**August Fog by A. L. Goulden**
Good Morning,
Everyone! So thrilled to see you all today! Today we have a fun Interview with
a new-to-me author. I love interviews because you tend to find out a lot about
the person behind the book. It’s always fun getting to know who created a story
you have read or could possibly read. Maybe it even is the reason you choose to
read a particular book. So let’s find out more! Please allow me to feature on
the blog A. L. Goulden and her latest release, THE AUGUST FOG … Plus, a GIVEAWAY!
**A. L. GOULDEN**
**BIO**
Author
of the “most realistic, often hilarious, and wonderfully romantic” (Rosie
Malezer, international best- selling author) Chasing Swells returns with
another emotionally charged and complicated love story about a Hollywood
editor struggling with depression who meets her soulmate while she's
married to her high-school sweetheart. This unique trilogy takes you
through one woman's mid-life crisis as she stumbles and falls apart before
realizing she's the only one who can put her pieces back together.
To
find out more about Ms. Goulden please visit:
**THE AUGUST FOG**
Publication
date:
August 1st, 2020
Series:
August Fog #1
Genres: Adult, Contemporary,
Romance, Women’s Fiction
**BLURB**
Monica Waters has 31 days to
choose between the love of her life or her soulmate. Juggling an unglamorous
Hollywood career and a clumsy injury with an endless cocktail of
antidepressants and dull daily routines, Monica moves through her thirties in a
fog, avoiding the pain of her damaged marriage, broken body, and fragile
mind.
Until he comes along.
When emerging artist Quinn Matthews moves next door, just
coping with the downward spiral of life is no longer feasible. Their powerful
connection ignites a relationship that will tip the boundaries of their
perfectly balanced lives, sparking a mutual obsession and life-altering affair.
Monica tosses her prescriptions, striving to be free of their
control, but with each passing summer day, dangerous secrets seep into their
quiet suburban life, inching toward disaster. Sometimes the truth is
hidden for a reason.
“This
is a contemporary tale of a woman’s struggle to navigate love and mental
illness, while defining where and how she will land on her own feet.” --Independent
Reader
"A raw and honest look at the ugly secrets behind a flawed marriage and
the stigmas of depression."
**INTERVIEW**
By A. L. Goulden
1. What does
your writing process look like? Do you know the whole story when you start? Or
do you just start writing and go with it (seat of the pants writing)? If you
plan it out, how do you do that? Outline, notecards, post-it-notes, etc?
I usually start with a theme or
relationship concept then develop the main characters that I think would
encounter these issues. For instance, in the August Fog trilogy I wanted to
address some very difficult topics that people tend to shy away from like
adultery and depression but show them in a way that gained sympathy and
understanding. My goal wasn’t to sway people to accept or condone the behavior
but to feel enough connection to the characters to empathize for their
situation. We have a tendency to avoid things that make us uncomfortable, yet
those moments of understanding are opportunities to grow. I’m a plotter but I
allow myself wiggle room to change directions. Sometimes you get into a
conversation or scene and you think, “that’s not what that character would do,”
and you realize the plan needs to be adjusted. Overall, I have an end-goal and
a structured pace I try to nail, but it’s all fluid. I use Scrivener to write
and organize my scenes but I always have a separate composition book dedicated
to each novel or series. Writing ideas out by hand is cructial to me. It
stimulates the creative part of my brain that brainstorms some crazy ideas! I
definitely have post-its all over my office but they never involve story ideas,
they’re reminders for me to mail something or post something. I love taking
them down and feeling like I accomplished something.
2.
How long
have you been writing?
I wrote my first book in 2014
when I was laid up on a couch with a broken ankle that wouldn’t heal. Yes, that
is the opening predicament Monica Waters finds herself in at the beginning of
August Fog. That series has more of me and my life in it than any other but no,
I have not cheated on my husband and no, I am not clinically depressed. I do
however have intimate knowledge of numerous people who’ve dealt with both
issues and I found their path fascinating.
3.
What common
thread runs through all of your books?
I love exploring the moment in a
women’s life when there is a fork in the road and she’s forced to make a
decision that will change her life. Taking a journey through the lens of a
woman who’s established in her career and possibly in her relationships with
husbands and kids is fascinating to me. I think we all read to escape but we
also want to relate and who can’t relate to at least daydreaming of a different
life. Even when you’re sublimely happy and it’s all roses, diving into the
what-if is fun. I also try to incorporate strong female friendships that show
the power of reinforcement because all too often female characters are pitted
towards one another as enemies when in reality that is not the case.
4.
What tips do
you have for aspiring writers?
Write every day. Read every day,
even if it’s only 3 pages. Read and learn about writing craft. Pay for
professional editing. Meet and collaborate with other authors. Don’t rush to
self-publish until you are 100% certain your books are ready. Network. Be kind
and participate in the community. It’s not enough to “like” an Instagram post,
comment and often. Comment on blogs. Growing a community of writers lifts you
up when you have those hard times… they won’t let you quit.
5.
Favorite
Genres:
I love and read thrillers and
women’s fiction the most but I love to throw in a Rom-Com and a few True Crime
or Memoirs in to make sure my reading is mixed.
6.
Favorite
Authors:
There are too many to list them all but lately my favs have been: Taylor Jenkins Reid, Janelle Brown, Riley Sager, Kiley Reid, Michael Robotham, Chandler Baker, Lyssa Kay Adams, Dennis Lehane, Nick Petrie
7. Top 5 Favorite Films:
1. When Harry Met Sally 2.
Shallow Grave 3. Fletch 4. The Big Sleep (a fav book too) 5. Tie between Zodiac
(almost anything by Fincher) & Michael Clayton
8. What is or was your “day job” before writing?
I have not left my career as a
Production Designer in film and television. I have a designer and art director
for over eighteen years and I still love it. I just have to find balance and I
do not take as many projects as I used to.
9. Has your “day job” influenced your work as an author?
Definitely. I get inspiration
for pacing, lighting, mood, tension, décor, etc. from entertainment all the
time. Above all, I love a story. I’m always designing the environment a
character will inhabit whether it’s a physical world for an actor or an
imaginary one for a reader. I consider both equally important.
10. Dream Cast for August Fog?
In a dream world, Kate Winslet
or Christina Hendricks would be the ultimate choice for Monica Waters. Both are
curvy and can carry a gloriously flawed character to redemption. As for Alex,
you can see on my Pinterest board that I always imagined Jason Statham for that
role but there are a lot of actors who can fill his strong, conflicted shoes.
And Quinn… well maybe William Levy or Colton Haynes, although there’s a joking
reference to Chris Pine in the book and despite his age being a little past the
character, he’d be amazing in the role. Quinn’s body has to be well defined to
show off the one, infamous body tattoo and his blue eyes need to glow. He
should also need to be taller than Monica.
11. Has your “day job” influenced your work as an author?
Definitely. I get inspiration
for pacing, lighting, mood, tension, décor, etc. from entertainment all the
time. Above all, I love
12. Links to Book+Main bites
If you’re a romance fan and
you’re familiar with Book+Main bites, here's a link to my bites.
13. 5 Things I learned while writing August Fog:
1. I did a lot of research on
medications used by chronically depressed people and was intrigued by the
side-effects. Those horrible conditions that are blitzed by us in
pharmaceutical commercials are so daunting when incorporated into a character’s
life. I learned what doses and time frames each medication takes to affect
various outlets of a person’s life like sleep and sex drive. It only deepened
my sympathy for those who struggle to live with the disease. 2. I went down a
Tears for Fears wormhole one day. I remembered the songs on one of their albums
was based on a psychologist’s therories but I had no idea even the band’s named
was derived from The Primal Scream, psychologist Arthur Janov’s detailed theory
of neuroses that adults carry from repressed childhood trauma. To me, even
though this was deeper than I planned to go, the nerdy fact fit Monica’s
younger personality. I used this knowledge to connect to Quinn’s own intellect
and fuse them into a serious conversation about the past. 3. Love really is
complicated. I spoke to a few people I knew that went through infidelity and
asked them about their feelings looking back on the affair. There was never a
cut and dry answer and never one without threads to other problems. I used the
idea of those threads in Quinn’s art and in his observation of Monica’s eyes.
Little details to show how intricate our connections are and how easy it is to
overlook them. 4. I can’t write to what the market wants or expects. The
subject of infidelity and love are seldom tackled in a realistic way in
mass-market fiction but I’m okay with that. I needed to get this story out of
me and create this epic love-story that is never easy. It’s never neat and
clean. But it’s so right that all the wrong turns to capture it are worth the
risk. 5. Humor is inherently part of my writer’s voice. Even when the story is
at its most serious, I instinctually throw in humor or sarcasm. I was raised to
laugh even at the bad stuff and when I’ve tried to stifle that part of me, my
writing becomes stale and robotic. I usually have at least one character that is
a bit of a smartass, but in this one, you’ll get a few who’ll make you smile.
14. If you could travel in a time machine where would you go back to
the past or into the future?
As a music lover, I’d have to
say the past. I would have loved to have seen Queen at Wimbley or Bob Marley
anywhere. Maybe I’d even want to go to Woodstock and feel the love.
15. If you were stranded on a
desert island what 3 things would you want with you?
Books. (Can that be one thing?
Like a loaded kindle or a few hundred paperbacks?) My husband. (Not a thing but
he’s amusing and handy.) A notebook w/pen (again I’m breaking the rules because
that’s actually two things but they go together like peas and carrots.)
16. What is one book everyone should read?
Where The Crawdads Sing and mine
of course J
17. If you could have any superpower what would you choose?
Is peacemaking a superpower?
Seems like it these days since we have a void in leadership in so many facets
of life.
18. What is your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?
Smoked salmon on a bagel with
all the fixins
19. What books are reading now?
I read a lot so follow my
Instagram page and BookBub recommendations to always know what I’m into. I’ve
been doing the #StampedFromTheBeginning buddy read and just finished a Riley
Sager backlist read before tackling his latest book, Home Before Dark.
20. What’s your favorite season?
Fall. The colors. The flavors.
The scares. I love it all.
21. Any pet peeves?
How long do you have? Lately
it’s the sound of my dogs licking themselves but I think this pandemic has
decreased my threshold of tolerance in a lot of areas. I have an acute sense of
smell that people around me either hate or find amusing but it’s a curse. I can
smell things, unpleasant things, from so far away. Often my peeves lean into
this area.
22. Beach or Pool?
Both have water so I’m in.
23. M&Ms or Skittles?
M&Ms
24. Favorite Ice Cream?
Ben & Jerry’s New York
Superfudge Chunk
25. Other books in the works?
Yes. After this trilogy, look
for my first thriller series, Fate of the Unwilling, to release under my other
pen name Amy Lee, then watch for my historical thriller in 2021, The Fires
Before Dawn. (Synopsis of both below) Fate of the Unwilling by Amy Lee –
Release November 24, 2020 Erin Brockovich + Michael Clayton After New York
attorney, Emma Brayden, blows the whistle on a large baby food company, she
wakes in the woods of Washington State with no memory of who she is, or how she
got there. She is captivated by Silas Wayland, a deaf man in the small harbor
town who feels familiar and gives her comfort, but his secret career as a
foreign surveillance agent forces him to conceal their previous connection.
When his brother shows up with a badge and a lot of questions, both discover
their secrets are only as warm as the lies they tell. As disturbing, violent
memories return linking Emma to a corporate cover-up and blackmail, her
vindication lies in obtaining the evidence to take down the men who wanted her
silent. Silas, the only person qualified to help, wavers between her and loyalty
to our country until he discovers their atrocities affected his four-year-old
daughter. The Fires Before Dawn by A.L. Goulden – Release date TBD 2021 A love
story doomed by the ill-fated city from which it bloomed. In 1906 San
Francisco, Lillian Rutledge dared to be a lawyer and a voice for change,
knowing she had to play the political game better than the men in order to
achieve her greatest ambitions. Austin Whitmore was a newspaper playboy who
knew the only way to save his great city from the depths of corruption was to
call-out political liars to his friends in DC. They were from two different
worlds, viewing justice and law from two very different angles, yet they could
not resist flirting with the balance of power, or each other, once their spark
was lit. Together they embark on a partnership to expose the city's unfettered
graft and give in to a passionate love affair, unaware their western metropolis
is about to be hit by the most destructive natural disaster in American
history. When the great earthquake and fires plow through the city, Lillian
learns the men she worked with are far more dangerous than any catastrophic
event and will not hesitate to eliminate them both in a lawless town. Their
dangerous quest leaves them hunting powerful adversaries as the smoke settles
to reveal how corruption left half the city homeless and prove to the world
that San Francisco will survive on equal ground. Fast-paced and riveting with
historical detail, Quake and Fire invokes the Gilded Age of San Francisco in the
days before it all fell apart. Journey through a love story that questioned the
price of power and a woman's place in it, only to bring about the most
astonishing rebirth of any city in the world.
Buy Links
**TRAILER**
**EXCERPTS**
Fusion can happen when two objects reach an extreme heat. When the blood boils, the same can be said of hearts. The connection can excite and ache and torment, yet the demise of will goes unnoticed when the thrill renders an addictive high. Monica Waters once loved getting high, both literally and figuratively, but outgrew the juvenile practice of artistic inspiration. She had responsibilities now, like a mortgage and an admirable career… and a husband. Antidepressants helped too. When Los Angeles soared past eighty-five degrees in April the unsettling promise of perpetual summer ignited tension across freeways. Monica shielded anxiety with music and a fun car. Bob Marley had eased an hour-long commute, also known as Thursday, delivering her to the sanctuary of home until she slammed the brakes. A yellow Nissan blocked the driveway with no owner in sight. Her best friend owned the same vehicle but not with New York plates so she glared next door. Sharing a driveway with Rebecca’s bohemian flophouse had reached its limit. Monica wedged her BMW into an ivy-covered carport at an awkward angle and pried herself out, trying not to scratch her paint against the fence. She mumbled a few obscenities when she couldn’t get leverage to slam the door but squeezed past the filthy SUV, smoothing her long chestnut hair. The tall Japanese-style gate that led to her bonsai garden greeted with Zen and wafts of jasmine. That’s when she saw him. On the wooden staircase that wound up to Rebecca’s converted attic was a man that shifted everything into slow motion. A man, that for a second at least, she would follow anywhere. Her reaction defied rational explanation. The guy wearing jeans and t-shirt carried a box but even his muscular build was common in this town. Still, he had a gentle force of gravity tugging like a current. The back of his shaved head lacked noticeable character, but his climb was hypnotic. She stopped breathing while her heart pounded at an alarming speed. A beautiful tattoo engulfed his entire right arm with gnarled branches and scattered leaves of an old tree. It rooted around the box and swayed like a breeze as he moved. When the gate slipped from her fingers, the slam jolted her from the daze and he turned. She inspected her purse and fumbled with her keys even when he paused near the top of the stairs, waiting for attention. She rushed to her back door but couldn’t resist the draw of his stare. His eyes were crystal blue and pensive under a low-slung heavy brow. He stood confident like carved hardwood left unpolished with ample lips, a strong jaw, and a rugged nose, but didn’t come off as arrogant or boring. Her stomach twisted at his asymmetrical smile. He was beautiful. Flushed, she returned a tight grin and nod before barreling into her laundry room. “Who’s the guy next door?” she asked, dropping her stuff on the counter next to the deep sink. Alex, still sweaty from work, gave her a quick kiss, which was followed by the smacks of a powerful dog tail to her thigh. Her husband’s own shaved head and brawny build still resembled an action hero but his gray eyes lacked the dangerous edge that once made him magnetic. “You mean the Kelly Slater look-alike?” He laughed. “Rebecca’s renting out the upstairs to some artist. She says he’s bi-coastal… whatever that means. Pretty sure he’s gay.” “What makes you say that?” “Did you see what he drives?” She cocked her head. “So.” “So? That’s what Robin drives.” He flashed his hands. “That might be the dumbest thing ever said. Did he look at you too long or something?” “Hey, I’ve got no problem if he’s gay. He can look all he wants. I’m just saying.” Alex flexed his arms and inspected himself. “Just because Rebecca’s a lesbian doesn’t mean everyone she’s around is gay.” Monica reached to pet their rambunctious Lab Pointer mix, Lacey. “I just hate that she and Julie split. I miss her.” “Me too. I wish she won the house but Rebecca could afford it.” “Then why’s she renting out rooms?” Her words had that petulant tone she hated with an unwarranted volume. “I don’t know,” he said, flicking the counter. “It’s not like we have control over our neighbors.” He shuffled towards the bathroom, stripping for his shower along the way. She watched, remembering when that used to send her running after him, but now he hopped around in his socks and underwear looking more child-like than sexy. In her ballerina flats, Monica was two inches shy of six feet and two years shy of forty. Her curvy size fourteen worked in Hollywood, the land of size zeros. Sometimes she resented being a giant next to tiny, beautiful people because it equated invisibility, but she faked smiles in the back of every crew photo despite the obscurity of an editing career. She bent to give Lacey attention and propped the back door open while Mr. Bi-coastal moved from his vehicle to the yard. The redwood fence obscured his face but a childhood crush on Yul Brynner embedded an allure to a nice shaved head. Staring like a lech though erased dignity, so she mustered the nerve to make an introduction. She stepped outside but an eruption of vicious barking made her yelp. Two enormous Rottweilers flanked the middle landing on the staircase, flinging drool over the fence. Lacey ducked behind Monica in fear. “No. No barking!” Mr. Bi-coastal bounded up the stairs. “I’m so sorry,” he said, setting another box down. “I promise I’ll keep them quiet. They’re friendly, I swear.” He drew an X over his heart like a seven-year-old but his intense expression was all grown-ass-man. “It’s alright.” She swallowed hard. “My husband had lovable Rotts growing up.” Spitting out her marital status made her fidget but his shoulders relaxed. “My name’s Monica.” “I’m Quinn.” He leaned against the railing that hovered above as if to shake her hand. “Did you guys just drive across the country?” “Yeah.” He squatted to pet them and she noticed his left arm didn’t have visible tattoos. “This is Sadie and Max. Once they know you, they’ll stop barking.” She moved closer, pretending to care about this new pet relationship despite growls with each step. “They’re just protective of you.” “Lucky me.” She tried not to stare at the unicorn but artists wore gangly and pale with pride, escaping food and sun for months. This man nurtured his body. “Beautiful dogs.” Alex stood behind her, wet from the shower in just basketball shorts, but the lack of a Q-tip or something equally inappropriate was boggling. Quinn straightened. “I was just telling your wife they’re friendly.” Alex climbed the fence to engage their slobbery faces up-close and flaunt an arm tattoo of a Rott named Bosco. Monica was new to living with dogs but presumed they couldn’t recognize the image of devotion in permanent ink. This king-of-the-castle act was for Quinn. “Nice tat,” he said, squatting for a closer look. An immediate tit-for-tat and subtle competition developed between them but Monica found herself comparing odd qualities while they bonded over dogs. The pitch of their voices aligned and laughter became punctuation. Their attributes mimicked one another but Alex’s head was larger while Quinn ate leaner and worked out. They could pass as brothers but something about Quinn upset her. He was too close. The two historical homes sat less than seven feet apart, thanks to the lack of building restrictions in the 1920s. That proximity, which had sparked numerous noise complaints, didn’t seem to bother Alex now, tickling those beefy dog faces. “Rebecca said you’re only here part-time.” Alex stepped off the fence and crossed his arms. “I’m just starting to show my work here.” He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to share more. “My agent thought it was wise, so I’ll be back and forth a lot.” She hated the two adorable little creases that formed next to his eyes when he smiled. They were marks of experience. Marks of a life lived. “We should let you get settled,” Alex said, motioning towards the box still sitting on the landing. Quinn nodded. “It was nice meeting you guys.” “Absolutely.” She cringed at her valley-girl tone and bizarre wave given to dogs with inherently sad eyes. She beelined for their bedroom hoping to erase that weird encounter from memory.
Despite having just eaten, her stomach felt empty when his smile faded and his steady gaze grew intense. This man was not afraid of a stare but, of course, he excelled at it. His waters ran deeper than she could wade so she pulled back. “I always imagined painfully slow dance movements that were not just seductive but Cirque du Soleil kinda shit. I mean, if you’re going to fantasize about that sort of thing, might as well go for epic skill.” Her attempt to make light was ignored. He hit play and watched, daring her to fall deep into the dark dream she created. While he may have been imagining her twirling around a pole, she felt exposed in a very different way. The dark song about change and selfdestruction had been a reflection of her college self every bit as her right now. She felt transparent like he could see every weakness. And she let him. At one point, his mouth opened to take in the thinning oxygen. He looked vulnerable and obedient but by the end of the fiveminute song, she lost all control to him. In the past, when Monica dared to do something scary, like move to a new city alone or get married, she did a physical challenge that usually involved testing her fear of heights. It resulted in bungee jumping from a crane or skydiving but not even a space flight could counter what she was about to do. The next song was no accident or random shuffle but it was a message tailored to her. Radiohead’s “All I Need" sauntered between them and he motioned to his drawing pad. She nodded and when he slid his easel over, she stood to drop her dress. She never felt more terrified, nor more alive. Quinn’s expression was new. It wasn’t lust or admiration or even pleasure… it was devotion. How pure it seemed. She never knew this kind of connection. No matter what happened, he would always be the one. The only soul in this world who really examined and accepted her. The burgundy lace panties stayed. It felt like the moment to take them off gracefully had passed, so if he wanted them gone, he would have to make it happen. “How do you want me?” she asked. He cleared his throat a few times, breaking his usual coolness. “You can stay there… on the futon. If you want. Whatever’s comfortable.” He tried to sound professional, pretending to itch his leg and fidgeting with his paper. “Like in Titanic?” she said, flashing a smirk. She turned away from him and crossed the room without a strategy or plan, but she loved the power. The distance helped too. She took a stance by the window, leaning her shoulder against the dormer’s angled ceiling, reminiscent of the final Venus painting they admired at the Getty. There was no Cupid or Mars with her though. She was all alone in the colorful light, safely away from his strings. That’s what she thought at first anyway. He ripped through sheet after sheet of paper until he settled into a sketch that consumed him. His jaw flexed and he used his fingers in frantic motions, shading and perfecting his vision. But his ability to be lost in that moment, in her, removed all control. Her arms fell asleep as her nerve whittled and she eyed the dress still hanging halfway off the futon. “Please come lie down,” he said. She dropped her arms with a shake before crossing them over her chest, defeated. Shyness was sinking in and she was wilting. Quinn adjusted the futon backs, so they laid flat, then sat back behind the easel. He flipped the page and waited for her to settle onto the hard leather island in a pool of light. She was tempted to put the dress back on, but that would be a wrap. She pondered her pose and settled for one leg bent, one hand on her stomach, and the other playing with her hair spread across the bed. “Perfection,” he whispered. She could feel him breathe at first, even five feet away, then he started drawing and became invisible. Only the feverous scratching of charcoal fought for attention over the flawlessly timed Sade. The leather warmed to her skin and soon the perk of her breasts started to relax. When she pinched them firm and he stopped, she felt a rush. Her hands folded back into position with her nipples high and firm so he resumed. She ran her fingers across her stomach, just above the lace and he stopped again. “We should take a break.” She wasn’t sure if a break was code for ‘put her dress on,’ but she didn’t move when he got up. It had been childish to taunt him, but everything between them felt like a game. She waited to see if he’d go downstairs but he wiped the black charcoal from his hands and scrolled through his phone. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I am. Are you?” “Yes.” A complete lie. “Do you feel ashamed when you’re naked?” That question prompted her to turn onto her stomach. It was too heavy to answer upside down. “Why?” she asked, looking at her nails. He tapped a book on his desk that she couldn’t see. “I’ve been reading about shame and how it’s taught to boys and girls differently. It’s ingrained in religion and survival and…” He turned towards her and crossed his arms, leaning against the desk. “It’s just interesting to me.” “Is this little session supposed to lessen my shame? Get a woman naked to build confidence?” “I didn’t tell you to take off your clothes.” His words were sharp, but not angry. “You didn’t get upset when they were gone either.” His head shot back. “Of course not. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? I’d stare at you for days—years—if I could.” His last words faded but instead of running or distracting with a joke the way she would, Quinn uncrossed his arms and gave in to his vulnerability. The temperature in the room did not soothe her anymore. She had to peel her skin from the leather to stand. Her feet moved towards him without consideration. She was on autopilot, ready to crash land. “I don’t ever want you to feel pressured or obligated to do anything,” he said. She reached for his shirt. “I’m here because I want to be.” She lifted the piece of clothing that was intentionally worn to make her feel safe and tossed it on the desk behind him. He closed his eyes when she ran her hands up his chest, absorbing his warmth, and gave a slight shake of his head as he whispered, “I could’ve found a way to live with just admiring you from a distance.” “But I couldn’t.” She gripped the waistband of his jeans and pulled until his hands cupped her face. Their lips came together slowly, testing where they would land for the first, then second time. Like everything between them, each attempt only got better, but she wasn’t prepared to want this forever. In all the years that she toyed with the fantasy of a revenge affair or one-night stand, Monica worried that each kiss or touch would lead to comparisons, which in turn would ruin the seduction. But, Alex never entered her mind. From the moment she felt Quinn’s skin, he consumed her.
The cab ride to the university was quiet and slow. Midday traffic was a nightmare thanks to a parade and Monica had to keep reminding herself that it was the original purpose of her visit, not just an annoyance. “So you and Jack were a thing, huh?” “What?” She turned like she’d just woke up. “It’s obvious.” “I’m sorry I should’ve—” “Please stop apologizing for everything.” “Doesn’t it bother you?” “That you have exes? No. We’ve covered this, haven’t we?” The box of photos with Quinn’s past made her smile. “I guess we covered your side.” “Well, I have no illusions that your past isn’t just as full.” She ran her finger along his chin to feel the stubble he’d left. “Can I start calling you Mr. Awesome Cool Cucumber?” “If I can call you Ms. Positive Monkey.” “Hey I didn’t use Littleman.” He slid his head onto her shoulder and gave her a small kiss. Then he stayed there, resting on her. Quinn gave solace in addictive doses. “I’m sorry about the neighbor artist friend thing. God, I’m an idiot.” “It wasn’t smooth.” “Fuck. I had weeks to prepare and could never decide how to introduce you. I wanted— ” “It’s fine.” He gave her another kiss, this one confirming he meant it. “You don’t have to talk about him or any of the past, but I’m always open to it.” Feeling alone was a reflex, like blinking. Even when a lover was a friend, Monica hid certain details and memories, keeping them isolated inside. Little by little, Quinn tested those borders, sending the dominoes of separation rocking… and she was ready for them to fall, but terrified he wouldn’t stick around after. “Jack and I started having sex after five years of friendship, which was a mistake. We started fighting all the time and it made life too complicated for everyone.” “Why did you fight?” She shrugged. “He’s Irish. That’s what he does.” “Oh, come on... What did you fight about?” “Mostly our relationship. I didn’t want to be in anything too serious.” “And he did.” “He thought he was in love.” Quinn lifted his head. “He’s still in love with you.” “God, I hope not.” “Come on. I know you’re not blind. You probably want to be, but he carries it on his sleeve.” “Yeah, fuckin’ literally.” He squinted. “What do you mean?” Monica pointed to her right forearm, trying not to get choked up. It was the stupidest thing anyone could do and she hated that it made her feel guilty. “He tattooed my name on his arm.” “Oh fuck.” Quinn sat up to take that in, then turned in his seat. “So Rianne has to see that—” “Every day.” She nodded. “She’s a very spiritual person so I’m sure she’s fed herself some babble to accept it… but I can’t imagine how it affects things.” “You didn’t go to their wedding.” “No. Which killed me because Ri and I were so close and they all came to my… wedding.” The word croaked out like a faint afterthought. “I love Tristan, but Ri is the one I could talk to. She keeps things real and secret and has always been there for me and I ditched her because of that idiot.” The cab stopped at the school entrance and Monica got out. “Can I ask something you won’t like?” “Sure,” she said, bracing herself. “Could it be that you still have some feelings for him and you’re pushing them away to save Rianne from more pain?” Monica wasn’t sure she liked being with a man who could read her like a book. It made her feel simple sometimes, and no one liked that. When she didn’t answer, he took it as confirmation. “I’m no mystery apparently.” His forehead crinkled with confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re a basket of contradictions, remember? I’m constantly intrigued and confused.” “Right.” He got close and lowered his voice. “I don’t think anyone in this world sees you the way I do… and that doesn’t make me feel like pounding my chest or wielding some kind of powertrip, it makes me honored to have found one person I can truly know. I’m steps away from being forty having never really known anyone until now.” “You don’t know all of me. If you did, you’d run.” “No, I wouldn’t. I can’t. I won’t.” And the dominoes tumbled. Monica kissed him as the city’s song vanished. She hadn’t let herself accept him fully, guarding herself from impending pain, but she knew him, too. Quinn was kind and thoughtful, impulsive and receptive, but on the deepest level he was burdened by his intellect and passions. He was so far ahead of everyone around him that she wondered how he slept, how he kept from being bored with life’s tedium. Above all, she couldn’t grasp how fate had chosen her, a woman anchored to routines and calendars and medications, who was scared to death to be a quitter or a dependent. “I keep expecting you to disappear,” she whispered. “Not unless you want me to.” “I don’t.” She touched his face. “I really don’t, but I don’t know how to give you what you deserve.” “You’re not expected to give anything but yourself. You get all of me and I get all of you.” He made it sound so simple, like a man who had never been in any relationship. That had her stepping back and resetting boundaries.
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