“I don’t know what you read about me,” he said.
She stared at the wall. “Grady, really, forget I said anything. This is not my business. I mean, we aren’t even friends.” She glanced at him just in time to see his face fall.
“We aren’t?”
She had a choice and she knew it. She could continue to be cruel and feel terrible about it tomorrow, or she could swallow her pride and extend the man even a little bit of kindness. That wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“I mean, we haven’t known each other long,” she said.
“Ashley came to the house this morning. I didn’t invite her—she just showed up.”
Why did the tightness inside her soften when he said that? She didn’t even know if it was the truth. “What did she want?”
He looked away, but his expression told her what she needed to know.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Ashley was willing to give Grady things a man wants—things Quinn wasn’t willing to give. Not without a ring on her finger. And if that made her old-fashioned, so be it, but it was a decision she’d made a long time ago when Carly announced she was pregnant, later confirmed when Hailey found out she was pregnant too.
And it had cost her many second dates.
She’d always comforted herself with the typical “I guess he wasn’t the one . . .” and “God has someone better for me.” But sometimes they felt like things people told you because they didn’t know what else to say. Sometimes they felt like lies.
Regardless, one thing was certain: if plain, old, regular guys had lost interest because she wouldn’t sleep with them, there was no way Grady Benson was going to be okay with waiting. Not when he had girls like Ashley throwing themselves at him.
Grady propped himself up on the stool next to her, half-sitting on it, but with his feet still on the ground. “Have you ever done the same thing your whole life, and then you wake up and one day it just feels all wrong?”
He was looking past her, out the window.
“I never really thought about it until recently,” she said. “Because of you.”
His eyes found hers, and in that moment she chose to be kind. Guarded, of course, but still kind.
“I’ve done the same thing every day of my adult life. My friends set their clocks by me. I never thought I wanted anything more until this past week. What you said before about me being scared—it’s true. Sometimes I think I’m scared of everything.”
“Everything?”
She smiled. “Most things.”
“Like . . . ?”
“Like spiders.” She looked up at the ceiling. “And mice. And squirrels.”
“Squirrels?”
“They’re crazy.” She laughed. “And . . . other things too.”
His silence encouraged her to go on.
“Like never seeing my mother again. Like never proving to her that I did just fine without her.” Like showing her she made a huge mistake when she left. “Like leaving Harbor Pointe.” Like falling in love.
“That scares you?”
Her eyes found the floor. “Stupid, right?”
“No. Not stupid.” There was a lull then, but not the kind that made her uncomfortable. Just a quiet stillness while they both gathered their thoughts.
He reached over and took her hand. “I have no idea why, but I want to be the person who helps you get over all of that.”
She looked at their two hands, his wrapped around hers, as if they formed some sort of hard shell—a casing meant to protect her—and for the briefest moment, she wondered what it would feel like if she let herself believe that’s what he could be for her. Someone who showed her that there was a whole big world waiting to be explored. And it wasn’t scary at all. Or at least the scary parts could be conquered.
She just had to stop waiting and step off that front porch. Why was it so hard to take that first step?
“What about you?”
His eyes searched hers. “What about me?”
“What are you afraid of? And don’t say nothing because I’ll know it’s a lie.”
He half laughed.
“I mean, I know you’re not afraid to put yourself in danger. You kind of seem to thrive on it.”
“Does that bother you?” He shifted, then pushed himself off the stool, pulling his hand away. She missed the warmth of his skin on hers.
“Of course not.” It didn’t bother her—it scared her. Did he have a death wish or something?
He stood directly across from her now, only about a foot away. He was so close, and she felt herself wanting to retreat. Why was he asking so many questions? Why was he standing so near? Why had he held her hand?
“Not even a little?”
She looked up at his face and found a small scar just above his right eyebrow. She hadn’t noticed it before, but then, she’d never really taken the time to actually study him. His eyes were the perfect shade of blue, and he had just the right amount of stubble on his chin. When he smiled—if he smiled—she might buckle at the knees, because she already knew the effect it had on her, though she’d done a stellar job of denying it up until this point.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked, a lazy smirk dancing across his face.
“Why would you say that?” Her heart raced as he placed his hands on the counter on either side of hers.
“I get on your nerves.”
“You do.”
“You think I’m selfish.”
She nodded.
“And you believe all that stuff you read on the Internet.”
“Most of it.”
His eyes fell to her lips, then met her gaze. “I’m not all bad, Quinn. And right now, the only thing that scares me is the thought of leaving this awful little town without ever properly kissing you.”
Say what?
She felt her jaw go slack as she searched his eyes for some indication that he was joking. She found none. Quite the opposite, really—he looked deadly serious.
“I tried to send Ashley away before you ever showed up at my door this morning.”
“You did?”
“Yes—I promise. That’s not what I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for?” she whispered.
He edged even closer, studying her eyes for a few painstakingly long moments in which she realized she wanted to kiss him.
She wanted to kiss Grady Benson.
One simple little kiss. And technically he’d already kissed her once, so it wouldn’t even be like a first kiss that carried all kinds of questions and hidden meanings.
“You’re overthinking this,” he said quietly, his mouth turning up in the slightest smile.
She drew in a breath. He was right. She was overthinking it. She’d made up her mind already that Grady was not good for her. Decided it in a moment of clarity without even a hint of emotion involved. Had she done that in anticipation of a moment like this, when she couldn’t be trusted? She couldn’t go back on that decision now.
“I—I’ve got to get this painted.”
His face fell as he searched her eyes, but she’d severed their connection. She shrank out from under his arm and turned her back to him. Never mind what she wanted. She wasn’t accustomed to choosing her heart over her head, no matter how intoxicating the idea was.
CHAPTER
23
GRADY HAD STRUCK OUT BEFORE, but not like this. He’d met his match in Quinn Collins. She shut him down, and he knew when to walk away. Still, he was good at reading people, and he could’ve sworn that underneath her Brillo Pad exterior was a girl who actually kind of liked him.
Why else would she have shown up at his cottage that morning? Why else would she have talked to the judge about getting him permission to go skiing up north? Why else would she have looked at him the way she was looking at him only moments ago, before pulling herself away and sticking in her earbuds?
They weren’t even going to talk now?
All right, Quin
n Collins. If that’s how you want to play it.
He’d give her space if that’s what she needed. But he wasn’t going to give up. That wasn’t in his nature. She’d given him plenty of work to do, and if he tried hard enough, maybe the mindless chores would be good for him.
“Oh. No.” Quinn’s voice behind him pulled his attention.
From where he was, up on a ladder in the opposite corner of the store, he turned toward her. She was sitting on the counter, staring at her phone. She tugged the earbuds out of her ears.
“No, no, no.”
“Is something wrong?”
No response. Only the slow headshake of a woman who looked devastated.
“Quinn?”
He balanced the tools on the ladder and stepped down, though he was unsure how she’d respond, given that he was likely the last person in the world she wanted to talk to.
“What’s the matter?”
She sat on the back counter, which sat flush with the wall and parallel with the checkout counter, legs crossed in front of her, pencil stuck in her ponytail, scrolling on her phone. She looked like she might cry.
“Is everyone okay?” Grady asked. “Your dad—Jaden?”
“They’re fine,” she finally said. “I just got an e-mail from Kitty Moore.”
Grady frowned. “Who’s that?”
“She’s from the Floral Expo.” She met his eyes for the briefest second.
“And . . . ?” She certainly wasn’t making this easy for him.
Quinn slipped down off the counter and stood in front of him, then focused on her phone and read out loud: “‘Dear Miss Collins, we tried reaching you by phone, but had no luck. I wanted to let you know we received your application for the Best Design competition, but we are unable to process it due to the missing information. As per the rules listed on our website, each applicant is required to submit a copy of their business license and tax info for our records. Of course we hate for you to be disqualified over a technicality, but rules are rules. Hope you’ll try again next year with all required documents. Have a wonderful weekend.’”
Quinn’s voice had grown progressively more staccato as she read, punctuated finally with the cell phone dropped onto the counter. She covered her face with her hands and stayed hauntingly still.
“Are you okay?”
“My only chance.” The words were barely audible. She picked up the phone and dialed what he could only assume was the number listed at the bottom of the e-mail. He watched as she stood there, one arm wrapped around her midsection, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if she were trying to keep from crying.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe this. No answer.”
“Try again?”
“It’s Sunday,” she said. “Whoever Kitty Moore is, she’s not going to pick up. The e-mail came in yesterday. I should’ve checked it sooner.”
The outgoing voicemail message came on and Quinn put the phone on speaker.
“Thank you for calling the Michigan Floral Expo. We’re sorry we missed your call. If you’re calling about tickets for the Expo, please visit our website or try back during normal business hours. If you’re calling about a design entry, please hang up and call our new president, Jacie Whitman, as all entries have been forwarded to her.”
“Jacie Whitman,” Quinn said, clicking the phone off.
“Who’s Jacie Whitman?”
She turned and faced him, eyes clearly filled with tears. “My mother.”
Quinn’s throat swelled, and she struggled to get a deep breath.
This couldn’t be happening.
“This is what happens when I make stupid, rash decisions,” she said, tossing the phone onto the counter.
“What are you talking about?”
“I should’ve been here yesterday. All day.”
“You wouldn’t even have been able to get in,” Grady said pointedly. “Ryan had to clear the whole shop—that includes people, too.”
“I would’ve heard the phone ringing.” Did she sound as hysterical as she felt?
“From upstairs?”
She should’ve sent the calls to her cell. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Quinn had never given it a second thought—never dreamed for a single moment that her application for the contest was anything but completely thorough. She’d worked for days putting it together. Her hand-drawn designs of this year’s Secret Garden event. Her portfolio of past work. Her details—name, address, age, phone numbers—how had she forgotten to include the business license and tax information?
“Call them tomorrow,” Grady said, still sounding uselessly hopeful.
“What’s the point?”
“Is it important to you?”
She glanced up at his quizzical face. “Of course it is.”
“Well . . . ?”
“Well, what?”
He searched the air. “Well, don’t just throw in the towel.”
She watched him for a second. “Do you hear what you just said?”
His mouth tightened into a line, but his expression was blank.
“You said, ‘Don’t just throw in the towel.’”
“So?” he gave her an exasperated shrug.
She narrowed her gaze, fixing it on him. She was angry, but she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass her by. “So, I could say the same thing to you. About skiing. If you love it—if it really matters to you—why would you give up without a fight?”
“I’m not giving up.”
“You’re not training. You’re eating garbage food. You’re not working out. Do you really think everything is going to be handed to you for the rest of your life?”
He shook his head and turned around. “We’re not talking about me.”
She followed him as he walked back to the ladder where he was . . . What was he doing over here? “You’re older now. Your body doesn’t work the way it used to. So what? Stop wallowing and start fighting. You might have to actually listen to your coaches instead of doing everything your own way for once.”
“You don’t know anything about that.”
She knew plenty. She was embarrassed to admit how much. She’d read everything she could find on Grady Benson, and the articles were always the same. Most talented skier we’ve seen in years. Doesn’t listen to instruction. Wants to do things his own way. Faster than everyone else. Natural talent. Reckless and rebellious.
It all left Quinn wondering—what happened when natural talent wasn’t enough? What happened when the demigod he was on the slopes suddenly discovered his own mortality?
“I know you haven’t said a single word about anything personal since you got here today. You wouldn’t even tell me what you were scared of.”
He started up the ladder. “I told you plenty. You just didn’t want to hear it.”
“That’s not even true.”
He stepped back down, meeting her gaze. “Then why’d you walk away? What are you so scared of?”
“I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you think.” She steeled her jaw, refusing to back down.
“I think you are.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she practically spat the angry words.
In one quick motion, his hands were at her face, his lips on hers. He kissed her like he meant it—pointed but not forceful—and she began to feel her anger disintegrate as she closed her eyes and gave in to the kiss.
The unwanted—yet so wanted—kiss.
She would allow herself a moment, but she would not melt in his arms.
But they were strong arms, and they made their way around her body, pulling her toward him as if he couldn’t get close enough. Slowly, she moved her hands, resting them on his solid back. He deepened the kiss, and her stomach turned itself into a knot. For a moment, her mind went completely blank.
There was nothing but Grady, his lips, and her wobbly knees.
And then reality smacked her upside the head. She pulled herself from his grasp, hands
going up as if to say, “Whoa. Hold on a minute.” Because in her mind, all she could think was, Whoa. Hold on a minute.
“This is a bad idea.”
“Why?” He took a step toward her and she took a step back.
She turned away and walked to the counter, letting out an ironic laugh as she did. “So many reasons.”
“Tell me.”
“We’re really, really different people, Grady,” she said. “And that—what just happened—”
“Me kissing you?” He supplied the answer in the most amused tone, and she could only attribute his nonchalance to his prior experience. A huge problem she had but would never say aloud.
“Yeah, that. That was a big mistake.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
She paced the width of the floor, thankful for the counter between them. “No, you’re wrong. And you’re all wrong for me.” She laughed. “Anyone who knows us can see that.”
“I know us, and I don’t see it.”
She stopped moving and looked at him. “This is what you do, isn’t it? You draw women in and then you break their hearts. You’re so comfortable doing it. You’re so comfortable knowing that you’re going to have to leave. It doesn’t even matter that this could never work.”
“Maybe I haven’t decided that it can never work.”
“I’m telling you. It can never work. And casual romance is not my thing.” She pressed her lips together, still a bit dazed from the spell his kiss seemed to cast over her.
His eyes turned serious. “It’s not my thing either.”
“Grady, please. I know how to use Google.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “What if I don’t want it to be my thing anymore? What if I want something real? Something different?”
She searched his eyes. This was what guys like him did with girls like her. They pretended to be something they weren’t. But she wasn’t going to fall for it.
He faced her, standing completely still. “I’ve never met anybody who makes me think that what I have isn’t enough. But you do. And I don’t have the right to say this, but I want more.”
The unexpected words spiraled toward her, landing squarely on her shoulders, and there they sat, threatening her resolve.
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