His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out as he opened the door to his car and got inside.
Pete. Finally.
Grady started the car and answered the call. “You better have a great explanation for going radio silent the last two days.”
“Grady. Sorry I’ve been out of touch.”
“Are you seeing what’s going on here?”
“I saw the news, yes.” Sometimes Grady hated how level-headed Pete was. Shouldn’t the man be outraged that his biggest client was stuck in some podunk tourist town? Shouldn’t he be on the first plane to Michigan to take care of this for him?
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what are we going to do to get me out of here?”
There was a pause on Pete’s end.
“Pete?”
“I don’t see that there’s much we can do, Grady.”
Now it was Grady’s turn to pause—mostly because he was trying to process exactly what his manager had said. He had to be kidding. Where was plan B?
“These small towns are particular. I spoke with your lawyer, and he said it’s the judge’s decision. We can appeal it, but by the time we got any movement on the case, your community service would be finished.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“I know it’s not ideal.”
“Not ideal? I don’t have that many chances left to qualify, Pete.” He hoped his manager didn’t hear the subtext of that sentence: I need every chance I can get.
“You’re going to miss a few key races, yes, but there are still a few left in January.”
“There’s one, Pete. Five weeks go by, and I’m left with exactly one shot.”
That shut his manager up.
“How am I going to train here? Do you know where I am?” Grady looked out the window, quaint little cottages dotting either side of the quiet street.
“There’s a ski lodge just outside of town. The lawyer said the judge is allowing you to go there.”
“This is the Midwest. I can’t ski in a cornfield.”
Pete sighed. “Look, I hate this as much as you do, but you might not have a choice.”
“I expect you to take care of this kind of thing for me. Come out here, pay the judge off, whatever it takes—”
“I can’t do that, Grady.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I can’t. You don’t have the funds.”
Grady’s heart dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been looking at your statements. Looks like you were pretty busy last month.”
“It’s almost Christmas.”
“You spent more money than some people make in a year. The endorsement offers aren’t coming in like they used to. You can’t live your life the way you have been—if you do, you’re not going to have anything left. And Benji—”
“What about Benji?”
“He’s covered for this month. Maybe next month. But that’s it, Grady. You’ve got to make some changes.”
Grady rubbed his temples. This could not be happening.
The door of Gus’s cottage opened, and Quinn stepped out onto the porch. She hugged her dad, waved good-bye, and turned toward a black Volkswagen Jetta parked across the street. He watched as she set a box (probably leftover cake?) on the backseat of the car, then got in and started the engine. She stared at the cottage for several seconds before finally pulling away, thankfully oblivious that he hadn’t left yet.
“Do you hear me, Grady?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” He hung up the phone and tossed it on the seat next to him.
How the heck was he going to get out of this one?
CHAPTER
6
THE MORNING SUN POURED THROUGH THE WINDOWS in the loft above the flower shop, drawing Quinn from sleep.
She lay in bed, savoring the warmth of her two old quilts, staring up at the eleven-foot ceiling with exposed ductwork. She rolled to her side. It was Tuesday. There was so much to do. The Winter Carnival was scheduled, as usual, to begin with a ball the day before New Year’s Eve, and she hadn’t even started on her design for the opening ceremonies stage. The display—and the mixing of snow with flowers—was one of those traditions her mother had started so many years ago in Harbor Pointe. And this year, it was up to Quinn to make it the very best it had ever been.
But for some reason, her creativity was completely blocked. For days she’d sat with an empty sketchbook, trying to summon that fleeting inspiration. So far, it eluded her.
She drew in a deep breath, wishing away the pressure that seemed to follow her around. At least here, in her loft, she felt a modicum of peace.
She’d painted the brick walls white and added long, flowing curtains on each of the three windows that looked out over the street. It might’ve made more sense to buy a little cottage (though they didn’t go on the market very often), but Quinn loved living above the flower shop. She loved the way the old-fashioned streetlights shone through her windows every night, and how, in the summer, she could watch the tourists strolling down the sidewalk, stopping at Dandy’s Bakery or the Old Time Ice Cream Parlor for a post-beach treat. She could hear the bells from the trolley cars that took people from the boardwalk to the shopping or dining spot of their choice.
In short, she loved Harbor Pointe, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, partly because she never had. Even in college, Quinn had commuted and lived at home.
She’d said it was to save money, but she knew the real reason. Leaving wasn’t an option.
She pulled herself out of bed and stepped into her fuzzy raccoon slippers—a gift from Beverly two Christmases ago. She made a mental note to talk to her dad about Beverly. The poor woman had to be in agony trying to win his attention after all these years. Was her father really that clueless?
She stood in the shower and let the hot water run down her back. Winters in Michigan were long and often dreary, and Quinn was always cold. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t find her inspiration. She leaned against the wall of the shower and prayed it would find her—that suddenly, out of nowhere, she’d fall into a vat of it and emerge with the best design ideas she’d ever had.
“Lord, you know how important this is to me.”
He did, didn’t he? He was God, after all. Had she been clear enough in explaining it to him?
Just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to reiterate.
“Everything depends on this. I’ve been waiting years—twenty years—for this moment. I can’t let it slip through my fingers.” She spoke the words aloud, as if that made them matter more.
She finished up in the shower and got dressed for the day—jeans and her favorite gray sweater. Once she’d dried her long blonde hair and put on a tiny bit of makeup (mascara was a necessity thanks to the blonde eyelashes), she pulled on her cozy gray Ugg boots, stuck her planner, sketchbook, and laptop in her bag, and walked out the door.
There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and the air was chilly—surprisingly so because the sun was shining, making someone inside think perhaps they were going to get a little bit of a heat wave.
No such luck.
The streetlamps were decorated with wreaths, and at night the huge Christmas tree at the center of downtown would sparkle with its twinkly white lights. The Harbor Pointe tree lighting was held on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Quinn was thankful for the extended period of time in which to enjoy it. When she looked out the windows of her loft, she almost felt as if she were standing in the middle of a snowglobe.
She walked a few doors down to Hazel’s, thinking of last night’s dinner and Grady Benson trying to buy his way out of his punishment. He obviously didn’t know Judge.
Part of her should feel sorry for the man. He was in quite the predicament. But she found it difficult to muster sympathy for someone whose troubles were self-made.
Didn’t he feel even a little bit sorry for what he’d done to the diner? Betsy had w
orked so hard building her business—and now what? She had to spend money and time fixing everything he’d destroyed just because someone insulted his ego?
Another reason Quinn was glad she was single. She didn’t understand men. Even Marcus, as predictable as he was, had never made sense to her—and they’d dated for five full years.
She pushed the thought aside as she waved to Juniper Jones, the town’s most eccentric resident. Quinn couldn’t be sure, but she thought perhaps Juniper was responsible for the cotton-candy paint treatment the storefronts of Harbor Pointe’s downtown had gotten long ago. She was, after all, the one always talking about how charming it was—and how unique.
“Cottage towns in Michigan are all the same. Quaint. Brick buildings. Striped awnings. I’m glad Harbor Pointe is as colorful as the personalities of the people who live here.”
Quinn always nodded in agreement, though she couldn’t think of anyone quite as colorful as Juniper. She was a perfect example of why Quinn loved this town. She may never have traveled anywhere else, but she had to guess if she did, she’d never stumble upon another Juniper Jones.
Quinn pulled open the door to Hazel’s and beelined for her usual booth. With any luck, Ryan Brooks would be at his usual table, and Quinn could pick his brain about some of the changes she wanted to make in the flower shop.
Hailey Brooks, Ryan’s sister and one of Quinn’s best friends, spotted her from across the restaurant. Quinn’s eyes scanned the damage. They’d cleaned up the shards of glass and removed the broken tables, but Betsy had lost a number of seats, and Hazel’s felt more crowded for it.
She glanced at Ryan, who sat, as usual, at the booth kitty-corner from her, drinking coffee and looking at a menu she happened to know he did not need.
This was his ritual—to come into this diner, order the same thing every morning, and then go off to work. Lately, Ryan’s fiancée, Lane Kelley, joined him, and Quinn swore if she walked in the door right about now, she’d take it as a sign from heaven that she should go ahead and ask them all her questions, even though she was pretty sure she couldn’t afford their services.
After all, the two of them worked together to restore cottages throughout Harbor Pointe and all the way into Summers Bay. She’d seen their work. It was exquisite. And while she could use the professional help, it likely came with a professional price tag.
Hailey brought Quinn her usual skinny vanilla latte and sat down across from her. “You’re late today.”
Quinn took a drink and let its warmth settle inside her empty belly for a few seconds before talking. “I overslept.”
Hailey’s eyes widened. “You? My everything-has-to-be-just-so friend? That doesn’t sound like you.”
Quinn sighed. “I know. I’m usually out cold by eleven. I think it was at least 2 a.m. before I finally drifted off to sleep.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing. You’re the most regimented person I know. Something’s off.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just been a busy week.” Shouldn’t she confide in her? Hailey knew all about the Winter Carnival and why her display had to be perfect. Hailey was one of the few people who understood what was at stake here.
The door swung open and Lucy Fitzgerald strolled in. While she was one of Quinn’s oldest friends, Lucy was cut from a completely different cloth than Hailey or Quinn. Two married parents who still loved each other. A brother, a sister, an impressive career as a freelance writer and journalist, a boyfriend who was hopelessly devoted to her—not to mention that ridiculous, jealousy-inducing figure she seemed to come by naturally. Plus, she was tan. In December. How was that possible?
But in spite of the fact that both Hailey’s and Quinn’s lives were the polar opposite of Lucy’s, she was impossible to hate. Lucy Fitzgerald was “a friend to all.” It said so underneath her senior photo in the high school yearbook. And it was true.
Besides, Quinn knew more about Lucy than the average person, and while it was easy to forget with Lucy’s sunny disposition, life hadn’t always been perfect for her red-haired friend. Lucy was no stranger to tragedy.
“Girls, I need coffee.”
Hailey stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mocha with extra whip,” Lucy called out after her.
Whole milk and extra whip? Only Lucy!
Quinn pushed the thought out of her mind and took a sip of her own latte, hoping it wasn’t accidentally made with whole milk.
“Is it official?” Lucy’s face beamed.
Quinn, tired though she was, felt her face warm into a smile. “It’s official.”
“You’re the owner?” Her eyes went wide.
Hailey returned with two drinks, one for Lucy and one for herself. “It’s official?”
“I signed the paperwork yesterday. Got the keys and everything.”
“How do you feel? You’re a business owner! Are you freaking out?” Hailey and Lucy oozed enthusiasm, their questions overlapping each other.
“I feel excited—relieved. Like, finally my life can begin.” She glanced up to see that both their faces had fallen. “What?”
Hailey and Lucy exchanged a quick but pointed glance. “It’s nothing,” Hailey said. “We’re really happy for you.”
“You can’t do that. I know you two. What was that look about?”
Lucy pressed her lips together, then smiled—a genuine smile, not one of those phony, meant-to-make-you-feel-better kind of smiles. “We just hope you’re right. That now your life can begin.”
“You’ve just been so stuck, Q. You have to admit it.” Hailey turned her mug around in her hand. “Maybe now you’ll move on.”
Quinn frowned. “I’m moving on toward the Floral Expo—that’s been my goal for years. To buy the shop and design a display worthy of recognition.”
Lucy reached across the table and laid her hand over Quinn’s. “What if it doesn’t go the way you want it to?”
“Like, if my display doesn’t make it?” Quinn couldn’t think about that.
“Like, if she’s not there. Or she doesn’t react the way you imagine she will?” Lucy’s question hung overhead, begging her attention.
Quinn’s nervous laugh didn’t hide her inner pain—not from her two closest friends. “I don’t imagine anything, you guys. I know what I’m getting myself into. I just . . .”
“You just what?” Hailey asked, her eyes kind.
“I just want to prove that I’m good enough.”
Lucy’s shoulders sank. “You don’t need this contest—or your mother—to tell you that, Quinn.”
Of course she would say that. She had a mother who’d at least bothered to stick around.
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Hailey said.
But they were wrong.
“I think you should plan a trip,” Lucy said. “On an airplane. There’s a whole world outside Harbor Pointe, and you haven’t seen any of it.”
Quinn waved her off. “Maybe once I get my bearings at the shop.” But there were reasons Quinn didn’t travel. She had to stay put—just in case.
“Hailey, I need to talk to your brother,” Quinn said.
Hailey hooked a thumb toward Ryan’s table. “He’s right there.”
“I know, but do you think he’d mind if I picked his brain about some renovations I want to do?”
“Ryan?” Hailey spun around and faced him.
He stopped mid-bite on his hash browns.
“Would you mind if Quinn picked your brain about some renovations she wants to do?”
He set his fork down. “No.”
Hailey turned back to Quinn. “He doesn’t mind.” She stood. “I’ll go get our breakfast.”
Ryan sat looking at Quinn, who suddenly felt on the spot. She’d first met Hailey and Ryan Brooks down at the beach one summer when they were growing up, and while the Brooks kids didn’t live in Harbor Pointe, they spent plenty of time the
re. Ryan had always been that charming, good-looking older brother who made Quinn feel like a doting little sister.
Even now.
“Quinn?” Lucy whispered.
“Right. Well, I’m the new owner of the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop, and I’m wanting to make some changes.”
Ryan nodded.
“I just wondered if you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
Lane Kelley—gorgeous Lane—appeared in the doorway. She carried a sleek black bag over her shoulder and two big binders in her arms. She sat down across from Ryan, leaned toward him, and kissed him a quick hello.
Lane had spent enough time in Chicago to look a little out of place back in Harbor Pointe, and the beautiful ring on her left hand made her look even more so.
Ryan smiled at Lane, the kind of smile that made Quinn swoon. It was obvious in the way he looked at her how much he loved her. And for the first time in years, Quinn wondered what it would be like if someone looked at her that way.
It was a stupid thought. She knew better than to romanticize romance. It was always fleeting and never—never—lasted. It was one recipe for heartache she didn’t need.
Besides, in the five years she and Marcus were together, he’d never once looked at her that way.
Perhaps she should’ve realized it sooner.
Still, she didn’t wish her cynicism on the newly engaged couple—she hoped they’d be the ones to beat the odds.
He turned his attention back to Quinn. “I’d be happy to stop by later.”
Lane glanced at her.
“Quinn just bought the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop down the block,” Ryan said.
Lane’s face lit up. “You did? I love that place. It would be so gorgeous if you exposed more of the brick—maybe even painted it white—and brought out the natural color of the wood floors. It’s such a great old building and—” She stopped. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for my opinion.”
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