“I can’t, Car.” She’d chosen instead to watch him from the comfort of her own loft, where she could wear every single one of her emotions without worrying about anyone else reading into them.
And she’d run the emotional gamut. From panic to fear to worry to excitement to edge-of-her-seat anticipation, she’d made her way through them all, ending, of course, with pure elation as the man she’d once loved came screaming toward the finish line to capture the gold.
He was ecstatic, and rightly so. He hadn’t quit, and it had paid off.
Perhaps the best part of the whole thing, though, was watching him take that medal off his neck and walk it over to his brother, who was sitting on the sidelines, pride all over his face.
Quinn had choked back the tears long enough and melted into a puddle right there in her living room.
See? This was why she couldn’t have watched with everyone else. She would’ve given herself away.
She was so happy for him, and more than anything she wanted to tell him, but as she grabbed her phone and stared at the blank screen underneath his name, debating whether or not to send a text, something stopped her. She couldn’t. It would only confuse things.
But ever since, in spite of her excitement about the design competition, there was a hollowness inside her. A hollowness that she pushed aside as she walked through the doors to the convention center, flashed her badge, and began her trek from booth to booth.
The competition results would be announced at 2 p.m. Around one thirty, she made her way to the hall where the awards ceremony would be held. In the lobby just outside the room were the three displays that were up for Best Design. As she walked by, she heard someone comment on hers, saying, “It’s just so free and full of life.”
She pulled open the door to the large room and thought of Grady. Free and full of life. And she hoped one day she could say the same of herself. After all, that was the way she wanted to live.
The room looked like a standard banquet hall. At the front was a stage with a podium in the middle, flanked by two large screens. There were people milling about and more chairs facing the stage than she’d anticipated. She supposed it felt more daunting now that her name and photos of her designs were going to be up on that screen.
As she made her way to the front, where her seat was reserved, she stopped in the middle of the aisle. There, filling up an entire row, were her dad and Beverly (holding hands!), Carly, Jaden, Calvin, Judge, Hailey, and Lucy.
Quinn’s eyes went wide. “What are you guys doing here?”
“I got them in.”
She whirled around and found Mimi standing behind her. “Mimi? I thought you were in Italy!”
“We decided to come home for a few weeks before heading off to our next destination—Bali.” Mimi opened her arms and Quinn stepped into a tight, motherly hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I can’t believe you’re all here.” Quinn pulled from Mimi’s embrace and studied them all. “You guys are the best.”
“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” Her dad beamed. “We’re all pulling for you, sweetheart.”
“Miss Collins? You should take your seat now.” The woman wore an earpiece and a staff badge.
“Go,” Dad said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll see you afterward.”
She met his eyes. He’d been her mother and her father. He’d been attentive and good and kind. He’d protected her, over and over again. And she’d been oblivious to that goodness until this very moment. “Thanks, Dad. Thank you all for being here. It means the world to me.”
“Good luck, Quinnie,” Lucy called out from the end of the row.
“We’re all going to cheer really loud,” Carly said. “Hope you don’t embarrass too easily.”
Quinn laughed, and as she took her seat, she realized the outcome of the competition didn’t matter so much anymore. What really mattered was sitting in that row—a collective group of people who were invested in her life.
She listened as Kitty Moore, a small woman with perfectly coiffed orange-colored hair, welcomed everyone to the competition. There were a number of other awards that came first, and Quinn listened dutifully, trying to keep her mind from wandering.
Finally, after nearly an hour, the words Best Design appeared on the screen. Carly let out a whoop and Quinn stifled a giggle. Her family had no tact. And that was only part of the reason she loved them so much.
One by one, Kitty presented the entries of the finalists. Photos flashed across the screen, ending with a headshot next to each name. When Quinn’s appeared, the whole group representing her let out a cheer.
“Can we get all three finalists up on the stage, please?” Kitty glanced down to where they were all sitting, and they stood, making their way up the stairs.
“Now a quick word about each competitor from our former president, Jacie Whitman.”
Quinn’s mouth went dry. She met Carly’s eyes as the image of a familiar yet unfamiliar woman appeared on the screen.
It was the first time Quinn had actually gotten a good look at her mother’s face since childhood, and while she’d aged, of course, there was still a hint of the same woman Quinn had known and loved all those years ago.
Jacie began talking about one of the other contestants, explaining why her design was chosen as a finalist.
What was she going to say about Quinn?
Next came commentary about the man standing to Quinn’s right, whose work was “edgy and moody.”
Quinn watched the screen in the back that faced the stage, doing her best to connect with a woman who wasn’t really there, listening as she gave her opinion about her estranged daughter’s work.
“In January, I had the pleasure of visiting Harbor Pointe for their Winter Carnival, where Quinn Collins’s Secret Garden display absolutely took my breath away. It was inventive and whimsical, and its magic captured my imagination the moment I stepped through the door. I wasn’t the only one smitten with Miss Collins’s work, as many of the guests I talked to were enamored with the beauty on display. Miss Collins shows great promise and creativity as a floral designer, definitely one to watch. If you’re looking for beautiful craftsmanship mixed with incomparable artistry, make your way to her Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop today.”
The screen went dark, but Quinn still stared at it, as if she could will her mother to come back. To say one personal word to her. To send her some kind of signal, some kind of hint that she still cared.
But she was gone. And there was nothing. Only a crisp professionalism that still kept her, after all this time, at a distance.
Quinn glanced up and found her father’s eyes. They were drilling her, as if to ask how she was doing. Down the line, she saw face after face with the same concerned expression.
She was so loved. Her life was so good. Maybe staying away was the best gift her mother could have given her.
And as they called her name as the second-place winner, and she stood on that podium staring out at all their shining, cheerful faces, it occurred to her that there was only one glaring exception.
And it wasn’t the one she’d been chasing her whole life.
News of her second-place achievement spread across Harbor Pointe like butter on a warm pancake. It seemed it didn’t matter if you won the Olympic gold or took home second place in a floral design competition—the people of this town were going to celebrate.
The shop had gone from busy to bustling with news of her success, and she had brides calling to book her for weddings that weren’t scheduled for months. In anticipation of a very busy year, she’d hired two part-time employees.
After her realization at the Expo, she’d decided she’d been stubborn long enough. Grady might’ve told her he wanted her to leave, but that television interview had given her reason to think maybe he’d reconsidered.
She needed to find out for sure. In person. The thought sent a jolt of panic down her back.
Now that she’d been on a plane on
ce before, she had all the courage she needed to book another ticket. But facing him, putting herself on the line again—that took an entirely different kind of courage, one she wasn’t sure she could muster.
Besides, she’d been scouring race websites to find out if he was still competing, since the season wasn’t actually over, but so far, she’d come up empty. She didn’t know where Grady was at the moment, and she didn’t like it.
Her last resort would be to check with Jaden, which meant making her plan known. At this point, it might be her only option. And Grady was worth possible humiliation.
On Saturdays, like today, she let her employees handle the shop while she took slow, purposeful mornings with her favorite coffee and whatever book had captured her attention that week.
Now, from her spot at a small café table outside Dandy’s Bakery, she watched a young family ride by on their bikes, tires kerplunking along the brick road. The sound of children laughing carried over from the park on the next block, and shoppers chattered on as they passed by, everyone making the most of the unseasonably warm weekend in the middle of March.
“Is this seat taken?”
Quinn froze. She knew that voice—she’d never get it out of her head. But there was no way it could be . . .
She turned around.
Grady.
He stood there looking as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a catalog: chiseled cheekbones, lightly scruffy yet strong and healthy. His eyes shone bright at the sight of her.
“Hey, Q.” His smile faded as he took her in.
She stood. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Heard there was this great little flower shop, and—” He pulled a bouquet, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, from behind his back.
“Tulips,” she said. “You spent money to give me my own flowers?”
He smiled. “How often does anyone ever give you flowers?”
She took the bouquet. “Never, actually.”
“Then it’s the perfect gift.” He looked unsure. “Can I sit?”
She shook her head, as if to bring herself back to the present. “Oh, yes, of course.”
He took the chair across from her, folded his hands on the table, and watched her for a long moment as she sat down again.
“So . . . why are you really here?” Did she sound as unsteady as she felt?
“Came to see you.” He reached across the table and took her hands in his. “Came to make my case.”
She frowned. “What kind of case?”
“Not the kind I have to make before the judge,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “The kind that will hopefully show you how much you mean to me.”
She had no response.
“I thought a lot about what you said. About forgiving myself and forgiving my father.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not quite there yet.” He squeezed her hands. “But I want to be. I want to learn to let it go, to get past all that garbage so I can move on.”
“I think that would be really good for you, Grady.”
“And you were right. I do sabotage myself, and I did push you away. And I still think I’m not good enough for you.”
“Grady, please—”
He cut her off with an upheld hand. “But I told you before that I want to be, and I meant it. I want to try to be the man you think I can be.”
She studied her folded hands on the table. “I saw your win.”
“You did?” His face warmed into a soft smile. “I hoped you were watching. Jaden said you didn’t go to Cedar Grove with the rest of them, so I wasn’t sure.”
“I watched it alone.” She eyed him. “You gave Benji your medal.”
He nodded. “The medal was always for him. But the skiing—the journey—that was all mine.”
She pressed her lips together. Was this actually happening? Was he really here, in Harbor Pointe, sitting at her table?
“Look, Quinn—” he reached over and put a hand on her cheek—“I’ll do my best to let go of all of that other stuff, but I never want to let go of you.”
She blinked, sending tears down her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
“Are you kidding? When I won, all I could think about was that I wished you were there.”
She understood that feeling, though on a much smaller scale.
“Can I show you something?” He stood.
She gave his upturned hand a skeptical look.
“Come on.” He pulled her up, held on to her hand, and walked down the block toward the flower shop.
“What are you doing?”
He led her around the building toward the alley where the back door was. “Close your eyes.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t ruin the surprise.”
She did as she was told, allowing him to lead her on—toward what, she didn’t know.
“Remember how I told you that you reminded me that my dreams were worth fighting for?”
“Yes.”
He stopped moving. “I wanted to remind you of the same thing. Open your eyes.”
Sunlight streamed into the alley, illuminating an old, dusty-blue Volkswagen truck.
“So, look.” He ran over to the truck and pulled down the sides of the bed. “You can put crates here, and we can build a sort of shelf for the flower tins. Those galvanized metal ones you like so much. Oh, and this is the best part.” He reached inside the truck and pulled out a long sign that read: Forget-Me-Not Flower Truck.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “You did this for me?”
He leaned the sign against the side of the truck and looked at her. “I’d do anything for you.”
He grabbed hold of her sweater and gave it a tug, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her waist. She pressed her hands against his chest and dared a glance into his eyes. Slowly, she drew her lips to his, aware that for once in her life, she wasn’t thinking of everything that could go wrong.
She was only thinking of one thing: possibility. And she didn’t have a single reservation about the risks of loving him. She only knew she wanted to do it from this day on and for the rest of her life.
CHAPTER
1
JUST BREATHE.
Lane Kelley rested her hand on her knee, willing it to stop bouncing. She watched from behind her desk as Marshall ushered the client—a young guy in jeans who appeared to be valiantly attempting a goatee, albeit unsuccessfully—through the glass doors of the conference room at JB Sweet & Associates, the interior design firm where she worked as one of many designers.
You can do this. It’s what you’ve been working for.
The chance of a lifetime.
That’s what Marshall had called it—the chance of a lifetime. “You’re one of five people in the company who will get to be part of this project, Lane. The higher-ups are watching. This is huge. You’re not going to get an opportunity like this again.”
She understood. She’d been pursuing this since she started at the design firm seven years ago as part of her senior seminar at Northwestern. She hadn’t expected to stay here this long, but she quickly found a home at JB Sweet, and she was good at what she did.
The last seven years had gone by in a blur, leaving Lane with half-remembered moments of creating branded environments for new and established companies by using her artistic abilities and her love of interior design. Her college internship had turned into a career—one that afforded her a luxury loft in the city, a shared personal assistant, and now the chance to become the next creative director at JB Sweet.
Chloe welcomed the goatee guy—Ashton—and the rest of the team from Solar into the meeting room and flashed Lane her trademark oh-my-goodness eyes. Chloe understood, more than anyone, what this meeting meant to Lane. In some ways, this would be their promotion. After all, if Lane did get the position, she’d already promised that her first request would be for Chloe to move up with her.
Chloe gave Lane one more knowing n
od as she passed by again, and Lane actually considered pinching herself.
This was the moment she’d been dreaming of—a chance to win over the execs at Solar, to convince them that yes, they very much should give JB Sweet & Associates the honor of designing and branding their new business space, because yes, she and her team would work round the clock to make sure the branded space would reflect Solar’s unique, casual-yet-trendy style.
“They love our aesthetic,” Marshall had told her. “I mean, bring your A game, but expect good things. According to Ashton, the whole team is leaning our way.”
And that was before her pitch. All she had to do was not mess it up.
She’d run through her presentation well into the wee hours of the morning, starting in on the caffeine around 4 a.m. She was ready. Excited, if a little jittery. Her designs were great. She could do this. She could wow them.
And yet, thinking of it now, she felt rocking-on-a-boat-in-choppy-waters sick. She’d never had a chance this big in her life.
Don’t mess this up, Lane.
The rest of the executives from Solar, a tech company in the Forbes top ten last year, filed past. They shook hands with Marshall and the others from her team as they walked through the door. But not Lane. She was still at her desk, busy trying not to throw up.
Stay in control. These guys have no idea that your nerves are taking you out to the woodshed. No one can make you feel inferior in this arena. This isn’t high school. This is where you shine.
The guys from Solar—she could only call them “guys” because not a single one of them actually looked like a man—all resembled their fearless leader, Ashton, aka Mr. Wanna Goatee. Jeans, hoodies, Converse One Stars. No suits for this company. Somehow she found that more intimidating, not less. After all, she’d never been the trendy type.
She shoved aside the unwelcome image of a sweater that didn’t quite cover a protruding midsection.
“Honey, I tried to tell you, you shouldn’t wear clothes that are so tight.”
She’d been aching for sympathy, but her mother had only given empty I-told-you-sos and the sour taste of disapproval. She hadn’t meant to disregard Lane’s feelings; she just wanted to help. At least that’s what Lane tried to tell herself.
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