Fresh Ice (11 page)

“Yes. Yes, that’s what my stage name is; Quinn Something.”

Izzy brushed herself off. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“I gathered that.”

“Well, anyway.” She shook his hand. “Thank you for your help, Quinn Something.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss. Look, can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

Izzy looked up into Quinn’s face. Again she was mesmerized by his eyes. “Are you in the habit of asking out complete strangers?”

“No, of course not. But we’re not complete strangers.”

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, you saw me at Chance’s, and we just ran into each other here. Plus, we know 25% of our combined names. We’re nearly old friends.”

“Ah. So what would we be if we knew each others’ full names?”

“Well, this is the South. We’d be kissin’ cousins.” He gave her a dizzying smile.

Her knees went weak, and Izzy laughed out loud to cover her sudden flash of arousal. Her anger at Adele shed itself from her like a heavy coat. There was something about Quinn that put her at ease. Also, there were his beautiful eyes. “Say, you don’t have a twin, do you?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Then we have met before. My name is Isabella Marks, but everyone calls me Izzy. But you must have already known that.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Why do you say that?”

“You were at my husband’s funeral, back in March.”

Quinn was quiet for a long moment, his eyes darkened. “Yes, I was there.”

Briefly Izzy wondered why admitting that fact was so difficult for him. She decided not to pursue the line of questioning.

“So they call you Izzy.” He seemed happy to change the subject. “That is a properly Southern nickname.”

“I grew up here.”

“Okay then, Miss Izzy,” he bowed low, and used an exaggerated Southern accent, “my full name is Quinn Murray. I did not grow up here, but here is where I have taken root.” He took her hand and brushed his lips lightly on the tips of her fingers. “So, where would you like to go?”

“I don’t suppose there’s any place I could get some good coffee and grits, is there? I have a sudden urge for grits.”

“Miss Izzy, this is the South. Finding grits here is like finding cheese curds in Wisconsin. And I know the perfect place for grits this time of night.”

Ten minutes later, Izzy and Quinn were seated in a Waffle House, waiting for their food to arrive.

“So Mr. Murray…”

“Call me Quinn, please.”

“Quinn. What are you celebrating?”

“I do some charity events at Bridgestone Center and I just got something lined up for the spring that could help a very worthy cause in a big, big way. And today I got permission to use the Center for the event. I’m pretty excited about it.”

“Well that is a reason to celebrate.” She set her coffee cup down. “You said some of the Admiral players were your friends. Are you a hockey player?”

Quinn took a long time stirring cream into his coffee before he answered. “I work for the Nashville Predators, that’s the NHL affiliate of the Milwaukee Admirals.” He took her hand in his. “Ja-Your husband seemed to be well liked. I am sorry for your loss.”

There’s something about his expression. He doesn’t look all that sorry.

I’m imagining things.

“Thank you. It’s been a big adjustment. I’ve just decided to move back to Nashville. My daughter is starting at Vanderbilt and I’ve got nothing holding me in Wisconsin.” Remembering Adele’s hurtful words, Izzy shook her head. “I’m celebrating moving back.”

Quinn smiled at her, his clear blue-green eyes lighting up. “Well, then, I guess welcome back Izzy Marks. Welcome home.”

***

Quinn lay in his bed later that night unable and unwilling to stop smiling.

Isabella Landry. Izzy Marks. Whatever she was calling herself now, she was going to live in Nashville. It was almost too good to be true. He’d loved her from afar for a lifetime, and now he’d just had a late night Waffle House meal with her.

Should I have told her I knew who she was?

Maybe. But she’s obviously not going by her old name. She’s trying to get a fresh start.

How much do I want to star in that new life of hers?

Quinn closed his eyes, and one last thought streamed through his conscious mind.

More than anything I’ve ever wanted.

***

The buzz from his cell phone woke Quinn late the next morning. He rolled over onto his side and squinted at the display. “Serena. What, you sensed I was having a nice time with someone last night?” He set the phone on the nightstand and sat up. Stretching his arms over his head, Quinn caught a glance of his image in the full length mirrored closet doors. He studied his reflection closely for a moment.

I look happy.

The image of Izzy sprang to his mind, and his face broke into a full smile.

“I am some kind of idiot. Sitting on my bed, smiling.” He got up, and reached for a shirt and his jeans.

“Okay, okay. So she’s staying in Nashville. But what else do you know? Her kid’s going to Vandy. That’s it. You don’t know where she’s living; you don’t know where she’s working. You don’t know anything about this woman, except that you’ve been in love with her for twenty years.”

Oh yeah, and don’t forget, Serena’s not exactly going to be jumping up and down about you hanging out with the woman who ruined her life.

Even this dour thought, Quinn noted, didn’t erase the smile from his face.

Isabella Landry is finally in my life.

“Collier, no, I’ve told you, I’m not going to live in your apartment.”

Collier sighed. “It makes no sense. You’ve been living in the hotel for a couple weeks. I’m on the road most of the time. You could at least just stay there until you get the lottery check and then find a place.”

“I appreciate your offer, I do. But this is the first time I’m really, really on my own. I need to do things on my own or I may never grow up.”

“Still you could let me help you out, you know, old friends?”

Izzy glanced at the door of her hotel room and sighed. She glanced at Collier, and there was no mistaking his expression.
How easy would it be to just fall in love with him and have him take care of me?

Unbidden, Quinn Murray’s eyes flashed through her mind.

No, no, no. I have to learn to stand on my own two feet, and everything is going to be just fine once that check from the lottery people shows up.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of his car. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Well, the offer stands. Have fun at work tonight.” Collier pulled out of the parking lot and Izzy unlocked her door.

I have a job.
She smiled at the thought. Sure, Waffle House was the only place that would hire someone without a permanent address, no schooling, and few marketable skills. And when the tips weren’t coming in, the pay wasn’t great. But there was something gratifying about the fact that she now had a job. After another seventy-eight days, the job would include health and dental benefits for her and for Jenna.
I never realized that was a big deal until I didn’t have them.

And I get to eat all I want for three dollars a shift. Since they take the money out of my check whether I eat there or not, I may as well eat all my meals there, until I can afford something better like fresh fruit, or a vegetable.

Unable to buy herself much in the way of groceries since paying for the hotel room ate up most of the money she’d gotten from the funeral, Izzy was happy to eat grits and eggs. She closed her eyes, saying a quick prayer of thanks again that Jenna’s education, housing, and needs were completely covered by her scholarship.

On her bed was her mail: A few bills, remnants of her life in Wisconsin, and one slim envelop
e from the Tennessee Lottery.

She opened the envelop
e with reverence, as if it held the secret to her entire life. A tear welled in her eye as she looked at her winnings, and realized what this money could do for her.

Living without money, without a real home, had given Izzy a new perspective on what was really important. Having the money in her hand gave her the tools to start her new, independent life.

“Tomorrow,” she said out loud, “I’ll get an apartment of my own.”

She hopped onto the bed and stared at the check. “Tomorrow after work I’ll open a bank account and call that landlord guy Jenna suggested. Tomorrow, I am a grown up.”

Tonight, however, I go to work.

***

What a lousy night to have insomnia.
Quinn looked down the wet sidewalks and hugged his arms around himself. Gusty wind snapped raindrops into his face like shards of glass.
I should just go home. Go home, take a sedative, and sleep.
It was a pattern that seemed to work, mostly because he was only able to ignore phone calls from Serena when deep in a sedated sleep.

But a hunger pang reminded why he was standing in the parking lot of a Waffle House at three in the morning, in the middle of a strange monsoon. Wiping raindrops from his face, Quinn walked into the welcoming confines
of the restaurant.

Shivering in his wet clothes, Quinn’s senses were overcome with the heady smells of breakfast.
Good call. First, some really heavy food, then the sedative and sleep.

“Just go ahead and sit anywhere.”

Quinn looked up, suddenly alert.
Izzy!
He hung up his jacket and sat down at the empty counter. A foot away, the cook was cleaning the grill. Quinn looked over his shoulder. The only other people in the tiny eatery were a table of college aged kids who seemed to be ending a very successful evening of drinking.

“Hey, there, how are you?” Izzy smiled at him and handed him a menu. “Good grief, you’re soaked!”

“I’m okay. When did you start working here?”

“Oh, couple weeks ago. Right after you and I ate here.”

“Liked it so much, you decided to make a career of it?” He studied her closely. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she’d clearly lost some weight.
Not that she had much to spare.

Izzy smiled, her whole face lighting up. “Something like that. Guess I just really liked the grits.” A noisy conversation behind Quinn got louder and Izzy frowned. “I’ll be right back.” She walked around the counter to the table of revelers. “Here you go, guys. It’s probably time for you to go home and get some sleep now, okay?”

The noisy teens paused in their conversation and a strained quiet seemed to settle over the room. “What you got there?”

“Your bill.”

Without turning around, Quinn pictured the expression the teens wore, and he tensed at the thought of trouble.

“We ain’t payin’ that.”

“Well, you ate the food, you’re going to pay the bill.” Izzy’s voice never rose, never wavered. She might have been a mother speaking calmly to her own naughty child.

“We’re not payin’. So what you gonna do about it?”

Without looking up from his menu, Quinn kept his ears trained on the conversation. The cook took no note of it, busy as he was with his cleaning.

“Kids, look. I don’t want trouble. So tell you what, why don’t you just go on home and sleep it off.”

“We don’t gotta listen to a Yankee in here!” One of the males slid out of the booth and stood directly behind Quinn. “So what y’all gonna do about that?”

Quinn snapped his menu on the counter and stood. He towered over the kid by at least six inches. “Listen here, you little punk,” he said, ignoring the murmurs of the other kids in the booth, “you and I both know your momma raised you better than this and I’m quite sure that if she knew you were mistreating a waitress at the Waffle House, she’d probably slap you silly, wouldn’t she?”

The boy blushed slightly. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess what?”

“I guess so, sir.”

Quinn nodded. “That’s what I thought. Now I’m going to call a cab,” he pulled out a cell phone and started dialing, “and you children are going to say thank you to the nice lady, you’re going to pay your bill, you’re going to leave an enormous tip, and then you’re going to get your asses into that cab and go home. And you’re going to hit your knees tonight and pray to God that I don’t mention you and your bad manners on the radio. Got that?” Quinn turned his attention to his cell phone. “Hey Sam? It’s Quinn Murray. How y’all tonight? Great, listen, I have some young friends of mine over at the Waffle House by the Target? Yeah, that’s the one. They’re in need of a ride. I would consider it a large personal favor if you teach them a few things about manners when you drive them home? Thanks!” He ended the call and glared at the boys.

“Are you…are you really…”

Quinn glowered at the speaker, a pock-faced thug in a high school letterman’s jacket from a high school Quinn did not recognize. “Yes, I am.”

“Shit man, we’re sorry.”