But as she lay in her bed on the other side of the partition, she couldn’t help but touch her lips, the memory of his kiss still playing at the corners of her mind.
CHAPTER
11
THE POUNDING IN GRADY’S HEAD pulled him from sleep. He forced his eyes open, though his eyelids still felt heavy, like he’d slept in fits and starts. He stared up at unfamiliar wooden beams on a high ceiling. Slowly, he turned, trying to piece together the events of the previous night.
He’d been upset about losing Bowman—really upset. He’d gone into town and found what seemed to be the only place in all of Harbor Pointe to get a drink. Never mind that there were three churches just on his drive in from the cottage. Three. Wasn’t that a little excessive? How many churches did one tiny town need?
He didn’t like that he noticed them at all. He’d stopped paying attention to church a long time ago. Just another way he’d disappointed his parents.
He’d had too much to drink. His throbbing head told him that. The guy next to him said something about skiing, about his career being over—because for some reason that was the only thing people were talking about when it came to Grady Benson.
Grady didn’t want to hear it. Not last night. Especially not after losing Bowman. He’d gotten in the guy’s face—rammed him into the bar, threatened him. And he would’ve made good on the threat too if someone hadn’t pulled him off.
He’d ended up walking around downtown. He couldn’t drive, not in his condition, so what was he going to do? Fall asleep on a park bench like someone who’d really hit rock bottom?
And then he’d seen it. The light in the flower shop. And he’d seen her. Sitting on the floor, completely oblivious to the outside world. She was like a beacon of light—something about her was special.
He knew it in the way she didn’t fall all over herself to get his attention. In the way she’d never be caught dead in that bar. In the way she’d told him that story about the old man buying flowers for his dead wife.
A clang in the kitchen roused him from his thoughts. He sat up and looked in the direction of the noise.
This morning Quinn wasn’t so much a beacon of light. More like a warning flare—a loud one. She glanced up from her spot behind the counter.
“Sorry,” she said, her eyes wide. “I’m clumsy in the morning.”
He ran his hand through his hair, then over his face, which was in need of a shave, and watched her for a minute. He was in Quinn’s apartment—a loft that was smaller than most hotel rooms he stayed in. He couldn’t place the details of getting here.
She wasn’t looking at him anymore. “I’ll be out of here as soon as I get my coffee.” Her head was down and she was fishing around in a drawer that sounded like it was loaded with metal kitchen utensils.
He pulled himself up off the couch and stood still for a moment, righting himself as his head spun. How much had he had to drink? He had to stop doing that—it only ever led to mistakes.
How many mistakes had he made last night?
After a few seconds, he walked into the kitchen, still wearing jeans and one of his old gray T-shirts, but no shoes or socks. “I slept here.”
She stopped what she was doing—organizing silverware?—and looked at him, eyes wide again. “Yes. You came to the flower shop. You don’t remember?”
He looked away, still trying to piece together the details. He glanced back and found her staring at him, and in a flash he remembered. He’d told her about Bowman. She’d listened—no one ever listened to stuff like that—but then he’d closed up. Because Grady Benson didn’t talk about his pain. Not about Bowman. Not about Benji. Not about his past.
But she would’ve kept listening if he had. And he supposed that meant something.
“Do you remember . . . anything about last night?” She screwed the lid onto her travel mug, still avoiding his eyes.
“Was I rude?”
“I think you were rude at the bar,” she said. “Walker said someone called the cops and told them you were disturbing the peace.”
“Great, that’s just what I need.” He sat on a tall barstool on the opposite side of the counter.
She poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter, still not looking at him.
“Thanks.” He took a sip. “You’re being nicer than usual.”
Now the trademark furrow in her brow had returned. “I’m always nice.”
“Not to me.” He grinned. Pushing her buttons was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes.
“I have to go. I have work to do.” She picked up a small notebook held together by a flimsy piece of attached elastic, her travel mug, and her phone.
“Am I working with you today? Festival stuff?” He took another drink. She might be cranky, but Quinn made good coffee.
“It’s a carnival, for the twelfth time, and I hope not.”
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and opened his e-mail. “Think I am, chief. You’re going to have to put me to work.”
She groaned. “What am I going to do with you tagging along all day?”
He shrugged. “We could start with breakfast.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She frowned. “I’m meeting my friends for breakfast.”
“Let me come along. I promise I’ll be polite.”
She eyed him. “No. I have to go. I’m going to be late.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll see you at nine, boss.”
She came out from behind the counter and started for the door, but stopped abruptly and turned around. “You really don’t remember anything else about last night?”
Grady shook his head. “Do you want to tell me something I’m forgetting?”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head—quickly, like a guilty child. “I gotta go.”
“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” he called out as she reached the door.
“Whatever!” She didn’t turn around, and seconds later, she was gone, leaving him wondering exactly what it was he’d forgotten about last night.
Quinn raced down the stairs and out onto the street. He didn’t remember that he’d kissed her. That was a good thing. That was a great thing. Now she could just pretend it had never happened, because in his mind, it never had.
So why did she feel that slight twinge of disappointment?
Really, he was doing her a favor not remembering. It would be so awkward to navigate that one.
Still, how was she supposed to spend the day working alongside this man? Because as much as she wished she didn’t, she did remember that kiss.
She clomped her way over to Hazel’s and found Hailey and Lucy already sitting in their usual booth. Lucy’s eyes lit up when she spotted Quinn. Or maybe that was just how Lucy’s eyes always looked—bright and expectant, as if something good were bound to happen at any moment.
How did she always stay so positive? Was it an act?
Lucy tossed her long auburn hair away from her shoulder and scooted over.
“Sit by me today.”
Sometimes it was like they were still in junior high school. Quinn slid in next to her.
Hailey pulled her phone out and looked at the screen. “Sorry, Jack wasn’t feeling great this morning, so I’m trying to pay extra attention in case the school calls.”
The image of Hailey’s little boy popped in Quinn’s mind. “How is Jack?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Lucy said.
“There’s a subject?”
“You’re late.” Hailey propped her chin up with her fist and stared at her.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Hailey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re never late.”
“I am sometimes.”
“Never.”
Quinn looked away. Hailey knew something about her was different this morning. Hailey always knew.
“We could set our watches by you, Quinn,” Lucy said. “What’s going on?”
Quinn opened h
er menu, but Hailey snatched it away from her. “Spill it.”
“Nothing. I was up late working on my designs for the carnival; that’s all. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“You haven’t finished your designs yet?” Hailey’s face fell. “It’s only a few weeks away.”
“I know.” Don’t remind me.
“Don’t you have to, like, order flowers and stuff?” Lucy took a drink of her mocha.
“Yes,” Quinn said. “As soon as I figure out what to order.”
“Maybe this is just too much all at once,” Hailey said. “Buying the shop, renovating it, building the display for the carnival. You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself.”
Quinn didn’t respond. She didn’t want to hear that she’d taken on too much. As overwhelmed as she was, there was nothing she could take off her plate.
A waitress named Shannon brought Quinn her usual latte. She thanked her and took a quick drink even though she still had a whole travel mug of coffee—which she’d made solely for the purpose of busying herself while Grady Benson awoke on her couch this morning. She didn’t feel right about leaving him asleep in her apartment, but figuring out how to wake him hadn’t been easy. Did she throw things at him? Shake him? Set an alarm?
In the end she’d opted for the make-a-lot-of-noise option. It had worked.
“I’m serious,” Hailey said. “You can enter your design next year. Why are you in such a hurry?”
Quinn leveled her gaze. “You know why.”
Hailey sighed. “Maybe this isn’t the best way to get her attention.”
“You’re saying this to me now? This is all I’ve ever talked about doing since I saw her at the Expo three years ago.” Quinn tried not to think about that moment, but somehow it always came back to haunt her.
She and Mimi had been walking the floor. They didn’t have a display in the finals—no surprise there. Mimi had been submitting the same old tired displays for at least ten years, and she wasn’t open to any new or creative ideas.
The image of her Alice in Wonderland display raced through her mind. It had turned out even better than she’d imagined. If only Mimi would’ve agreed. If only she’d entered it, this whole thing would be behind her now.
They’d been at the Expo all day, and the crowd was beginning to thin out when they rounded a corner at the end of one aisle where a company showcasing new, environment-friendly flowerpots was situated. That’s when Quinn saw her. An older version of her mother—same slight build, her hair cut shorter than it had been when she’d left all those years before.
Mimi had gasped then, just a quick, shallow intake of air, and Quinn had frozen to the spot.
“Mom.” Quinn had whispered the word, and even as she did, it felt wrong. How many years had it been since she’d heard a word from the woman who had practically hung the moon for her as a girl? She’d been waiting for so long to see her again, and now, here she was.
She’d played the moment over and over in her mind for years. She practically had a script of what she would say if ever given the chance. But here, on the Expo floor, she realized there were no words. She ran off before her mother ever saw her.
It was one of her greatest regrets.
Mimi told her later that her mother hadn’t given up everything about her old life. Only her family. Her career in the floral industry was still going strong. In fact, she wasn’t just an exhibitor at the Expo—she was a board member and a judge of the design competition, which was, perhaps, the true reason why the old woman had never allowed Quinn’s designs on their entry form. She was worried about more than Quinn’s career—she was worried about her heart.
Jacie Collins was at the top of their industry, and while that was about all the information Quinn had amassed on the woman, it was enough for an idea to hatch.
She’d create a design that deserved her mother’s attention, a design that would remind her mother that what she’d given up—who she’d given up—was worthy of a blue ribbon.
To prove that her mother had made a mistake.
It had been three years of praying for some shift in Mimi’s stubbornness, and now, finally, here she was. Armed with a warning from the old woman not to let her work consume her and the memory of an absent mother who’d given Quinn her first heartbreak.
Her design had to win. Surely Lucy and Hailey understood that. They were two of the only people in the world who knew her plan. She’d even kept it hidden from Dad and Carly. She couldn’t break her father’s heart all over again—he’d be devastated if he thought for a second that Quinn sensed something in her life was missing, especially after he’d spent every waking hour trying to take care of her and Carly, to make sure they had all they needed.
And they did, of course, except for one thing.
Their mother.
Shannon brought their food and set it on the table in front of each of them.
“You know we’re going to support you no matter what,” Lucy said, pouring syrup on her pile of pancakes.
Quinn thought it was wholly unfair that her friend could eat that way. She turned her attention to her two scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and side of fruit. Some people weren’t so lucky. “I know. I’m just stressed, is all. There’s so much riding on this—I have to get it right.”
Quinn stabbed at the eggs with her fork but stopped mid-bite when she spotted Grady just outside the door.
“Oh no.”
Lucy followed Quinn’s gaze as the bell above the front door signaled Grady’s arrival. It might as well have been a siren the way he pulled the attention of everyone in the restaurant.
“Oh, I heard he was out causing trouble again last night,” Hailey said. “Someone said he almost got in another fight at the Lucky Lady.”
“Who cares? As far as I’m concerned, a man who looks like that can do whatever he wants.” Lucy took a bite of pancakes.
“I know you don’t mean that,” Hailey said. “That’s just not a smart thing to say.”
Lucy waved her off. “Oh, you know what I mean.” She set her fork down. “Is he coming over here?”
Quinn, who at this point was staring at her food as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, could feel her friends staring at her.
“He’s looking at you,” Lucy practically hissed the words. “Oh my heck . . .”
Grady was now standing beside their table—Quinn could see his shoes. Shoes she recognized because they’d been on the floor of her living room that very morning.
“Morning, Mr. Benson. I’m Lucy Fitzgerald.” Lucy stuck a hand out across the table, in front of Quinn, and waited for Grady to shake it. He did, and Quinn scooted back in her seat, daring a glance at Hailey, whose wide, curious eyes were asking Quinn all kinds of questions. Namely, What is he doing at our table and why does he seem to know you?
Grady dropped Lucy’s hand.
“Do you already know Hailey and Quinn?”
“We’ve met,” Hailey said. “I obviously work here.” She glanced down at her Hazel’s uniform—a brightly colored turquoise T-shirt with yellow lettering.
“And Quinn?” Lucy was digging now, Quinn could tell.
“We’ve met,” Grady repeated. Quinn didn’t have to look at him to know he was wearing that trademark Grady Benson go-ahead-and-fall-in-love-with-me smile. She’d spent the better part of her morning shoving the memory of that exact expression out of her mind.
Because no matter what, she was absolutely not going to succumb to his charm. She could only imagine the number of women who’d fallen for it over the years. He clearly knew what he was doing when it came to making women swoon. Even her friends seemed smitten by him, for Pete’s sake.
“Hey, I just wanted to come by and say thanks,” Grady said, attention now firmly on Quinn.
“Thanks for what?” That was Lucy. Always inquisitive, that one. Today inquisitive felt a lot like nosy.
“Don’t mention it,” Quinn said.
No, really, pleas
e don’t mention it.
“What are you thanking Quinn for?” Lucy asked, her tone a little more serious this time.
“For last night. She was a saint. Guess she’s good at keeping secrets too.” He tapped on the table twice. “I’ll see you in a little bit.” He started off but turned back only a few steps away from the table. “Oh, and you’re out of shampoo. I’ll pick more up for you since I used the last of it.”
She shot him what she hoped was a very dirty look, but was met only with his lopsided smile before he walked out, the bell clanging as the door closed behind him.
“What was that?” Hailey asked.
Both she and Lucy started talking at the same time, demanding explanations and “the scoop” and “the whole story.” Comments like “super hot guy” and “why was he using your shampoo?” were being thrown around at mach speed until finally Quinn held up a hand to silence them both.
She told them everything—the way he’d shown up outside her flower shop, drunk; the way she’d planned to take him back to Cedar Grove, but had to improvise thanks to his level of intoxication.
“He slept on my couch. That’s it.”
Both Lucy and Hailey eyed her suspiciously.
“What?” Quinn didn’t like when the attention was on her.
“That’s it?” Hailey asked.
“You had that man on your couch and that’s it?” Lucy looked incredulous.
“He’s hardly my type, you guys,” Quinn said, pulling a chunk of cantaloupe off of her fork with her teeth.
“Who cares?” Lucy sighed. “He’s such a beautiful man.”
“I care. I’m not interested in dating anyone right now—didn’t you just tell me I’m taking on a little too much at once? A relationship would be nothing more than a distraction. Besides, that man is not relationship material. He doesn’t even remember half of last night.”
As soon as she said the words, she regretted it.
“What doesn’t he remember?” Hailey asked.
Betsy strolled over at that exact moment—lifesaver!—and glanced at Hailey. “You clocking in, girl? I need you.”
“Oh, yes,” Hailey said, dropping her napkin on top of her empty plate. “Be right there.”
Just Let Go Page 12
