Take the Long Way Home Read Free

love could be true love. The thought
pleased Maeve, even though it left her a little pensive. She’d been
with a few guys in Seattle, but she’d never been that crazy about
any of them, and now, well past adolescence, she was too old to
experience young love.
    The golden couple strolled to a booth and
sat, Quinn facing the bar and Ashley across from him. Maeve had to
exert herself not to gawk at him. Even though she’d been a loner in
high school, and a total wreck, she’d had a crush on him, just like
every other girl in the school, and probably a few teachers. He’d
aged remarkably well.
    She didn’t bother to cross the room and say
hello to her former classmates. They wouldn’t know who she was. She
hadn’t spent her years at Brogan’s Point High traveling in their
exalted circle. Quite the contrary—she’d spent those years
searching for dark corners with deep shadows.
    She turned away from them and gave Gus
another forced smile. “I should be going.”
    Gus smiled gently. “I’m glad you stopped
by.”
    Maeve wished she could say
she was glad, too, but the words wouldn’t come. She managed a quick
nod before turning to leave. She was a few steps from the dance
floor when a new song blasted from the jukebox. She wasn’t sure
she’d ever heard it before—no growling sports cars flashed across
her mind—but it was bouncy and catchy, sung in a clear, high tenor.
She couldn’t make out most of the words, but the refrain was
clear: take the long way home.
    A silent laugh escaped her. She knew a thing
or two about taking the long way home.
    And then she stopped laughing, because she
realized Quinn Connor was staring straight at her.
    ***
    He knew that woman. He wasn’t sure where he
knew her from, but he knew her. He knew the heart-shaped face, the
soulful hazel eyes, the hair the color of wet sand, straight, limp
locks dropping past her shoulders. She looked so damned
familiar…but he couldn’t place her. Sometimes when you saw people
away from their usual milieu, the lack of context made it hard to
identify them.
    Well, hell—the context was Brogan’s Point.
He’d probably known her when he’d last lived here. He and Ashley
were twenty-eight, and the woman on the dance floor looked a little
younger. Maybe she’d been a couple of years behind them in high
school. Not that he’d ever paid much attention to
underclassmen.
    He hadn’t paid much attention to anyone back
then, other than his coach, his friends, and Ashley. He’d been such
an asshole in those days.
    Across the booth from him, Ashley presented
him with a cute little pout. She’d loved having his undivided
attention when they were in high school, and she seemed to want it
again now. But they were different people today, older and—he’d
like to think—wiser. She was still beautiful, still blond and
curvy, stylishly dressed and impeccably made-up. Maybe that was why
the woman ambling toward the exit looked younger. She wore no
make-up.
    “Quinn?” Ashley only
uttered his name, but in her intonation, he heard, Look at me! I’m here. She’s no one.
    That woman wasn’t no one.
    His gaze had locked with hers the instant
the song had erupted from the jukebox on the far wall of the bar.
An old rock number, probably from the seventies. Dave Herschberg,
one of the most gifted orthopedists Quinn had ever had the
privilege of working with, liked to blast old rock and roll tunes
in the OR when he was performing surgery. Thanks to Quinn’s
residency at Mass General, he’d learned almost as much about
seventies rock as he had about repairing torn ACL’s.
    “Take the long way home,” the singer
crooned. “Take the long way home.”
    Yeah, Quinn knew about
that. He’d taken the long way, for sure. Maybe that was why the
woman was gazing at him. Maybe she was seeing him and
thinking, there’s a guy who took the long
way home .
    Maybe she was looking at
him and thinking, there’s a first-class
asshole who took the long way home.
    The