Just Let Go

by Courtney Walsh

  “I bet. I remember in high school you went there every afternoon.”

  She’d had early release their senior year and spent most of her days helping Mimi. The flower shop had been part of their community, though Quinn still believed that had less to do with Mimi Hudson and more to do with her own mother. When her mother had owned it, it had been even more special, almost magical. Quinn and Carly would dance around behind the counter while their mother picked out the most beautiful blooms for her customers.

  “Remember, every single person in our shop is coming for a very special reason. Whether they’re celebrating or mourning or simply looking to cheer someone up, we get to be a part of that.” Sometimes her mother said she could see what a person needed as soon as they walked in the door. And she was right. Quinn had seen it time and time again.

  Laura Danvers? A bouquet of poppies. Because her perky, bubbly daughter was about to turn sweet sixteen.

  Steve Putnam? Red roses. Because he was in the doghouse with Mrs. Putnam—again.

  Morris Davidson? Tulips. Because they were simple, elegant, and beautiful just like his wife, Sadie.

  Quinn had always thought it was her mother’s superpower, being able to read people like that before they even said a word, when, in fact, she simply paid attention. Jacie Collins had her ears open at all times. Sometimes she’d overhear someone talking at church, and she’d tell them to stop by for a bouquet on the house.

  “You look like you need a little pick-me-up,” she’d say. “Come by the shop later and I’ll have a bouquet of sunshine just for you.”

  People around town always thought so highly of Quinn’s mother, which was, Quinn supposed, why her leaving was such a shock to the system. Not only for the Collins family, but for the entire town. Like a stitch in their fabric had been pulled.

  It was ancient history now. Quinn was the new owner of Forget-Me-Not. And she had no intention of leaving.

  “It’s a special place,” Quinn told Danny after too long a pause.

  “Special place for a special girl.” Danny’s face contorted into what looked like a smile. She made him nervous. Either that or he was just awkward. Or both.

  “I guess we should head in,” she said.

  His hand on her arm stopped her. “Before we do, Quinn, there’s, uh . . . something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  No! She was terrible at this sort of thing. Her mind started racing for excuses—anything that would allow her to turn him down easily.

  My dad already made plans for our whole family that day. We have a long-standing tradition, I guess you could say.

  I’m just too busy at the flower shop—so many demands on my time.

  I’m emotionally unavailable.

  But before he could get any additional words out, the front door swung open and Grady appeared. By comparison, Danny suddenly looked scrawny and small. Grady, with his height and all those muscles, was indeed a presence, wherever he went—but what was he doing here? At her meeting?

  “Whoa, that’s him,” Danny practically whispered, as if the queen of England had just materialized in front of their very eyes.

  Grady looked lost, and he probably was. The polite thing would be to point him toward the meeting room. But of course there was no way she was going to do that. Her father would be embarrassed by her lack of hospitality.

  Danny, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stop staring.

  “What were you saying, Danny?” Why was she prodding the man to ask her out when only seconds ago she was spinning through her mental Rolodex for an acceptable reason to say no without hurting his feelings?

  “Huh?” Danny was still staring at Grady, who, in his winter coat, looked exactly like an Olympic skier. She’d never watched Olympic skiing in her life and couldn’t care less who medaled or qualified or slipped and fell. But she was starting to feel like the only person in town who felt that way.

  “You were about to ask me something.” Quinn gave Danny a little shove, hoping that would bring him back to his senses.

  Grady took a few steps into the entryway. It was after hours, so there was no receptionist, and it was pretty obvious he wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been court ordered.

  “You’re Grady Benson.” Danny sounded like a twelve-year-old girl who’d just met a member of One Direction.

  Grady’s eyes darted over to Quinn, who crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

  “You’re the best, man.”

  Man? Since when did Danny call people man?

  “Thanks. It’s always nice to meet a fan.” He reached out and shook Danny’s hand. “Listen, can you tell me where this, uh, winter festival meeting is?”

  “Carnival.” Quinn practically barked the word.

  “What’s that?” Grady was looking at her now. And it was unnerving.

  “It’s a carnival, not a festival.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  Quinn huffed, unsure why she felt so hostile toward him. “We were right in the middle of something here.” What? Why had she said that? They were in the middle of exactly nothing. If anything, Grady had just saved her from sure humiliation, and this was how she repaid him?

  “I can take you back,” Danny said.

  “Danny.” Quinn tried her best not to sound exasperated, but she was pretty sure she failed.

  “Quinn, it’s Grady Benson.”

  She glanced at Grady, whose smug smile was enough to make her want to scream, but she stepped aside as the two of them strolled off to the conference area.

  Well, this was going to be fun.

  Grady followed the short guy through a hallway and into an open space at the Harbor Pointe convention and visitors’ bureau. It was a small town, but it was a tourist town, and they had a decent base of operations for whatever festival—carnival—they had to plan.

  They’d practically finished at Hazel’s. One lousy day was all it took to put things right, and he was still sentenced to five weeks in this hole, so his next assignment was to help with this town event.

  More than once, he’d almost gotten in his car and taken off, straight down the highway toward Colorado, where he could finally prove himself and get his life back.

  But whatever small dose of common sense he had left stopped him. He didn’t need more time added to his sentence. As it was, he’d only get one shot to qualify. If he wiped out, if he overshot a curve, if he miscalculated, if he just wasn’t fast enough—he wasn’t going back to the Olympics, he’d lose his endorsements, and Benji would never see him win the gold.

  That couldn’t happen.

  When they walked into the open space, Grady saw a handful of people situated in armchairs or standing around the room. They were broken off in groups, talking, laughing, doing what he supposed small-town people did on a Tuesday night.

  But as was happening a lot lately, everyone stopped and stared as soon as they realized he was there. He didn’t know if people were genuinely interested in him, like the short guy, or if they were annoyed with him for starting a fight and damaging their favorite diner, like Quinn. But either way, he didn’t mind the attention. He was used to it, and truth be told, he’d kind of missed it.

  He’d grown up in some sort of spotlight, and it had grown right along with him. What would he do when no one was shining a light on him anymore?

  Ryan Brooks, the only person in the room he recognized besides Quinn and the old guy he’d sat across from at dinner the night before, lifted a hand in greeting. The guy was decent—he’d been patient and helpful in the work they’d done on the diner—but that didn’t change Grady’s mind about being there. Still, when Ryan told him about this Winter Carnival meeting, it didn’t sound like he was mentioning it as a courtesy. Grady understood—he had to be there. It was part of the deal.

  “Hey, Grady, you made it,” Ryan said.

  “I did. Not sure what I’m doing here, but here I am.” He’d never been to a town meeting in his life.

  Quinn sat down in o
ne of the armchairs with Denny—no, Danny—tagging along beside her. When he saw there wasn’t a seat next to her, he turned in a full circle, a dazed expression on his face, and pulled a folding chair up next to her.

  “We’ll go ahead and call this meeting to order.” A bright woman with neatly styled white hair stood at a small podium near the front of the room. The chairs had been positioned to face her, and now, somewhat in the middle of the commotion, Grady felt even more conspicuous than usual.

  “Mrs. Trembley, before we start, I just want to introduce everyone to Grady Benson,” Ryan said. “He’s going to be with us for a few weeks.”

  “Oh, right. The community-service skier.” The white-haired woman straightened the scarf around her neck as she peered at him through thin glasses.

  “He’s an Olympian, Martha,” the man from last night’s dinner said. “A genuine Olympic athlete.”

  Heads turned in his direction—all but one. Quinn Collins was noticeably unwilling to glance his way. Not that he noticed.

  “It’s good to be here,” Grady said, which was, of course, a lie. He’d rather be almost anywhere else, actually. He even thought for a split second he’d rather be back home than stuck here in Harbor Pointe, but he quickly realized that wasn’t true either.

  So with that one exception, he’d rather be anywhere else.

  “I take it you’re here to work?” Mrs. Trembley glared at him.

  “Yes, ma’am. I think you’ll find I’m a big help to your festival here.” He’d said it on purpose this time—and as he suspected, Miss Collins shot him a look. He raised an eyebrow in her direction and she rolled her eyes, then quickly looked away. Okay, this could be a little bit fun.

  “The Winter Carnival is our largest off-season event. It’s nothing to take lightly.” Trembley again. He didn’t know how, but he’d find a way to win that one over.

  “I wouldn’t dream of that, ma’am.”

  “Good. Well, listen up.” She wagged a bony finger at him. “We have a lot of business to attend to.”

  “She’s harmless,” Ryan said. “Just particular. Like pretty much everyone in this room.”

  Everyone? He glanced at Quinn but swallowed his questions about her. He didn’t need to start inquiring about anyone who lived in this awful town, but especially not Quinn Collins.

  The meeting droned on. Grady checked out after about ten minutes, choosing instead to browse his social media accounts. Sometimes—out of sheer curiosity—he’d scan Twitter just to see what people were saying. Usually it gave him a nice little boost to see fans talking about his latest run, but not tonight. Tonight it was nothing but negative.

  Benson, hang up your skis before you embarrass yourself. #YoureDone

  Anyone else feel sorry for Harbor Pointe, MI? Saddled with Grady Benson and all that baggage.

  Grady Benson. What a waste. #KissItGoodbye

  Then he stumbled on a whole conversation about whether or not he’d make it back on the Olympic team. Most thought not. It wasn’t just a general consensus; it was a landslide majority. They didn’t think he had the stuff—not anymore.

  And Grady didn’t like the pit in his stomach that resulted. He should’ve stayed off his phone.

  “We’ll split up into our teams now,” Trembley was saying when Grady tuned back in.

  He glanced at Ryan. “Teams?”

  “Committees. Each team is assigned a builder. We’re basically glorified servants.” Ryan laughed. Grady didn’t. “I’m with the ice sculpture team, so I’ll be hauling whatever they need me to.”

  Trembley walked over, her chunky heels clacking on the tile floor as she did. “Mr. Benson, you can join any one of these teams, and you’ll just be at their beck and call. Whoever the team leader is will sign off on your hours and turn them back in to me, and I’ll turn them in to the judge.”

  “Boy, you guys have got this all worked out, don’t you?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing. So, what, I just pick a team?”

  Trembley pressed her thin lips together into one straight line and nodded. “Except the ice sculpture team. They’ve got Mr. Brooks, and he’s our best worker.”

  Ryan waggled his eyebrows. Whatever the key was to getting on this lady’s good side, Ryan Brooks had figured it out.

  He scanned the room of small huddles of people. Over to the side he saw Quinn, sitting in her armchair, legs pulled up underneath her. On her lap was a clipboard, and she was addressing her team of four, which included the guy who’d walked him in. She was obviously the one in charge.

  “You said I’d report to the team leader?”

  The old woman eyed him. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  “What team is that?” He pointed at Quinn’s group.

  “Floral displays and decorations. They are responsible for making things look pretty. Not sure that’s a good fit for you.” She quirked one brow, her expression dubious.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Grady said. “I think it might be perfect.” After all, Quinn was the first woman in a long time who’d given him the cold shoulder. He was intrigued.

  “If you say so,” Trembley said. “Follow me.”

  He did as he was told, and seconds later they were standing next to Quinn’s huddle. She glanced up, and her whole expression changed.

  “He’s all yours.”

  Quinn stood. “No, he’s not.”

  Trembley’s eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

  Quinn smoothed her free hand over her plaid button-down and clung to her clipboard with the other hand. “Mrs. Trembley, our group is solid. We’ve got a plan laid out, and I think the display is going to be the best one we’ve ever done.”

  “Wonderful,” the old lady said. “Just make sure Mr. Benson helps. He’s got to earn his community service hours. You’ll have to sign off on them and give them to me. Maybe it’s good to put criminals to work—free labor and all that.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” Grady said, but she was already gone. He faced Quinn. “I guess I’m all yours.”

  “Yeah. Lucky me.”

  But he could tell Quinn Collins felt anything but lucky.

  CHAPTER

  9

  “WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” Carly stood at her sink filling her coffee carafe with water. “Are you scared of a good-looking man?”

  Quinn should’ve known better than to tell her sister about the meeting last night. Carly would never understand how annoying this guy was. She wouldn’t see past the blue eyes.

  But seriously? Every time she thought about the meeting, she wanted to scream. The way Grady Benson had hijacked her group. The way Ashley Perkins had mooned over the big pro athlete. The way he’d flirted right back—not only with Ashley but with every woman there. Even Mrs. Trembley! It was like flirting was the only way he knew how to communicate.

  Quinn absolutely refused to flirt back. She would not give him the satisfaction, especially when she had so much to do. But with him sitting there, it was like everyone had forgotten the real reason they were meeting at all.

  Even steady, even-keeled Calvin Doyle, who helped Mrs. Trembley with the organization of the event, seemed smitten by the star in their midst. He kept checking on their team to make sure they had everything they needed, and twice he offered to run and get Grady something to drink. The world had gone mad!

  In the end, they’d left without deadlines or work divvied up, and Quinn was blaming that on Grady Benson.

  Carly opened the lid of her coffee pot and poured the water in. “Seriously, you are getting really worked up over a Harbor Pointe Winter Carnival meeting.”

  “You don’t understand.” She watched as her sister scooped the coffee out. “You’re making enough for me, right?”

  “Yes.” Carly put another scoop in. “And what don’t I understand? This is Harbor Pointe, Quinn. It’s not the St. Patrick’s Day parade in downtown Chicago.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “What?”

  “You’re belittli
ng my work. This is important to me.”

  Carly turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, sweatshirt hanging loose over her hospital scrubs. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Listen, maybe you just need to find a way to use this guy. Make him do all your grunt work. Sounds like you’re kind of his boss now.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “He is not going to take orders from me, I can tell you that.”

  “Who’s not?” Jaden walked into the kitchen wearing what looked like the same exact outfit he’d worn yesterday.

  “Never mind,” Quinn said.

  “That skier,” Carly said at the same time.

  “Grady Benson?” Jaden pulled a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator. “What about him?”

  “Aunt Quinn doesn’t like him.”

  “Is this about me?” Jaden eyed her.

  “What about you?” Carly asked.

  “No, it’s not about you,” Quinn said. “Though I still think you need to find someone else to look up to.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him ski.” He grabbed a gigantic bowl from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge, then sat down at the table. “Plus, he doesn’t take crap from anyone. Just does his own thing. It’s cool.”

  “Yeah, real cool,” Quinn huffed.

  Jaden’s shrug told her he didn’t care what she thought. Not about Grady, anyway. What had happened to that sweet, big-eyed boy who used to coo at her and call her “Win”? Why had he gone and grown up? He hadn’t even asked their permission.

  “That’s the biggest cereal bowl I’ve ever seen.” Quinn watched as Jaden poured the Cinnamon Life into what looked like a small mixing bowl.

  “I’m a growing boy.” Her nephew grinned, and for a split second she saw the funny little kid he’d once been.

  “Yeah, and I’m going to have to take a second job just to keep your stomach full.” Carly poured two cups of coffee, added cream and sugar, then handed one to Quinn. “Why do you think Jaden needs a new role model?”

  “Have you been living under a rock?”

  “I’ve been working. I don’t have time to keep up on town gossip.”