Just Let Go

by Courtney Walsh

  “You said you had the designs?” Mona prompted Quinn, who definitely did not want to show her designs to the rest of them when Grady was there.

  But as she glanced around the small circle, she knew she had no choice. They were already behind, and that was her fault. She couldn’t put them off any longer. The five of them huddled around the counter, where Quinn spread out the designs she’d been working on that morning before Grady’s accident with the ladder. She’d added color and stapled images of the flowers she was planning to use along the sides of the pages.

  “Wow,” Mona said. “These are beautiful.”

  “It reminds me of a fairy tale,” Ashley said.

  Grady waited until he had her eyes, then smiled. “Looks kind of wild. Sort of . . . untamed.”

  She ignored him. At least she pretended to ignore him, but she knew he absolutely did not have to search for that word. Oh, it irritated her that she’d been found out. “I’ve ordered all the flowers, but we will need to build a few structures.” She filled them in on her plan to find large, ornate mirrors, chandeliers, and white lights, and turn the pavilion into a beautiful secret garden.

  “I think you’ve really outdone yourself this time, Quinn,” Mona said after volunteering to pick up white lights—they’d need tons—and shop for antiques.

  “I hope you’re right,” Quinn said. “There’s a lot riding on this one.”

  Of course none of the others knew just how much.

  They figured out their timetable and divvied up their tasks, and while Grady was very quiet for the entire meeting, Quinn was keenly aware of his presence, more so than she would’ve liked.

  “Okay, if that’s it, I’ve got to run,” Mona said. “Duty calls.” She scurried out the door, leaving the rest of them standing there awkwardly.

  “We should all go out,” Ashley said in her much-too-chipper voice.

  Did Quinn need to remind them again that it was Thursday?

  “I’m up for it,” Grady said, then turned to Danny. “How about you, Donny?”

  Danny flinched. “It’s Danny.”

  “Oh, sorry. Danny.”

  “Sure, I’ll go.”

  Both men looked at Quinn.

  She frowned. She was still wearing paint clothes, hands and fingernails covered with dried creamy white. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and while she couldn’t be sure, she had a strong suspicion she didn’t smell very good.

  “I can’t, guys, but thanks,” she said. “You all go ahead.”

  “You’ve been working all day,” Grady said. “You deserve a break.”

  She did, didn’t she? But that didn’t mean she could take one. She had so much left to do, and thanks to him, she was even farther behind. Should she remind him of that?

  Ashley leaned in toward Grady. “Quinn’s always been kind of a downer. We can head over to the Lucky Lady? Grab a drink or two?”

  Danny’s cheeks reddened as he began to put together the kind of evening Ashley had in mind. “I’m just going to head home,” he said.

  Quinn lifted her hand in a lame wave as Danny scooted out the door. Grady stood still, like a brick wall in the middle of her shop. He exuded strength, and even though he wasn’t a wide man, he was sturdy. And so far, he hadn’t moved.

  She picked up her paint roller and dared a glance in their direction. Ashley’s shirt was low cut and revealing, her body near perfect. She had gorgeous hair that fell into loose waves past her shoulders.

  By comparison, Quinn was wearing ripped jeans that had paint splatters on them along with a too-big gray sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder because she’d cut the collar off. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she likely had paint on her face.

  She had no delusions about who she was, and she’d never been one to try to impress people. Really, there was only one person whose attention she’d been striving for, and that person was nowhere near Harbor Pointe.

  Why then did she suddenly feel like a slug?

  “Grady, let’s go.” Ashley tugged on his arm.

  “Do you want me to stay and help you?” he asked, probably out of guilt.

  “And keep you from your fun Thursday night? I wouldn’t dream of it.” She didn’t look at him when she responded, but she could feel him watching her. He lingered for several more seconds until finally he followed Ashley out the door. Quinn turned around just before they disappeared from her view through the front windows, and for the briefest moment she met his eyes.

  It was none of her business how he spent his evening, but somehow she wished he was smart enough not to spend it at the bar with Ashley Perkins.

  What did she expect? This was the life he was used to.

  And it was certainly not a life that she belonged in.

  Grady sat at the table across from Ashley, nursing the same beer he’d been drinking since they first sat down. Somehow it had lost its appeal. Ashley, on the other hand, had plowed her way through three fruity cocktails and had just ordered her fourth.

  “Don’t you want another drink?” she asked, her words starting to slur.

  His mind flashed back to yesterday when he’d wound up at Quinn’s, too drunk to drive home. He did not need a repeat of that. In hindsight, the whole scenario made him feel like an idiot, especially since he had a vague memory of kissing her. She’d been too polite to mention it, but he was pretty sure it had happened. And he knew that was no way to impress someone like her.

  Ashley reminded him of most of the girls he dated. They liked to go out, drink too much, throw themselves at him. At first, of course, that had been one of the biggest perks of his fame, but now—tonight—for some reason it didn’t appeal to him.

  Maybe he was getting old.

  “Grady?”

  He realized he hadn’t responded to her question. “Oh, no. I’m fine, thanks.”

  Ashley laughed. “Maybe you should’ve stayed back at the flower shop with boring Quinn.”

  “So, what’s her story, anyway?”

  Ashley shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “Doesn’t everyone in this town know everything about everyone else?” He kept his tone light—so she didn’t think he was prying.

  “I only keep up with the interesting people,” Ashley said. “And Quinn Collins is not interesting.”

  Grady disagreed, but he wouldn’t say so. Not out loud. She certainly wasn’t the kind of girl he was supposed to find interesting. She was infuriating and rude. But maybe those were things that made her more—not less—intriguing.

  “She’s always been more of a church girl than a bar girl,” Ashley said.

  “A church girl?”

  “Never misses a Sunday. She’s practically a fixture at The Pointe—that’s the name of that church up on the hill. Guess that gives her the right to look down her nose at the rest of us. You know the type.”

  He did, actually. But he didn’t know Quinn. “Enlighten me.”

  “Thinks she’s better than everyone else. Can’t loosen up. Plus, she’s never even left Harbor Pointe.”

  “Never?”

  Ashley shrugged. “I mean, she commuted for college, about forty-five minutes away, but she lived at home.” She laughed. “How lame is that?”

  “And that flower shop—she just bought it?”

  Ashley took a sip of her drink through a straw that was meant to stir the concoction. “Her mother used to own it. Before she left her family for some other guy or something.”

  Grady frowned. “Her mother left?” Wasn’t that older lady at dinner—Beverly?—Quinn’s mother?

  She shrugged again. “Guess she thought her kids were lame too.” Her laugh was too loud. “Can we dance now?”

  Grady nodded toward the small dance floor, which was empty. “You go ahead.”

  Ashley made a pouty face. “It won’t be any fun without you.”

  “I think you’ll be okay.” He was starting to get annoyed.

  She reached across the table and took his hand. “Last chance. I’m a r
eally good dancer.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he said. “But I’m not. So I’m going to stay here and finish my drink.”

  “Fine.” She giggled. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  He did, actually. The scenario was so familiar he could easily outline what came next. She’d drink a little bit more. They’d leave. He’d drive her home. She’d insist he come upstairs with her. He’d weigh that option against going home alone, and the next thing he knew, he’d be waking up next to a woman he hardly knew with scattered memories that would make his mother cry.

  It wasn’t like he didn’t know better. He’d been brought up more of a church boy himself, but he’d abandoned that way of thinking long ago. Everyone thought he was careless in the way he lived his life, but nobody ever bothered to ask him if his choices impacted him. Sadly, the answer was yes.

  Why, then, did he seem helpless to escape the cycle?

  He watched Ashley for a few seconds as she slinked her way over to the dance floor. Her movements were meant to arouse him, but somehow they left him cold, his thoughts straying out the door and down the block to a girl who’d gotten stuck in his head. It was stupid, really. Quinn Collins was all wrong for him, and she wouldn’t give him the time of day. He glanced at Ashley, who had laser-focused her gaze on him. That was a girl he understood. One who wanted very little from him. No strings. No attachments. No responsibilities.

  But that night, as he loaded Ashley into his car, his gaze drifted across the street and a few doors down to the sunshiny-yellow building with white trim. The light was on in the flower shop. Quinn must still be working, probably cleaning up the mess he’d made. He should’ve done a better job. The years when he was supposed to be learning responsibility were spent on the slopes training, and he’d been too proud to ask for her help.

  It didn’t seem right to leave her there alone when he was the one who’d doubled her workload. And yet he was pretty sure he wasn’t welcome. Maybe he could drive Ashley home and come back. At least offer to stay and paint over his mistakes.

  The passenger-side window rolled down and Ashley hung her head out. She reached over and grabbed his hand. “Come on, Grady, take me home.”

  He looked up at the flower shop just in time to see the light go off.

  And he wondered if anything in his life would ever change.

  CHAPTER

  15

  FRIDAY MORNING, QUINN WOKE UP SLOWLY. It was one of those days when the warmth of her bed was far more enticing than anything on the other side of her covers. Her body ached from the late-night painting she’d done. She snoozed the alarm twice—unheard of!—but finally dragged herself up. Her courtesy text to tell Hailey and Lucy that she was running late was met with snarky replies: Did you have an Olympic athlete on your couch again last night? and This is getting serious ;)

  Quinn wasn’t sure she wanted to meet them at Hazel’s today. They’d ask questions about working with Grady and she’d have to tell them how awful it was—how he wasted the whole morning making a mess and painting her space the wrong color. They’d pry and prod until they finally got out of her that he came back for the team meeting after she kicked him out—and then he left with Ashley.

  They might even find a way to get her to admit to staying up far past her Thursday-night bedtime watching the door of the Lucky Lady for any sign of Grady and Ashley—which, it turned out, was a faulty plan, given the way it made her feel when they finally did emerge from the bar.

  It wasn’t that she was pining over Grady—not really—but that she was a little bit jealous she would never be the kind of girl Ashley was. Fun-loving and carefree, the kind who dropped everything to spend an evening out.

  That just wasn’t Quinn. Hailey and Lucy would tell her who she was was just fine, thank you very much, and they may even remind her that being alone was better than being with the wrong guy, which she really did believe. But as she gave her loft apartment a once-over before closing the door behind her, she realized that none of those platitudes would take away the loneliness she often felt at night.

  Of course, her friends might misunderstand that loneliness as a crush on a certain downhill skier, which was absolutely not the case. Even if he was different than she’d originally thought. Even if he’d asked her questions about herself—and then listened to the answers. Even if he’d told her about that ski sponsor who dropped him and given her—for the briefest moment—a peek behind that tough-guy facade.

  But it was none of that, not even paired with bright-blue eyes, that had her attention. It was seeing him and the way he lived—as if risks were something to be faced and not avoided—that stirred something in her, whether she liked it or not.

  As Quinn descended the stairs, she heard movement in the flower shop. She’d been exhausted when she finally went to bed last night, but she was sure she’d locked the door. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and listened. Maybe she’d imagined it. Seconds later, the sound of footsteps left her frozen where she stood.

  She peeked around the corner carefully to avoid being seen by whoever the intruder was, but she saw nothing. Had she imagined it?

  Slowly she inched out a little farther, and when she did, she fell forward off the bottom step with a thud. She righted herself and took a step into the shop, aware that her attempt to stay hidden had failed. Light streamed through the two large front windows and glass door, filling the space with the promise of a new morning. But she couldn’t focus on the beauty of sunlight when she was certain she’d heard someone.

  Quietly, she took a step over the threshold of the back room and farther into her shop.

  “Morning.”

  She gasped, clutched her chest, and turned to face Grady.

  She wouldn’t delude herself by thinking it was kindness that brought him here. He probably hadn’t even gone to sleep last night. Besides, he was still angling for her good word with Judge and her dad.

  “What are you doing in here?” She willed her pulse to calm down.

  He stared at her for several uncomfortable seconds, then finally cleared his throat. “I came to help you. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

  “But how did you get in?”

  He knelt down over the can of paint she’d been using last night. She’d almost finished painting the first coat on the walls, but in the morning light, it was obvious that wouldn’t be enough. He pulled the lid off and began stirring with the stick.

  “Whoa, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  “I’ll be careful—I promise,” he said. “Tarps and everything. I watched a YouTube video on painting walls last night.”

  She pretended not to be surprised by that. “You didn’t answer my question.” She stared down at him—probably the only time she’d get to see him from this angle, given that he had several inches on her.

  “Your dad let me in.” He stirred the paint. “Said he thought you’d appreciate the help.”

  “Did you tell him I spent half the day cleaning up after your ‘help’ yesterday?”

  He glanced up at her, then stood. “Left that part out.”

  “Convenient.” She walked to the other side of the counter and glanced down at the photos she’d stacked there. When the frames had broken, she’d pulled the pictures out and made a list of sizes so she could buy new homes for all of them, even though part of her thought maybe it was time to put them all back in a drawer somewhere.

  “Looked like you were working pretty late last night,” he said.

  Her eyes met his. “How would you know that?”

  He shrugged. “Saw the light on.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Because you and Ashley had your impromptu date.” It had come off snarkier (jealous, even?) than she’d wanted it to. She turned away so he wouldn’t see the red in her cheeks.

  “What’s that tone for?”

  She could practically hear the amusement in his voice. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking for one s
econd that she cared who he spent his evenings with. Because she didn’t. Obviously.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I’m late to meet my friends.”

  “I’m taking Jaden skiing tomorrow,” he said, clearly ignoring her attempt to leave.

  “Yeah, I heard,” she said. Carly had texted her to thank her for giving him the day off. Her reply had been simple: You owe me.

  “Come with us.”

  She faced him. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, Ryan is refinishing the floors tomorrow, so you won’t be able to work much in here.”

  “There’s still plenty to do. I have to finish my application for the design competition and—”

  He cut her off before she finished her laundry list, which seemed to play on repeat in her own mind. “And I heard a rumor you don’t have much fun.”

  “What? Who would say that?”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh, Ashley? Ashley Perkins doesn’t think I have fun, so you feel like you have to intervene?” She shook her head and switched her purse from one shoulder to the other. “She and I don’t exactly have the same idea of what fun is. Maybe work is fun for me. Maybe I like what I do so much that I can’t get enough of it.”

  “Well, that’s not true.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because skiing is fun, but some days it still feels like work. You have to have a break from that once in a while. Besides, from what I can tell, Q, you’re not much of a risk taker. What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?”

  That was the second time he’d called her Q. It felt familiar. She was surprised how it endeared her to him. Still, she scoffed. “Just because I don’t purposely put myself in danger does not mean that I’ve never taken a risk. I bought this business, didn’t I?”

  He squinted at her. “Betting you had the business plan all laid out before stepping into that one.”

  Shoot. He was right. She’d crunched those numbers so many times—just to be sure she wouldn’t lose money. Barring natural disaster, there was nothing risky about buying Forget-Me-Not.