Page 32 of Finders Keepers

It’s like the past heard I’m trying to avoid it and decided to come along and smack me in the face in retaliation.

I turn to Quentin. “Did you know about this?”

“About what?” His innocent look is not nearly as persuasive as that practiced smile he flashes so often. I glare in response until he confesses, “Hanako may have mentioned it when I texted her.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“And miss out on this wonderful conversation?” He grins. “Come on. What’s the big deal? I seem to remember you really liking *NSYNC back in the day. We can ask the DJ to play ‘Bye Bye Bye.’?” He opens the door and gestures for me to go inside.

For a second, I consider turning around and walking home alone without another word. But that’s a little more dramatic than the circumstances call for.

Plus, it’s 6:40. I’m not sure Mom has left for her drawing class yet.

If I get home too early she’ll want to know what happened, promptly followed by an excited pronouncement that now I can come with her after all.

As tempting as it is to put space between me and my youth, and me and Quentin, and me and Quentin in our youth, I fully recognize that this doesn’t actually warrant a tantrum.

Especially when he didn’t have to come out with me tonight at all.

He’s doing me a favor, helping me not be a complete liar to my mother.

The least I can do is not be a jerk in return.

“Are we sure we want to go here?” I ask instead. “We could just Venmo Hanako some money, grab something from that taco truck, and call it a night.”

Quentin releases the door and lets it close. “Nina,” he says. “What’s up?”

I sigh. “Nothing. Nothing’s up.”

“You can tell me, you know,” he says softly.

“Anything you’re feeling—it’s always safe with me.

” You are always safe with me goes unspoken but seems to linger in the air between us until one side of his mouth lifts.

“Like, clearly right now you’re worried I’m going to demolish you in Pogs like the old days.

But I promise I’ll take it easy on you.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, telling myself I don’t need to engage. But just because I don’t need to doesn’t mean part of me doesn’t want to.

So I reach past him, open the door, and head inside Flow State.

The space is unexpected. I figured an old brick warehouse would be industrial and sleek.

Instead it’s sumptuous—plum and hot pink, velvet and silk and tassels and fringe everywhere.

Jutting into the center of the space is a large, antique U-shaped mahogany bar.

A long booth stretches along the right wall, tables and chairs lined up with it to create more intimate seating.

It’s almost Fountain-esque, really, both in its richness and the way it seems to play with the concept of power clashing.

Not just in the patterns of the throw pillows scattered along the banquette and the heavy drapery on the wall behind it, but in the crowd.

There’s a guy in a smart suit looking like he just came from an accounting firm in DC sitting at the bar beside someone dressed like the guy in the “Virtual Insanity” video. It’s admittedly pretty cool.

“Sweet place,” Quentin says as we head toward the bar. “Cozier than I thought it would be.”

“Let’s get our drinks and go out to the patio,” I say, remembering the friendly-looking space outside that’s likely less packed with tipsy women screeching along to Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.”

Quentin raises one eyebrow at me and the side of his mouth quirks again. “And miss out on all this nostalgic fun?”

“Exactly,” I say grouchily.

“Nina! Quentin!” Hanako calls from behind the bar at the same time one of the tipsy women shrieks near my ear.

Once I’ve recovered from the auditory assault, I manage to paste on a smile. “Hey!”

Quentin leans over the bar and gives Hanako a kiss on the cheek like they see each other all the time. Maybe they do, for all I know. “Thanks again for inviting us,” he says. “This is great.”

“Of course! I’m so glad you could stop by,” she replies, then slides us a menu. “Like I said, first round’s on the house.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. It feels sort of counterproductive to not charge us when this is supposed to be a fundraiser.

“Definitely sure. I have a soft spot for the two of you.” She winks at Quentin. God, could the flirting be any more obvious?

I peruse the options and settle on a yuzu paloma, while Quentin gets one of the specials. As Hanako mixes our cocktails, Quentin leans casually against the bar with his arms folded atop it.

“So, Nostalgia Night, huh?” he asks, voice gaining in volume to be heard over the DJ’s introduction of the next song.

“Yeah, it was my partner, Kell’s, idea.” Hanako flashes a smile as her eyes search the room and land on a tall, slender figure with bronze skin and a shaved head gesturing enthusiastically while talking to a group of three Scary Spices.

“They’re in charge of getting people in the door, and I’m in charge of making sure everyone has a good time once here. ”

“Definitely seems like mission accomplished on both counts,” I say as someone accidentally brushes against my butt as they navigate the crowd. I’m not sure he’s even fully conscious of it, but Quentin repositions himself behind me, protecting me from further inadvertent touching. Thoughtful.

What if I were to lean back, rest against him?

Best-case outcome: He’d wrap his arms around me and kiss the top of my head.

Worst-case: He’d push me away…No, no…worst would be he whispers something mortifying in my ear like, “Um, Nina, did you remember deodorant this morning?” Which I did.

I’m like ninety-eight percent certain. Most likely is that he’d go stiff (not in the sexy way) and take a step backward, either assuming I’m requesting more space or to politely remove himself from my proximity.

Just going to stay right where I am, I think. (And maybe turn my head to take a subtle sniff of my armpit to make sure everything is all hunky-dory under there.)

“I like to think we make a pretty good team.” Hanako beams as she sets our drinks in front of us on the bar.

The love absolutely radiates from her as she flashes her left hand, which sports a tattooed infinity symbol on her ring finger.

“Ten years together and counting.” So maybe she hasn’t been flirting with Quentin after all.

Then again, I still haven’t completely ruled out the whole non-monogamy thing.

Quentin tries to hand her a twenty-dollar bill, but she shakes her head and instead gestures for him to lean in.

She whispers something in his ear like she did at the coffee shop, and Quentin goes pink again.

Or maybe it’s just the moody lighting in here, because the color is gone by the time he straightens.

Then he bends back down to whisper something to her that makes her grin, then roll her eyes.

He drops the cash into a cigar box being used to collect extra donations and grins back at her.

Whatever this moment is, I am clearly not a necessary part of it.

So I grab our drinks and move to the door leading out onto the patio, pushing my hip against it.

Quentin appears behind me, arm stretched over my head to prop the door open, and his scent and the light breeze coming off the river combine into something so summery and sensual that I feel like my kneecaps have turned to jam.

At least it’s less packed out here—only an uncomfortable first date happening at one of the picnic tables and four guys playing a game of cornhole in the nearby grass.

Even though the music the DJ is playing inside is still piped over an outdoor speaker, it’s quiet enough to have a conversation without needing to raise our voices.

I sidle up to an empty cocktail table made out of an old barrel. “You and Hanako sure have a lot of secrets, huh?”

“Nah, not a lot. Just one, really.” Quentin takes a sip of his drink and emits a hum of appreciation. “This is super good. It’s the Hi-C one. Wanna taste?” he asks, offering me the glass.

I shake my head and instead try my own. It’s tart and crisp and refreshing on this sultry evening. “One secret can be a lot.” It certainly was for us , I don’t say but definitely think.

Quentin leans in. “You jealous, Hunnicutt?”

“Hardly,” I say, grabbing his drink and taking a swig despite having just turned down his offer.

He’s sucking the corner of his bottom lip, as if he’s concentrating on something. Then he says, “You know, Thursday night, after you left, it struck me that I don’t know what style pizza you prefer.”

“What?”

“Or the best concert you’ve ever been to. Or if you studied abroad.”

I finally relinquish his Hi-C cocktail (which is indeed super good). “Um…”

“I know that a lot happened over the last seventeen years. For both of us. But it’s easy to forget sometimes.”

“It is,” I say. Because that period of time when he was absent from my life feels like a fever dream lately. There’s us before, and there’s us now, but everything in between feels kind of like a series of endnotes that neither of us have skipped ahead to examine.

“So maybe…What do you say that tonight we try to catch each other up? We can treat it almost like a first date. Pretend we’re two strangers getting to know each other over a drink or two while enjoying this scenic setting, and…

” He pauses, listening to what’s now playing over the outdoor speaker. “Harvey Danger’s ‘Flagpole Sitta’?”

My brain latches onto the word “date” and doesn’t want to let it go. Like a date, I try to tell it. Like one, not that it is one. Even so…“I don’t know if—”

“Forget everything you know about me.” He holds a hand out over the barrel, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize he wants me to shake it. When I finally do, he smiles warmly. “My name is Quentin Bell,” he says. “I’m a lawyer, currently in town renovating my dad’s old house.”