There was an innocence to Quinn’s outlook, and though she was still stinging right now from her breakup with a wishy-washy mockery of a man, her vow to be more realistic was all a sham. He liked that she kept trying, even when she didn’t realize she was.
She’d always gasp at the wonder of love and its many miracles just the way she’d gasped over the magic of the arrow tonight. She might be fighting it right now, but it would always be in Quinn’s nature to keep reaching, to keep hoping. She just had to learn the difference between hope and a lost cause.
Which Igor had been. Stupid, too, if he were pressed to label.
Her joy, her happiness…it did something to the inside of his chest. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted floating around his insides as if it belonged there.
He just had to stop thinking about the kiss; if he could do that, it would be all right. It was just a kiss. He’d kissed plenty of women. Quinn was no different.
Oh, stop now. She was so different.
“Khris?” Nina prodded.
“No. There’s no secret, no hidden issues that I know of personally, attached to that apple.”
Nina pursed her lips and scanned his face. “Okay. But I’m telling you—”
“I know, I know,” he said on a laugh. “You’ll kick my sorry, powerless ass. Loud and clear.”
He definitely got it. He just hoped he was right.
Carl sat across the table from Quinn and smiled, his grin lopsided, his face greenish in cast as Nina reattached his hand to his wrist. When she was done, she ruffled his dark hair and smiled. “Good job, buddy. You sat really still this time. Now, no more taking off like that, got it? Big, scary city out there, and if something happened to your wandering butt, I’d be heartbroken, okay?”
Carl nodded and thumped the table with his hand then he turned his gaze back to Quinn.
Who tried to keep it together. Because zombie. Like, real zombie. Sitting-right-in-front-of-her, happy-as-a-clam zombie, completely unaware he was about as hard to digest as finding out there really was a Santa Claus.
But to look at Carl, to see him up close, well…he really was darling. Gentle as a lamb as he stroked Buffy’s head, who’d decided Carl had the best lap ever and had curled herself right into it as though she never planned to leave.
Archibald brought a plate of broccoli with a napkin and set it beside him, straightening to gaze down at Carl and give him a look of reproach. “All right, young man, enjoy your snack, but in no way should you consider this a reward for your poor behavior. I’m absolutely doing this against my better judgment. You will be the death of Grampa Archibald, Carl. If anything happened to you while you were out carousing as though zombies are not something the great people of New York City would burn at the stake, I’d never forgive myself. You must stop making me fret like that.”
Carl lifted his lips in his adorably lopsided grin and reached upward, patting Archibald’s chin in an obvious apology.
Archibald grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t you try to soften me up either. Next time you behave poorly, there will be no Goodnight Moon for you before bedtime. Understood?”
Carl bobbed his head and nabbed a piece of broccoli, driving it into his mouth and chomping, green stems falling to his shirt where Nina had tucked a napkin into his collar.
Ingrid set a steaming cup of tea in front of Quinn and sat next to her at the table. She leaned forward and nudged her with a shoulder. “You okay?”
“Zombie.”
Ingrid giggled. “Yep.”
“He’s so—so—precious,” she whispered in pure wonder.
“That he is. And he’s amazing with the kids.”
“This week has had more fangs and fur than a mash-up episode of The Vampire Diaries and Teen Wolf.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
Quinn gave her a skeptical sidelong glance, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you shrinking me right now, Ingrid Lawson?”
“I’m just checking on your emotional barometer. It’s in the pamphlet, if you want to read it. I brought one with me from the office. According to the bosses, you should be having some serious swings in your emotional state. You know, the five stages thing Nina talked about. I just want to keep on top of it. So how do you feel?”
How did she feel? Earlier she’d been euphoric. Sharing that moment with Khristos and two people who had no idea anyone else in the world existed in that moment in time was amazing—fulfilling.
But now? Now she was projecting into the future, when she’d have to explain to her parents and her coworkers she was responsible for helping to repopulate the world.
How did you sit someone down and tell them you couldn’t come to work today because you had to make sure the world kept evolving—forever?
Hey, Mom, what did you do today? Wait. No, don’t tell me. Bet it doesn’t beat what I did today. Know what I did today? I ordered Cupid to shoot glow-in-the-dark arrows at people who are soul mates. You know, those things you staunchly disregard as real?
Worse, she worried about when she’d have to do this on her own without someone to share it with. What fun was helping true love along if you didn’t have someone to share it with?