I arch one eyebrow. “But you’ve taught in a school before, right?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Oh. Well, college?”
Again, headshake.
When I ask him what he was doing before this teaching gig, I’m not prepared for the answer. “Traveled, mostly. Worked odd jobs here and there to support my travels while I got my education online. Published some stories when I had the time.”
I’m blown away by the idea of having the freedom to do all that. And I wonder silently how in the world he got a job at a prep school.
He tells me he’s worked on all kinds of jobs from theater sets to construction crews. He tells me he was a personal assistant to a well-known reclusive author, who provided him with the best reference imaginable for his résumé. That explains how he snagged a teaching job at Greenbridge. Otherwise, no way would they hire someone with no teaching experience.
“And I like to camp, which makes it easier and cheaper to afford to live different places for short periods. Do you like to camp?"
I scoff. “Absolutely not. Why would I go to the woods and cook my food like a cave person when I actually have a bed to sleep in and a Viking stove?”
“It’s about the fresh air,” he says, grinning, as if I haven’t lived without having experienced waking up in a damp and smelly tent. “And the quiet. There’s nothing like waking up with the sun in the desert.”
“With a scorpion on your nose? Sounds delightful.”
He laughs and I chuckle. “I’m giving you shit because I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted to travel Route 66 but I’ve never had the opportunity. And I’ve never had a friend to do those kinds of things with me; I could never do that alone, like you do.”
Quinn lets a moment pass, his eyes assessing me. I don’t know where to look. He’s so good-looking it’s like staring into the sun.
Finally, he says, “Tell you what. You let me take you to the desert and I will find us the fanciest, safest kind of camping accommodations I can find.”
I nod and have to roll my eyes. “Good luck with that.”
“Well, now that I have a friend, I wouldn’t want to go alone either,” he says. When he says the word “friend,” it communicates way more than friendship.
I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands. I touch my cheek; it feels scorching hot.
“I’m sorry, I forgot. Where were we? In the planning of the bake sale?”
Quinn leans forward. “That’s not it. You were about to tell me your story, Mal.”
I shrug shyly. “Not much to tell. I never went to college. I started baking with my grandma. Dated a guy, Brendan, when I was 15, and he got me pregnant when I was 16 and he was 17. He was my first. He wasn’t much interested in raising a baby. He was on track to win a scholarship to play baseball for state.
“My grandma saw potential in me so she took me in and helped me raise Shelby, and put me to work at her bakery. I learned everything I know from her.
“Brendan went on to coach college baseball. Now that Shelby’s 15 and making waves in field hockey, he’s taking an interest. Now that the years of diapering are over. How convenient, right? His parents have always been very interested in Shelby, though. A little too interested. A bit overbearing and judgmental. But they are overall pretty good to her. In fact, she’s staying over there right now, and I kind of miss her already. She takes better care of me than I do of her. Is that pathetic?”
Quinn shakes his head “no” but remains quiet, just listening. I continue, taking a risk at oversharing. “It may sound odd, but I decided a few years ago I didn’t want any more kids after Shelby, so I had my tubes tied. It’s not the same for everyone, but I felt like I missed out on so much at such a young age. I didn’t want my responsibilities to multiply by having more kids. Not that I allowed myself another relationship. At some point, I’d love to travel without having to worry about young children. It’ll happen eventually. Anyway, that’s my sad story.”
Quinn lea
ns forward. “Look at you. You’re amazing.”
Why do I feel a lump in my throat right now?
“That’s sweet.”
He reaches over and takes my hand, sending waves of electricity all through me.
“I don’t do sweet, I do the truth.”
Unexpectedly, my face crumples in overwhelming sadness.