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“It’s not that I don’t understand. I do. At least, I think I do. I don’t blame you for anything. But it still…it hurts. A lot. That you could just…forget me.”

“I didn’t forget you. Not for a single day.”

Andy smiled. “But you did. Of course you did. It’s not like I thought of you every day either. Even believing you’d been murdered.”

Quinn’s face twisted. He turned to stare out the window. “Jesus, Andy.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You survived. And I’m—I can’t even put into words how glad I am. That we’re sitting here talking? It means everything to me.” Andy drew a long shaky breath. “But the next time I get involved—fall in love—I want it to be with someone who feels the same way about me that I feel about y—them.”

Quinn gave a quick, tight nod without looking at Andy.

Andy stared at that hard, handsome profile. “I can’t even count how many times I nearly died this week. And the fact thatthatfeels trivial compared to everythingelsethat’s happened, is proof of—I don’t even know what it’s proof of. It’s proof I need some time.” He repeated more firmly, “I need time.”

Quinn gave another jerky nod. He seemed to be speaking to his side mirror as he said, “It’s not the same for you. I already know that. I feel like we—I—got a second chance. But you didn’t—don’t—need or want a second chance.”

That wasn’t what Andy was saying. But it was true, right? So why didn’t itfeeltrue? Why, after his own speech, did Andy find himself wanting to argue? Because for sixteen years—rightup to the point Quinn had suddenly materialized again—he’d have givenanythingfor a second chance.

“We don’t even know each other. Not as adults.”

“No?” Quinn turned to meet Andy’s eyes, and this time his smile was odd. His green gaze seemed to challenge Andy.

Okay, maybe Andy’s last statement had been wrong. Unfair. Given recent events, maybe they knew each other better than Andy was willing to admit. They’d been through more together in four days than most people shared in four years.

But instead of pressing his advantage, Quinn surprised him. “Hey. Andy. Idounderstand. I meant what I said at the start. I wanted to help you. Not just because I owed you for what happened when I left Safehaven. You’re always going to be…special, I guess. But I didn’t start out thinking there could be anything more, and it’s okay if there won’t be anything more.”

Was that supposed to make him feel better?

Given the affection and appreciation in Quinn’s smile, yep, that was probably intended to relieve Andy’s mind, maybe take the pressure off, but honestly, it just confirmed what Andy already knew. This—he—just didn’t matter that much to Quinn.

So why the hell was he still talking, still trying to explain a position he hadn’t even taken yet? “I’ve spent most of the last year trying to figure out how to get out of one relationship. I won’t lie. I’m afraid…”

“You don’t have to explain.” Quinn shrugged. “Really.”

For some reason, thereallyhurt even more than the shrug. Like Andy had been belaboring a point that was no longer relevant. He swallowed the rest of what he’d been about to say. None of it particularly useful, in all likelihood.

“No. Right.” He too had mastered the art of grace under fire. He smiled. Reached for the door handle, saying, “Anyway. Have a very Merry Christmas. And if I don’t see you before New—”

Except he hadn’t unsnapped his seat belt, so instead of gracefully exiting the Land Rover, he got yanked right back into place.

Quinn laughed, not unkindly. “Merry Christmas, Andrew.” He leaned over and kissed Andy. Clearly, it was intended as a brief and friendly kiss between friends. But somehow the moment passed and Quinn was still kissing Andy, kissing him warmly, sweetly, tenderly…lingeringly… Somehow Quinn’s arms were around Andy, and Andy’s arms were wrapped around Quinn, and they were still kissing. A bright, sparkly feeling bloomed in Andy’s chest like the Christmas star itself.

Their lips parted, but that seemed to be a mutually agreed upon bad idea, and they were kissing again, this time their mouths hotter, hungrier. Andy gave himself to that kiss, gave in to his own longing and the terrible pressure of five thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-two wishes denied, and kissed Quinn with all his heart.

It wasn’t so much that the kiss ended as splintered apart. They broke off, gasping for air. Quinn’s, “Andy…” sounded genuinely anguished. It sounded like a protest Quinn was trying not to make.

“I’ll see you,” Andy gasped, and this time he remembered to unlock his seat belt.

It took all his willpower to half fall into the brisk, cold day, close the door of the Land Rover, and walk away.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

He was uneasy about returning to Time in a Bottle.

For one thing, the building had not been released as a crime scene by Safehaven PD. Andy was pretty sure that was a technicality. By now both Safehaven’s police department and the State Police had had opportunity to conduct a secondary survey and log all the evidence.

He suspected the reason for the entire building remaining off-limits was to keep him from returning to remove or tamper with any yet undiscovered evidence. That was back when he and Quinn were the prime suspects in Marcus’s murder. Now that he and Quinn were no longer suspects—or were they still suspects in Chief Millard’s eyes? Had Chief Millard been informed of the recent break in the case? Did Chief Millard know thathewas now a—if notthe—prime suspect? Anyway, hopefully, Andy running up to the apartment to grab some clothes—when he’d fled Captain Rafferty’s house, he’d left his suitcase in the back of Quinn’s Land Rover—and to get the Christmas presents he’d purchased for Uncle C. before ever leaving Philly—would not get him tossed into the hoosegow.

Andy ran quietly up the back stairs and let himself into the apartment.