Just Let Go

by Courtney Walsh

“I help you out, you tell them how much extra work I did. Maybe I get out of here early on good behavior. Catch a couple more races.”

  “You’re really worried about these races you’re missing.” Quinn studied him.

  He looked away. “Just trying to give myself the best possible chance.”

  Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you got in a stupid fight.

  She looked away. “Well, I don’t think the good behavior thing works like that.”

  “I think that’s exactly how it works. That judge makes up the rules as he goes.”

  She straightened two small, hand-poured soy candles on the shelf. They didn’t need to be straightened; she just needed something to do with her hands.

  “What do you say?”

  She faced him. “I’ll think about it.”

  “What’s to think about? I mean, I know you can’t stand me, but I’m a strong guy. I can move shelves and use a paintbrush.”

  “I never said I can’t stand you.”

  “You did, actually. Last night. When you were talking to that cop.”

  “I don’t remember that. I don’t even know you.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” he said. “Get to know me. Give me a shot. And then tell your dad I’m a good guy, and I don’t need to learn some great lesson about life by being trapped in your charming little town.”

  He said “charming little town” as if it were a swear.

  She pressed her lips together, fully aware that her brow was both serious and furrowed. “I’ll consider it on one condition.”

  “You want me to tell people we’re dating?”

  “Are you insane?”

  His face lit into a cocky grin. “I’m just kidding. What is it?”

  “Do you remember that kid Jaden? From the diner a few days ago?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “He’s my nephew, and he’s got it in his head he wants to ski.” She looked away. “Professionally.” She said the word cautiously, as if Grady’s laughing would injure her even though it was her nephew’s dream.

  But he didn’t laugh. He only stared. “And?”

  “And you told him you’d think about skiing with him, and now he’s got it in his head that you’re going to.”

  “You want me to take the kid skiing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And in return you’ll tell your dad I’m a good guy and try to get me out of here early?”

  “Yes.” She drew a deep breath. This was very much against her better judgment, so the word came out quietly and through clenched teeth. “If you actually help out around here.”

  “Done.” He stuck his hand out. “Shake on it.”

  She hesitated before taking his hand.

  “So it’s a deal.” He wore a mischievous expression, like a cat with a bird in its mouth.

  “What?”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  She recognized phony innocence when she saw it. “Why do you look like that?” She pulled her hand away, crossing her arms.

  He mirrored her stance. “I might’ve already bumped into Jaden, and it’s possible I already made plans to take him skiing this weekend.”

  She glared at him.

  “But hey, a deal’s a deal.” He grinned.

  She started to protest but quickly snapped her jaw shut. A deal was, in fact, a deal, though she’d never agreed to a timetable and figured she could put a good word in for Grady whenever she felt like it.

  Which might be tomorrow if it meant he’d be out of her hair. After all, having him underfoot while she tried to reopen the shop and finish her designs for the Winter Carnival suddenly seemed like the worst possible idea in the world.

  CHAPTER

  13

  AFTER OUTLINING A LIST OF TASKS FOR GRADY TO DO, Quinn sent him to the hardware store to pick up supplies. When he returned with three gallons of paint, rollers, and brushes, he found her sitting in the middle of the shop, staring at the wall behind the cash register.

  He stood outside for a brief moment, not sure if he wanted to risk scaring her. After all, it didn’t take much to set her off. He tapped the door with one of the paint cans, and she spun around, jumped up, and let him in. She reached out to take something from him, but he pulled it away.

  “I can help you,” she said.

  “I’m the guy. I’ve got it.”

  She gave the door a push and glared at him. “Could you be any more sexist?”

  “It’s not sexist. It’s chivalrous.” But as he took a step toward the counter where he’d planned to set everything down, one of the paint cans slipped. Seconds later, everything he’d been carrying was on the floor in front of him. The blue tape escaped the plastic bag and rolled across the floor, spinning in an annoyingly loud circle before finally coming to rest.

  “Well,” she said. “It’s good to know you’ve got this under control.”

  His eyes scanned the floor in front of him, settling on the large sheets of sketch paper she’d spread out in front of where she’d been sitting, a few feet from the mess he’d made.

  “What’s all this?” He picked up one of the sheets.

  She hurried across the room and snatched up the other pieces of paper, tucking them back inside a large sketchpad. “Can I have that?” She held her hand out toward him, expecting him to turn over the sheet he held.

  “You’re still working on the designs,” he said.

  “Yes.” She sounded exasperated. “I’m behind. I know.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Creativity doesn’t just happen.” She gave him a once-over. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

  He glanced back down at the images she’d drawn on the paper he held in his hand. “It’s supposed to be a secret garden, right?”

  “It’s inspired by The Secret Garden,” she said.

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “It’s a book.”

  He didn’t have to tell her he’d never read it.

  “Can I have that back, please?”

  He ignored her, choosing instead to walk over to the counter and set the page down, studying it intently for effect. “It all looks pretty boring to me.”

  He felt her irritation. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing?”

  She glared at him. “How could that possibly be a good thing? You don’t see me over here telling you how to ski.”

  “You get worked up a lot,” he said. “It must be exhausting.”

  “I have a lot to do.” She slammed her sketchpad down on the other end of the counter. “And so do you if you want me to put in a good word for you. How about you pick up all the stuff you dropped in the middle of my floor?”

  “I think a secret garden should have a wild side.”

  “You think everything should have a wild side.”

  “Think about it. If it’s a secret, maybe it’s left alone a lot. And it kind of does its own thing whenever it can. Maybe it can’t really be tamed.”

  She drew in a slow breath and glanced down at the paper in his hand. He expected her to tell him to shut up, but when she said nothing, he took it as a sign he could continue. He didn’t get many creative ideas—but there was such rigidity in her drawing, it seemed almost the opposite of the effect she was going for.

  Should he tell her so?

  “You seem to like things in their place.”

  She stiffened. Everything he said must come across as an insult to her.

  “But think about it—if a garden was just growing somewhere, wouldn’t it be sort of haphazard? I don’t know anything about flowers, but I know about nature, and nothing ever really seems to stay in its place out there.”

  The image of the wildflowers that grew in the woods around the house where he’d grown up sprang to mind. He’d never paid them much attention, but he did know they were relentless in the way they grew. Chaotic, even.

  He glanced up, seeing that familiar furrow
ed brow he’d come to expect from her.

  “Never mind. I don’t really know what I’m talking about.” He turned away, reminding himself he really didn’t care about this Winter Carnival and he should keep his uneducated opinions to himself. No sense giving Quinn yet another reason to be annoyed with him.

  Quinn drew in a slow breath that was meant to calm her down, but her imagination had started swimming. She could kick herself, but she wanted Grady to keep talking. As he spoke about wildflowers, about untamed nature, images started forming in her head. And they weren’t standard Quinn images. They were different, as if something new had been sparked, and she couldn’t keep the ideas from rolling in.

  Grady stared at her, clearly finished with his thoughts. “It was just an idea.” He slid the sheet of paper across the counter toward her.

  She glanced down and saw boring, safe, uninspired designs. Embarrassed, she tucked the page in her sketchpad, itching for a new sheet to mark on. It was as if something had been unlocked within and she needed to record it before it all oozed out of her, washing away like a paper sailboat in an angry river.

  “You can get started here, right?” she asked, not wanting to admit to him that it was what he’d said that had finally—finally—triggered the creative spark she’d been missing.

  “Sure. Paint the walls and the ceiling. I think even I can handle that.”

  “I’ll be in my office.” And with that, she disappeared. Off to the small office in the back, where she could be alone with her thoughts—and the ideas that spiraled so quickly through her mind that she could hardly get her notebook open fast enough.

  Why hadn’t she thought of that? Wild, untamed—flowers that grew with reckless abandon? She could wrap them in a seemingly arbitrary fashion around the snow and ice sculptures, tying the two elements together perfectly. It was brilliant, really. But she’d never admit out loud that it was Grady who’d given her the idea.

  She sat down and opened her sketchpad. She was no artist—not on paper, anyway. Her tools were always flowers, never graphite or paint. But she needed a plan if she had any hope of accomplishing what was necessary in the next three weeks. Deciding which blooms to order would be her first task; finding a supplier that would come through would be her second.

  As she flipped through catalogs, she noted which flowers seemed to have a mind of their own, which ones were whimsical and almost overgrown. She began to envision large antique mirrors and white lights strewn throughout the pavilion. She’d find a way to rig vintage chandeliers along the walkways and turn the entire area into a garden that almost seemed to have invaded an old English mansion.

  Finally she had the perfect plan, and the excitement that bubbled up inside her would propel her past any overwhelmed feelings. She put in a few calls to her committee, who all agreed to meet her at the flower shop later that evening.

  She spent the entire morning working, and probably would’ve kept going if it weren’t for the loud crash. She shot out of her office and found Grady standing near the wall that once held all the picture frames, most of them now on the ground in many, many pieces. He held a paint roller attached to an extender and had paint all over his shirt and jeans. An overturned ladder lay at his feet.

  “What happened?” She scanned the mess before finally meeting his eyes.

  He held up a hand as if to calm her down. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  She came around to the other side of the counter and saw the tipped-over bucket of paint, which was now all over her wood floor. “Nothing to worry about? You ruined the floor.”

  “I’m sure there’s a way to clean it up.”

  “Yeah, paint the whole thing gray.” She frowned. “Wait. Why is this gray? I ordered creamy white.” She picked up the lid to the paint can, which read Moonlight Gray. “What is this?”

  Grady shrugged. “It’s what the guy gave me.”

  Quinn groaned. She didn’t have time to check up on every little detail, but if Grady couldn’t get one thing right, what choice did she have? “Can you go get some rags from the back room?”

  He started toward the door.

  “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “You have paint on your shoes. Did you even put down a tarp?” She glanced at the supplies he’d spread out on the counter and saw the two large canvas tarps she’d purchased still wrapped up in their packaging.

  “I didn’t know I needed a tarp.”

  Another groan. “You made a huge mess.”

  “I know. I’m trying to clean it up. Can I get the rags?”

  “Don’t. Move.” She practically growled the words. He may have unlocked her creativity, but he’d single-handedly set her way back in the flower shop renovation.

  “What can I do?” He did look sorry, at least.

  “You can start taking some of this stuff seriously,” she said, a little angrier than she’d intended. “It’s all just some awful punishment for you, but this is my life. I’m not in the habit of slopping stuff together and calling it good.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Maybe you should just go.”

  “No, let me clean it up,” Grady said.

  “No, just go. You’ve done enough.” Broken glass crunched underfoot. She glanced down and saw the image of her happy smile, standing next to Carly and holding on to her mother’s hand.

  Grady stood there in silence for too many seconds, then took off his shoes and started for the door. She’d been mean, and it had been an accident, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want his help—not on the carnival and not in her shop—and one way or another, that was what she planned to tell Judge.

  CHAPTER

  14

  WHATEVER CREATIVE EXCITEMENT Quinn had felt that morning was now long gone. The mess Grady had caused had taken her two hours to clean up, and when she called the hardware store, Bob told her that her “deliveryman” had picked up someone else’s order.

  To make it worse, while she sat on the phone making arrangements to pick up her original paint order, she discovered paint splatters in the corner and along the baseboards. Had Grady ever painted anything in his life?

  Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy! How had he ever made it to the Olympics? Was he was one of those natural talents who had everything handed to him?

  Whatever the case, it was annoying, and as she unpacked the paint she was supposed to get in the first place, she ran through a mental list of all the things she was going to say to her father in an effort to get Grady on the next bus out of town.

  She’d only managed to cover one wall with the creamy white when there was a knock on her door. She turned and saw Danny standing on the sidewalk, peering in. Was it already five? She must’ve lost track of time.

  She set the roller down and opened the door. “Hey, Danny.”

  Danny shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at her, but said nothing.

  “Come in. Is it already time for our meeting?” She’d planned to have her presentation a little more put together by the time everyone arrived. So much for that.

  “I’m a few minutes early,” Danny said.

  She forced a smile. This was going to be awkward.

  “Quinn, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  Not again. Her heart raced. She didn’t want to lead Danny on, but she also didn’t want to reject him and make things even more awkward—if that were possible. He was a nice guy. Sweet. Maybe she should give him a chance. After all, if her heart didn’t get tangled up in the romance of a relationship, she’d be safe—protected. And wasn’t that what she really wanted?

  Maybe someone like Danny would be good for her.

  But before he could continue, Ashley and the others showed up at the door, followed by . . . Grady? What was he doing back?

  They came in, Ashley laughing that loud, flirtatious laugh of hers and Grady with his sparkling eyes that seemed to say, That’s right, you can admire me.

  “What are you doing here?” She did
n’t mean to say it. The words just kind of came out.

  Grady met her eyes and his smile faded. “Heard our team was meeting tonight. Thought I should be here.”

  She leveled her gaze and lowered her voice. “Haven’t you done enough today?”

  He raised one eyebrow, his tone matching hers. “Apparently not.”

  She shook her head. “You really don’t have to be here, Grady. We all know you have much more important things to do.”

  He shrugged. “I actually have nothing else to do. Seems to be the way things work in this town.”

  “Hey now, Mr. Benson, don’t pretend this isn’t the most charming place you’ve ever been.” That was Mona Deery, who’d seemed skeptical of Grady at their last meeting but now seemed to have a twinkle in her own eye when she looked at their adopted Olympian.

  “Oh, it is charming, Mona,” he said. “I’ll give you that. But there’s not a lot going on in the evenings. Not for a guy like me, anyway.”

  A guy like you? Meaning—a reptile?

  “I think you just haven’t found the right people to hang out with,” Ashley said. “If you’re not busy later, we could go out.”

  “On a Thursday?” Quinn practically spit the words.

  Grady’s lazy smile hung there, taunting her. She knew what he was thinking. That only a boring, small-town girl with no life would say something like that. He probably spent every night of the week out at bars or parties. She, on the other hand, hadn’t gone out on a weeknight since she was in college, and even then, it was rare.

  “Fun things happen on Thursdays too, Quinn,” Ashley said. Quinn couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like she was implying something.

  “Some of us work early on Friday mornings,” Quinn said.

  “Some of us don’t need a lot of sleep,” Grady said.

  “Maybe we should get started.” Mona, the voice of reason, set her purse on the counter. “As much as I’d like to have a fun Thursday night, the only thing waiting for me is a house of small children who are all going to be hungry and need baths. I know you’re all jealous.”

  Quinn was a little jealous, but she didn’t say so. She glanced up and found Grady watching her. Was he trying to bug her?