Yours at Midnight by Robin Bielman Page B

tough time of it these past couple of weeks.”
    Quinn swiveled in his bar stool. “Doesn’t she have any staff?”
    Caroline placed a bowl of steaming hot chili in front of him. The smell of meat and spices filled him with comfort. “She does, but she gave them the week off. Crackers or cornbread?”
    “Cornbread.” He’d missed her baking. Missed being the guy who got first dibs when no one else was around.
    She cut a square, then sat across from him and leaned over the counter with her chin in her hand. “How are you?”
    “Better.” Since Oliver’s death there’d been one person he’d semi-confided in: Caroline. She’d called him every year on New Year’s Eve to check in, and to remind him that life marched on and he was too young not to embrace it. That there would always be bad and good. The bad, she’d said, helped remind people not to take anything for granted.
    “Still happy at work?”
    “Very.”
    “Any new year’s resolutions?”
    He put down his fork. She always asked him that. “Not sure yet.” Truthfully, he wasn’t sure about anything. Yes, he loved his work, his apartment, his life, but if he kept up the same pace then moments like this—sitting in a warm kitchen with a homemade meal and heartfelt conversation—would elude him.
    Her hand covered his. “You always have a home here. You know that, right?”
    All he could do was nod. Some weird emotion choked him.
    “Nana?”
    They both turned. Max padded in, his brown hair mussed, his eyes sleepy, his thumb in his mouth. He dragged a light blue blanket with him. Teddy followed on his heels.
    Shit. He hadn’t even realized the dog was gone again.
    “Hey, sweetie. How was your nap?” Caroline slipped off her stool and picked him up.
    The little boy snuggled into her chest. “Where’s Mama?”
    “She had to run out for a little bit, but she’ll be back lickety-split.”
    The timer on the oven dinged.
    “Grandma’s got to get that. Can I put you down?”
    Max shook his head and looked at Quinn. So did Caroline. “How about if Quinn holds you? Would that be okay?”
    Quinn didn’t have time to offer an alternative. The little guy crawled right into his lap. “Hey, buddy.”
    Max’s small body fit against him just right, and Quinn tightened his hold. The thumb sucking was damn cute. Quinn had sucked his thumb until he was eight—until Oliver and Lyric called him a baby. He’d pulled his thumb out of his mouth and never put it back in again.
    From across the kitchen, Caroline hummed “Jingle Bells.”
    “You too little to go ice skating?” Quinn asked. He’d never spent any time around kids until the other night, so he had no idea how old a kid had to be to ice skate. Max couldn’t weigh more than twenty-five or thirty pounds, and Quinn figured he was two years old.
    Max nodded.
    “How about I…” He hesitated. “How about I take you to the park? We could go down some slides.”
    Max wiggled free and quickly ran out of the kitchen. Teddy took chase, obviously just as enamored with Max as he was with Lyric.
    What had he said wrong? He looked to Caroline for help.
    She smiled warmly. “Stop frowning. He’s just going to get his jacket.”
    “Oh. Okay.” Happiness and anticipation spread through his veins. Max had jumped at the chance to go to the park with him . Quinn felt like he’d won a prize, the friendship between him and Max unexpected, but welcome. He stood and took a quick bite of cornbread. “Save my chili?”
    “Of course.” Caroline put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can’t go wrong at the park.”
    “Do I look worried?”
    “You look terrified. But in a good way.” She smiled again. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “How about a thermos of hot chocolate to go? It’s pretty chilly outside.”
    More strange feelings welled in his chest. Caroline doted on her grandson. She doted on Quinn. Family, he realized, meant something significant.
    Significance he’d ignored for far