Chapter 24

Quentin

Friday afternoon a slight crispness hung in the air, an assurance that fall was coming, easing into their summertime, soon to rob them of afternoon warmth and evening sun. Quentin left the office early enough to pick up Morgan at school. She’d been back since the previous Monday, brimming with frustration at being “a few days behind on piano” after her hospital stay, but generally content to be elementary-school-popular, having been one of the only kids to stay the night in the hospital.

Quentin waited out front, a small, brown paper sack in his hands, holding two chocolate croissants he’d picked up at the local French bakery. Perhaps ice cream wasn’t in the cards again springtime.

As he waited, he checked his phone, finding a small message from Charlotte. A smile flickered across his face and his heart palpitated, showing his lust and growing intense affection for this woman.

As they’d grown increasingly emotionally attached to one another, they’d also found ways to sneak around their schedules, hooking up in his office at work or making love after Morgan left to visit her mother. He found that he felt lighter, more even-keeled than he had in years, and he knew it was a result of this budding relationship.

In truth, he’d never felt this way.

When Charlotte brought up the non-fraternization policy, Quentin always talked over her, teasing her, telling her not to worry, they would figure it out later. And he was certain, somehow, they would. Or perhaps he was just too giddy to care what the future held. He was enjoying the lust-filled waves of the present.

Morgan leaped into his arms in a flurry of long blond hair and sticky fingers, which she confessed was due to the snack she’d just eaten. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to have my croissant,” she said, her eyebrows high.

“If you say so,” Quentin said, guiding her toward the sidewalk and into the swarm of children and parents, picking up and rushing away.

“Is Charlotte coming over tonight?” Morgan asked, ripping a slab of crispness from her croissant.

“Do you want her to come over tonight?” Quentin asked, curious. Morgan had brought up Charlotte more and more often, recently, leading him to believe she was falling for her, just as he was.

“I mean, definitely. She’s way cooler than you,” Morgan said with certainty.

“Oh. Well, that hurts.” He grinned.

“She’s just younger, Dad. She gets it.”

“What, exactly, does she ‘get’?” Quentin asked.

“I don’t know. It,” Morgan replied.

Quentin held his daughter’s hand as they bounded across the street. Clouds coated the sky, growing gray and filling with rain. He stopped briefly and yanked Morgan’s zipper up her torso, closing her coat tightly. “Brrr,” he said. “It’s getting chilly.”

“So, she’s not coming?” Morgan asked, her bright eyes blinking.

“No. She has plans with a friend tonight,” Quentin answered truthfully. “Remember the girl she was with when we first met her on the elevator?”

“Oh,” Morgan said, her eyes downcast. “I thought we were her friends.”

“We are, honey. She just has to maintain her other life, as well. She’ll be around this weekend. I promise,” Quentin said, not expecting such certainty from his daughter about Charlotte. He rose to his feet and grasped her hand once more, darting them toward their apartment building and saying a brief hello to Angus, who grinned at him mischievously.

Quentin wondered if Angus knew he was sleeping with Charlotte. Then again, of course he did. He was the doorman, rich with secrets. Wasn’t that the purpose of the doorman, in the end?