Her Best Friend

“So it’s going to take a little more time than I originally planned. I can live with that.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re taking on?”

“Of course I do.”

“How are you going to tackle the ceiling? That plaster work is part of the heritage listing.”

“Thank you, Quinn. I’m aware of that, as a matter of fact. I’m aware of every inch of this place, having spent the past ten years working toward this moment. Which is why I traveled into Melbourne two nights a week to attend a course on restoring vintage decorative plasterwork last year. And why I did an upholstery course the year before that, and why I have a file a foot thick with information on suppliers who can help me refit this place.”

The frown didn’t leave his face. He slid his glass onto the wide lip at the top of the timber paneling.

“Amy, it’s one thing to be passionate, but this place needs more than passion.”

“I can handle it,” she said through gritted teeth. She put down her own glass. Since when had Quinn been such a killjoy? She couldn’t believe he was attacking her dream like this, trying to pull it apart before she’d even gotten used to the idea that the Grand was hers.

“I think you should get an expert restorer to take a look at—”

“Quinn, shut up.”

“Amy—”

“I mean it. Don’t say another word, okay, or I’m going to get really angry,” she said. “I appreciate your help tonight, but I don’t appreciate being patronized by someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.”

“I’m simply pointing out that sometimes having a dream isn’t enough. Just because you want something badly doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. Believe me, life doesn’t work like that.”

There was a hard, cold edge to his voice. Once, a long time ago, he’d lain in the tall grass at the end of her parents’ yard and dreamed with her. Obviously, those days were gone.

“This is the best night of my life,” she said, her voice low and controlled. “I’ve wanted to buy this place ever since my grandfather brought me here when I was four years old and we sat up there in the balcony and he told me how his father built this place and how sad he’d been when he was forced to sell it. I am not going to stand here and listen to you tell me what I can’t do and what I don’t know.”

She bent and grabbed the champagne bottle from the floor.

“I’ll be at the pub if you want to celebrate.”

“Amy.”

She ignored him and strode toward the rear exit. He had the flashlight, he’d be able to find his own way out.

CHAPTER THREE

QUINN SWORE under his breath and went after her. He caught her just as she pulled open the door to the rear corridor. He reached over her head and pushed the door shut, the sound echoing sharply in the empty theatre.

“Quinn—” She tried to pull the door open but he didn’t budge.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was out of line.”

She looked at him, her big brown eyes decidedly cool. She was waiting for more. An explanation. He dropped his arm and took a step backward.

He had no idea what to tell her. He’d walked in here feeling proud and happy and triumphant for her. Then he’d seen how much work she’d taken on and all he could see were the pitfalls and disappointments lying in wait for her. Amy was smart and resourceful, but she’d always been an incurable optimist. She didn’t understand that sometimes it didn’t matter what you did or how much you tried, some things couldn’t be fixed.

He opened his mouth to try to explain, to try to make her see that she needed to be more realistic, to brace herself for disappointment so she wouldn’t be hurt when it arrived.

“Lisa and I are getting a divorce,” he said.

Jesus, where the hell had that come from?

And since when did his voice sound like it belonged to a twelve-year-old on the brink of sooking like a big baby?

Amy stared at him for a long, silent moment.

“But …” She blinked. “How? I don’t understand….”

“Lisa met someone else.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “No. She would never do that to you.”

He smiled grimly. “As much as my ego would love to agree with you, the facts are pretty undeniable. She met him at work. He’s another lawyer, a barrister. They’d been seeing each other behind my back for nearly two years when she left me.”

She mouthed a four-letter word.

“There was plenty of that going on, from what I gather,” he said.

“But you guys were so good together. You had so much in common.”

He didn’t even know how to begin explaining the failure of his marriage. The distance that had grown between him and Lisa, the anger. The dissatisfaction and arguments. He didn’t fully understand it himself. He’d known they weren’t happy, but he hadn’t comprehended the lengths Lisa was prepared to go to to try to recapture her happiness. Without him.

“My God, Quinn, I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly her arms were around him, her cheek pressed to his chest. Her palms flattened against his back as she held him close.

“I’m so sorry.”

For a moment he stood very still. It had been a long time since anyone had held him this way. He’d had lovers in the year since Lisa had left, but no one had held him like they cared. Like they loved him. Like he mattered.

He wrapped his arms around Amy and rested his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Ames. God …” His voice was thick with emotion. He sucked in a ragged breath, fighting for control. He’d thought he had all this stuff under control. He’d thought he was almost over it.

Amy’s fingers dug into his back as she pulled him even closer. He inhaled the sweet smell of her shampoo and absorbed the warmth of her small, strong body against his. It had been too long. He’d missed her. He hadn’t realized how much until this minute. She’d always been his sounding board, his cheering squad, his devil’s advocate and faithful sidekick. No wonder he’d been thinking about her so much lately. No wonder she’d been in his dreams.

Their hug lasted a long time. Slowly he got himself under control. Amy stirred and he forced himself to let her go.

“Sorry,” he said. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Talk about spilling his guts.

“I don’t know what the official ruling is, but I think you’re allowed to be upset when your marriage ends.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s been eleven months. I should be over it.”

“It takes as long as it takes, right?”