, have you always wanted to work at a diner?” I ask. She laughs, realizing that the conversation was getting too heavy, and I needed to change the subject. Thankfully, she doesn’t push it.

“No. Not at all. I actually wanted to open up my own bakery.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have a bachelor’s degree in business and everything.” It surprises me that she has a degree, and I realize that I may have unfairly judged her when she stepped up to my table that first time to take my order.

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