21 August 2012

Sorry, Wrong Number - Part 2

Lizzie and Quinn short story

Lizzie frowned down at the sticky honey she had spotted on the sleeve of her blue terry cloth robe. When she made a mess, she made a mess. "Quinn, hold on one more second," she said into the phone and reached for another paper towel.

She wet the towel in the sink and dabbed at her sleeve and then at the belt of her robe. A bird fluttered past the kitchen window, drawing her glance to the bright April morning outside.

"Lizzie?" Quinn said on the telephone. "I've got a meeting in about --"

20 August 2012
Sorry, Wrong Number - Part 1

Lizzie and Quinn short story

His ergonomically-correct desk chair, inherited from his predecessor, creaked under his lean six-foot-one frame when he reached sideways for the ringing phone. Indexing his place in his report with his finger, John Quinn made a mental note to order a new chair. "University police. Chief Quinn speaking."

"Quinn, it's me."

Good thing his office door was closed. He could feel a sappy grin spreading across his face. "Hi, me," he said.

"Do you have a moment?" she said.

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