“Lord, we thank you for this meal and for every person around this table. We thank you for bringing us together . . .”
Quinn’s eyes fluttered open, and even with her head still bowed she could feel Grady shifting at her side. Prayer must make him uncomfortable.
“And thank you for bringing our new friend, Grady, into our lives. We pray his time here in Harbor Pointe is fruitful.”
A nearly undetectable scoff at her left pulled her eyes open again. She glanced over, but he was staring at his lap.
“Amen.”
In unison, everyone grabbed the dish closest to them and started passing.
Quinn picked up the salad and served a spoonful onto her plate. Calvin started the bread around the table. And nobody said a word.
Quinn could appreciate her father’s charity—he had a heart as big as his head, but it often misled him. Look at his marriage, after all. How did he keep from letting it all make him angry? He’d been taken advantage of over and over again, yet Gus Collins was still one of the kindest, most generous people she knew.
“Where are Carly and Jaden?” Quinn asked. “Shouldn’t they be here?”
“Yes, they absolutely should,” Gus said. “But Carly had to work and Jaden had some school project due. They were sad to miss.”
She could use her sister’s company about now. At least then she’d have someone to commiserate with.
“We were just talking about you before you arrived, Grady.” Gus passed the serving bowl of spaghetti and meatballs to Quinn. “How you could help Quinn here as part of your community service.”
Grady handed off the salad to Judge and looked up. She couldn’t be sure, but he appeared to be about as surprised as she was. “Me?”
Quinn’s desire to groan had turned into a desire to scream. Her father’s charity had gone too far! She didn’t want this guy in her flower shop.
“We weren’t serious, of course,” Gus said. “Though she could use all the help she can get.”
Quinn held the big bowl of pasta with both hands, trying to find a way to express herself without being rude to their guest before Judge actually considered this.
“Do you need help?” Grady was staring at her now, and while she couldn’t be sure, he almost looked . . . genuine.
“What?” She glanced down at the giant bowl. “No. I’m fine.” She set it on the table and scooped some spaghetti out, though she’d pretty much lost her appetite.
She didn’t want reporters camped outside her flower shop while she worked on the most important design of her life. She needed to stay focused. And she had a feeling Grady Benson came with a long list of distractions, not the least of which were his icy-blue eyes.
Quinn didn’t pick the bowl up to pass it to him, deciding instead to give it a little push in his direction when she was finished.
“Quinn, you hardly took any food.” Beverly sounded surprised. After all, Quinn was a healthy eater.
“Dad, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?”
Her father’s eyebrows shot up, like they sometimes did when one of his little plans went awry. She could appreciate his heart, but even kidding about the shop renovations had her on edge.
Or maybe it was all she had riding on getting this right.
Once they were alone in the small cottage kitchen, Quinn closed the swinging door, reminding herself to stay calm so none of her anger was overheard by anyone in the next room.
“Dad. What are you doing?” she hissed.
He put on his best I’m-innocent-and-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about face.
“Don’t do that. Was this your plan all along—to figure out a way to get this guy sentenced to my flower shop?”
“Quinn, I’m not even the one who brought the idea up,” he said.
She wasn’t buying it. “And you knew this wouldn’t be okay with me, which is why you waited until he was sitting at our table—” she whispered those last four words—“to tell me.”
“That’s not true. It was just an off-the-cuff idea. We can drop it.”
Quinn let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t want him at the shop, Dad.”
“I understand,” her father paused. “Though you do need help. I work all day. Judge works all day. Calvin—God love him—doesn’t know the first thing about building repairs.”
“And what makes you think this guy does?”
Her dad shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
“Well, I disagree.”
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “You seem stressed out. You might be overreacting a little.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled. Her exhale was slow and steady. Her dad was right. She probably was overreacting.
But for some reason, she just went right on doing so.
“Did you see what he did at Hazel’s? I was there. I definitely don’t need that in my shop. He can help somewhere else.” She turned away from him.
“Fine by me,” Dad said. “But he is helping at the Winter Carnival, which means he might end up moving some things around for your display. Can you at least handle that?”
She sighed.
“He’s just one guy, Quinn.”
She shook her head. “It’s not him, Dad.” An admission her father had probably been waiting for. Quinn had a knack for getting upset about one thing when what really bothered her was something else entirely.
He looked at her like he’d already guessed as much. “Then what is it?”
Should she explain how important her design for the Winter Carnival was? How it was the ticket to the Floral Expo and . . . her?
She looked up at her father, with his deep-set wrinkles and ruddy skin. Strong as he was, it would hurt him to know how much she still pined for the parent who walked away.
“I have to stay focused, Dad. This guy is a huge distraction, and I can’t deal with that right now.”
It was a non-answer, and they both knew it. It said, I’m not willing to confide in you. There was unmistakable hurt behind her father’s eyes.
“That’s fine, Q,” he said. “But I didn’t raise you to be rude.”
She’d behaved badly. She’d been unwelcoming, and that embarrassed her father. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He looked away, but he had something else to say, she could tell.
“What is it?”
“About this contest, Q.” He picked up one of her hands. “You’re putting an awful lot of pressure on yourself.”
“This is what I’ve been working toward, Dad. This is my dream.”
“I know, I know.” He squeezed her hand. “I just don’t want you to hang too many hopes on this festival or this expo or this prize.”
“You don’t think I can win?”
“No, I know you can win.” He met her eyes. “I just don’t know that it’ll change anything.” He paused. He knew she wanted to win—but did he know why? For a moment, it almost seemed like he did, though she’d never discussed it with him.
Quinn pressed her lips together and swallowed, working hard to maintain her resolve. He was wrong. This was her only chance—it had to work.
It had to.
Her father walked away, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen inhaling the pungent aroma of garlic and tomato sauce and trying desperately not to entertain the one question that kept racing through her mind: If it didn’t work . . . what was she going to do?
CHAPTER
5
ONCE AGAIN Grady was sitting at a table and feeling like he shouldn’t be here. When the sheriff invited him to dinner, of course his first thought was No. Way. But then Gus mentioned that the judge would be there, and Grady hoped he might be able to reason with the man—maybe he’d be more lenient outside the courtroom.
So far, though, Grady had simply endured long, rambling stories of fishing expeditions and high school pranks, as if his presence gave the men a chance to relive their glory days.
And then there was the matter of the ice
radiating off of the woman sitting in the chair next to him. Quinn Collins had already made up her mind about him, and whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t good.
She’d probably seen the footage of his wipeout at last week’s race, followed by his subsequent fight with Brian Murphy, his longtime coach and now one of the coaches of the US ski team. Not his finest hour.
He had to figure out a way to get to Colorado—even if the coach and his former teammates had made it very clear they’d rather he just retire.
He needed the sponsorships. Needed the distraction. Needed the gold. He owed it to Benji.
After they’d finished eating, Beverly, a short woman with a round face and dark hair who he assumed was Quinn’s mother even though the two looked nothing alike, stood. “I’ll clear away the dishes and be right back with the cake.”
“We’re celebrating, Grady,” Gus said from the other end of the table.
“Celebrating?” Grady should at least pretend to care. Who knows? Maybe playing nice with this group would earn him credit with the judge.
“Quinn bought the flower shop downtown.” Beverly reached for his plate. He handed it over and glanced at Quinn, who sat with her hands in her lap, unmoving.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” she said.
“It is too.” Gus leaned toward her. “It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”
“I’ll help you, Beverly.” Quinn grabbed the stack of plates from across the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
“She’s very modest.” Beverly smiled at Grady.
“Well, we’re all proud of her,” the judge said. “We can’t help it if we want to brag on our girl.”
“That’s right,” Gus said, then called out—this time louder—“You hear that, Quinn? We’re all proud of you!”
“That’s great, Dad,” she called back.
She returned a few seconds later, following Beverly, who carried a cake that looked like it had, at one point, had candles in it. It was an odd way to celebrate something that wasn’t a birthday, but then, nothing about this town seemed normal to him.
Quinn set a stack of small plates on the table, and Beverly began slicing the cake. She handed Grady the first piece.
“Bev, he probably doesn’t eat cake,” the man sitting across from him said.
“Of course he does, Calvin,” Beverly said.
Calvin. Grady would try to remember.
Pete always told him he was terrible with names. “It offends people, you know, that you can’t remember any of their names. I mean, Jerrica has worked for you for two years and you still call her Jennifer.”
“Jerrica is a weird name,” Grady had said. “It’s hard to remember.”
“Not the point. These people work tirelessly for you. A little gratitude goes a long way.”
“I show my gratitude in their paychecks,” Grady told him, but judging by the look on Pete’s face, his manager disagreed.
Why hadn’t Pete called him back?
“You do eat cake, don’t you?” Beverly’s question pulled Grady back to the present.
“He probably does.” The judge leaned back in his chair. “He’s not the kind of athlete who buys into that whole ‘my body is a temple’ thing. This one puts whatever he wants in his body.” He let out a laugh, the kind of laugh that got right under Grady’s skin.
Grady reached over and took the cake from Beverly. “My body is a well-oiled machine, ma’am. But it doesn’t mind a little sugar now and then.”
“Good, because it’d be a shame to miss out on Dandy’s cake.” She went back to cutting. “You probably don’t know Dandy’s since you’re not from here, but it’s a local bakery, just across the street from Quinn’s flower shop.” She flashed Quinn a smile and handed her a plate. “Oh, you’ll find it when you’re downtown this week. Judge told us about your community service.”
Nothing like calling out the elephant in the room. Again.
“About that.” Grady turned his attention to the judge. “Wondering if I could have a word with you later about my, uh . . . sentence?”
Could he call it a sentence? It was unlike any court proceeding he’d ever had.
The judge stuck his fork in the cake and broke off a good chunk. “I don’t see that we have much to talk about, Mr. Benson. And I don’t talk business at family dinner.”
Family dinner? This was the strangest “family” he’d ever seen.
“Judge, give the kid a break.” Gus swallowed his bite and tossed a pointed look across the table.
“You don’t like to talk shop when you’re eating cake any more than I do.” The judge pointed at Gus with his fork.
“What’s your question, Grady?” Beverly asked. “You just ask me, and if Judge overhears, he won’t be able to keep himself from responding.”
The judge set his fork down with a clink. “Is that right?”
Beverly shot him a knowing look. She focused on Grady. “Go on.”
Beside him, Quinn shifted in her seat, pushing the cake around on her plate. Why did he suddenly feel like he’d been put on the spot? He hadn’t intended to make this proposal in front of everyone.
“Well?” Gus glanced up at him.
“December and January are big competition months.” He forced himself not to think about his last competition. If he hadn’t wiped out, the pressure would be so much less, but he’d lost focus. Stupid mistakes cost him that peace of mind.
How did he explain that to a table of people who could never understand the kind of pressure he was under?
“They going to let you race again after that little stunt you pulled last week?” The judge eyed him. “Most coaches I know don’t appreciate it when their players take off, especially not when they’re trying to talk to them.”
Did the judge know all of his business?
Harbor Pointe might be a small town, but they still had the Internet. The clip of him arguing with his coach, then leaving with a dismissive wave, had unfortunately made the social media rounds. There was no screwing up in private anymore.
Grady drew in a deep breath. “I’m going to get my spot back.”
“Oh, you are?” The judge leveled his gaze. “How do you plan to do that?”
Was he serious? Same way he’d always done it—brute strength, fearless skiing, and a whole lot of raw talent that made him one of the fastest downhill skiers in the country. “I’ve got it under control.”
The judge laughed again, then glanced at Gus. “Do you hear this guy?”
Gus didn’t respond. None of them did. “I’d like to propose that if I pay a fine and make a donation to that restaurant, you let me off without community service. The money will come in a lot handier than my physical labor.”
“The boy might have a point there,” the man across from him—Calvin—said.
“I’m not the handiest guy,” Grady added.
“That right?” The judge took his last bite of cake. “What do you all think? Does this boy deserve to be let off with a slap on the wrist and a fine?”
“Sounds like that’s what he’s used to,” Gus said.
“But does that make it the best choice?” Judge asked. “Say you’re me. You see a talented, accomplished guy enter your courtroom. A little bit of digging and you learn this isn’t his first offense.”
“I can explain—”
The judge held up a hand that silenced Grady. “You have a choice. You can fine him, which will really cost him nothing, or you can help him learn the value of hard work.”
“He’s an Olympic athlete, Judge. I think he knows about hard work.” Calvin seemed to be his only ally at the table.
The judge eyed him. “Do you, son?”
“Do I what?” About now Grady was regretting ever bringing this up in the first place. What he needed was for Pete to call him back, flex some of those monetary muscles, and make this go away.
“Do you know the value of hard work?”
“Of course I do.”
The judge looke
d skeptical.
“These races are important, sir.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I need to get out there.” Did he sound desperate? He felt desperate. And he hated that.
“You have a rare chance to learn something here, Mr. Benson. I suggest you stop trying to figure out a way out of it and get on board.”
“You want me to get on board with giving up five weeks of my life to live in this good-for-nothing town, wasting my time on some stupid festival and parading around your little rinky-dink ski lodge like I’m a circus act?”
The judge folded his hands on the table in front of him but didn’t respond.
Grady couldn’t believe this. “You know what I think, Your Honor?”
“Can’t wait to hear.”
“I think you just want to stick it to guys like me. You live for it. Makes you feel important in this tiny little town you live in.”
A tense hush filled the room as Grady pushed his chair away from the table. “Thank you, Sheriff, for inviting me over for dinner. It was nice to meet you all.” Then he turned to the judge. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. My real one.”
He turned to go, but before he reached the front door, he overheard the judge say, “That one has a lot to learn.”
Grady snatched his coat off of a hook and pulled it on as he walked out onto the porch, a memory rushing back so fast it almost knocked him down.
“He’s reckless, Randall.”
Thirteen-year-old Grady stood between his father and his ski coach—Benji just a few feet away.
“He’s fearless,” Grady’s dad said. “Isn’t that something you can work with in a young skier?”
The coach shook his head. “Look, your son has more natural ability and raw talent than anyone I’ve ever trained.”
Grady remembered how that comment had buoyed him, made him feel special somehow.
The coach glanced at Grady. “But he doesn’t listen. Raw talent will only take you so far, kid. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”
They left the slopes that day and his dad gave him an earful, but even his father’s insistence that Grady listen to his coach and make the necessary adjustments didn’t change anything. Grady was fast—faster than anyone his age—and that was what mattered. He didn’t care if he had the proper technique. He just wanted to win.
Just Let Go Page 5