Holly took a deep breath, closed the album, and resumed her search for the stack of magazines. After a few more minutes of exploring, she found the pile of old decorating magazines that she, her grandmother, and Jennifer had pored through on weekends. She held the thick folder in her hands for a moment before opening it. On the top of the stack were the cutouts of their favorite designs, held together by a pink paper clip. With a wistful smile she flipped through the pictures and let the memories come. Every Sunday night, Holly and Jennifer would sit on the rug by the fireplace, while their grandmother sat on the rocking chair beside them, and look through the magazines together. Their grandfather would sit and read his newspaper and occasionally look over at them, his green eyes twinkling at their lively discussion. Holly could still smell the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and just-baked cinnamon bread. Tears stung her eyes as she imagined what it would be like to be back there, with all of them, even just for a few minutes. She owed it to all of them to make their vision a reality.
She wrapped her hand around the baby monitor receiver beside her and turned up the volume until she heard the gentle sound of Ella’s deep, even breathing. She held it against her ear and took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay. Ella was fine. She was fine. They would live a long life together and they’d be happy. Despite professing this to herself on a regular basis, more often than not she would lie awake in bed while her mind wandered to all the what-ifs. All the things that could go wrong. All the reasons why she was not the right person to raise Ella. In Toronto, getting a nanny for Ella had been the obvious solution. But the past two weeks here in Red River, her thoughts of somehow managing a career and seeing more of Ella were tempting. But that line of thinking was dangerous. It terrified her. Loving Ella was easy. But admitting that she loved her like a mother would love a daughter filled her with such terror and guilt that she promptly shoved aside those thoughts. She was not Ella’s mother. She would never be a good enough replacement for Jennifer. Slowly lowering the volume on the receiver, Ella’s gentle breathing fading into the background, Holly rolled her shoulders and stretched.
She took a deep breath and looked around the attic. She took in the proportions of the large space—its sloped ceiling, the staircase, the large window—it would make the perfect home office. Except since she was selling the house, it would be pointless to do an attic reno. The cost would override the payoff. Selling the place. The last two weeks had been so busy that whenever guilt would trickle in, she’d been able to push it aside in order to deal with the demands of the renovation and Ella. She kept reminding herself that she had no choice—living here was not an option. The house, the people, were just reminders of a life that didn’t exist anymore.
Seeing Quinn briefly throughout the weeks had confirmed this. After he practically stormed out of the house after holding Ella, their encounters had been strictly professional, a poignant reminder that they had never been more than friends. And evidently, he didn’t want to let her in. And that was fine. Closer was not what either of them needed. They both had their own lives, their own careers, their own pasts. There was no point rehashing old issues or creating new ones.
The two weeks had passed without any major incidents. The people that Quinn had recommended for the renovation were stellar and basically ran the show flawlessly. Quinn was swamped with starting up some new project, and he was only popping into the house every day to make sure things were under control. That made things a bit easier for Holly, but curiosity about the kind of man Quinn had become had gotten the best of her, and she found herself covertly watching him interact with the trades. He had an air of authority about him and carried himself with confidence. She could see how he’d transformed the small family business into the thriving enterprise it was today.
Holly froze and her jaw dropped open as her eyes focused on a familiar, hand-sewn fabric pouch. It sat on the middle shelf of the old wooden bookcases across the room. The floor creaked as she walked across the attic, sidestepping random pieces of furniture and stacked boxes.
Her heart started beating wildly as she picked up the soft velvet pouch and held it in her hands. No way. She had almost forgotten about this. A rush of heat infused her face as she toyed with the satin drawstring. The words “Holly and Quinn” were hand stitched in the velvet. She stared, almost not wanting to open it. The memory of the day she and Claire had made these was so clear that it was hard to believe it had been nearly fifteen years ago. They had been seated on her white eyelet comforter in her pink bedroom, with piles of magazines and cans of Diet Coke surrounding them. They had propped her desk chair under the doorknob to make sure no one barged in on them while they were working on their sewing.
Holly looped her finger through the satin tie and tiptoed over to the stairwell, confirming that the door to the attic was closed. She needed absolute privacy opening up this pile of embarrassing teen artifacts. Fortunately, Quinn was away for the day at a business meeting, so she knew she didn’t have to worry about him walking in on her. Once privacy was secured, she scurried over to sit on an old milk crate in front of the window. She couldn’t stop the smile that found its way to her lips as she pulled open the drawstring and dumped the contents of the bag onto her lap. A picture of Quinn, who must have been in his early twenties, landed on the top of the pile. She almost groaned out loud as she riffled through the stack of mementos. She found Christmas cards and birthday cards that he had sent to the family. She had kept everything remotely related to Quinn. She stopped for a second when she spotted a magazine clipping of a wedding dress. She would have burst out laughing, except for the fact that she was the orchestrator behind the ridiculous item. She fumbled around and took out her cell phone—Claire really needed to be reminded of this. There was no reason she had to be subjected to this embarrassment by herself. It was a nice feeling, knowing that her best friend was a part of her daily routine again. Claire was just a five-minute drive away, and there hadn’t been a day she hadn’t seen her since she and Ella had been in Red River. She refused to think about how she was going to get along without Claire when she was back in Toronto. Holly held the phone to her ear, waiting for Claire to answer, while she continued poring through the contents devoted to all-things-Quinn.
“Claire’s Flowers.” Claire’s chipper voice answered on the third ring.
Holly swallowed the laughter that was dying to break free from her chest. “Claire, oh my God, are you sitting down?”
Claire inhaled sharply. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Holly took a deep breath. “You have no idea what I’ve just found. Something so mortifying, you’ve probably repressed the memory, something—”
“Holly, I thought this was an emergency.”
“Oh, this is an emergency all right. If you only knew what—”
“Spill.”
Holly swallowed a large gulp of air, not ready to relinquish this secret yet. It felt so good to actually laugh. And be silly and childish. “This is big, Claire. Think. Something so embarrassing that it would make us both look like crazy teenage stalkers.”
“This is cruel,” Claire hissed into the phone. Holly almost fell off the milk crate as she found a picture of her and Quinn in front of her grandparents’ Christmas tree. Quinn’s arm was around her in a purely platonic gesture, and she was standing beside him, her braces glistening under the glow of the Christmas tree lights as she smiled up at him adoringly. She was wearing the T-shirt that he had given her for Christmas. On the front was the word “Dream” in glittering pink. Oh, that T-shirt! She had worn it so many times.
“Claire, just think. C’mon.”
“Our old binoculars?” her friend whispered, her voice oozing with embarrassment.
Holly stifled her laughter. “Nope. Way worse.”
“The movie stubs from when we followed Jake and Quinn into the theater?” Claire asked in a low, stilted voice.
Holly wiped the moisture from her eyes as she laughed at the memory. She had almost forgo
tten that one. “Keep guessing.” Her eyes quickly surveyed the room. That shirt had to be up here somewhere. She darted across the attic to the section with the clothes boxes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so free. Holly spotted the box labeled “Holly’s High School Stuff.” She unfolded the lid, and halfway down, underneath the dated clothing, was the prized shirt. “Hold on, Claire,” she said, placing the phone on a closed box. Without giving it a second thought, she threw off her sweater and pulled on the shirt. Ouch. How skinny had she been? She had worn that T-shirt over and over again. It was practically threadbare. She ran her index finger over the faded words, and for the briefest of moments felt a connection with the girl she was back then. She picked up the phone, anxious to resume their conversation.
“Hi, sorry, I’m back. I just found the T-shirt that Quinn gave me for Christmas when I was fourteen.”
“Uh, that’s really great, Holly, but I’ve got a store full of customers,” Claire whispered.
“Okay, okay. I’m warning you though, you should sit down. I’ll give you a hint: mine is red and you had a blue one with the words Jake and Claire embroidered on the front.” Holly had tears running down her face as she heard Claire shriek on the other end of the phone as she finally clued in, and then apologized to the customers in the flower shop. She was laughing so hard with Claire that the loud footsteps bounding up the attic stairs didn’t register until it was too late.
“Holly, is that you up there?” The sudden sound of Quinn’s deep voice made her scream out loud. She threw the pouch, the photographs, and her phone in the air and slapped her hands over her mouth as she spun around in the direction of the stairs. She could have sworn she heard Claire yelling the words “die” and “kill you” as the phone crashed to the ground.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” Quinn was standing in front of her, looking very much unlike the Quinn she was used to. He was dressed in an exquisitely tailored navy suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and tall, lean body. His white shirt stood out against his tanned skin and dark hair, and the pale blue tie reflected the color of his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she yelled, darting around him and frantically collecting the incriminating artifacts.
“I brought coffees,” he said in a stilted, confused tone as he watched her scrambling around.
“I thought I was up here by myself,” she said breathlessly. Where was the pouch? Her eyes surveyed the floor, quickly glancing over her cell phone, through which she heard Claire yelling her name. She should probably pick that up and tell her she’d call later.
“Is someone on the phone?” Quinn asked as his eyes shifted to her phone.
“No,” Holly said, pressing the end call button, as Claire’s voice raged through the earpiece. She’d deal with Claire later.
“Why are you in the attic, anyway?” he asked again, frowning at her.
“Nothing, nothing, just sorting through things,” Holly said, trying to sound casual as she scanned the room for that stupid pouch.
Quinn’s eyes were riveted on the back corner. The pouch couldn’t have landed all the way over there, could it? “Did you notice anything strange up here?”
Uh, yeah. Evidence that I was a teen stalker. Holly shook her head and tried to plaster a serene expression on her face. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
He didn’t look convinced as he placed the paper coffee cups on one of the milk crates. “Nothing?”
“Nope,” she said, backing up slightly as she felt the soft fabric at her feet. All she had to do was bend down and pick it up.
Quinn’s face relaxed and he nodded. “Good.”
“So, everything going well downstairs?” she asked, surreptitiously pushing the pouch aside with her foot. His eyes slowly went from her face to her foot. She held her breath. She smiled as sweetly as she could, trying to stand perfectly still.
“You lose something, Holly?”
Holly shook her head slowly, not breaking eye contact with him as the uncomfortable realization that he was on to her dawned.
“So, you wouldn’t be looking for this?” he asked, bending down to pick up the pouch. Holly bit down on the curse that was about to fly out of her mouth. The amusement in his voice said it all. She could feel herself beginning to tremble with mortification as he straightened himself up to his towering height. And there it was, the red velvet pouch in Quinn’s large, tanned hands. And Quinn was wearing an infuriatingly gorgeous smile on his face.
She looked him straight in the eye as she tried to snatch the bag from his hands.
He held on.
“Quinn, let go!” She tugged at the string.
“Wait, I want to see what this is,” he insisted, his blue eyes teasing. “After all, my name is on it.” Every breath she took sunk her deeper into the humiliating abyss of her Quinn-stalking years. He traced his long fingers over her inscription. She wished she could fall through the floor and crash down into the kitchen. No, further… Into the basement. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to explain.
She braced herself for the teasing as he looked up at her. But Quinn’s face was serious. The tenderness that she’d witnessed a few times since she’d been back flickered across his face. She decided she should speak first and try to save face. “Quinn, I’m not sure if you remember, but…but I had a little, teensy”—she made a motion demonstrating just how small with her fingers—“crush on you when I was a teenager. You know, before that last night, when I completely humiliated myself.”
He looked into her eyes, the disconcerting tenderness still there. “I know. And you didn’t humiliate yourself.”
Holly swallowed and nodded, feeling like a total idiot. Of course he knew. At least he was being honest. On some level she knew she hadn’t been that subtle back then. But it was a little disturbing that he was getting a glimpse of just how much of a “crush” she’d had. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Quinn sent her a look that she hadn’t seen before. One that sent shivers up and down her spine. He took a step closer to her, and she could smell his fresh cologne, its masculine scent teasing her senses.
She forced herself to smile even though she was ready to run for safety. “It was a long time ago, really, Quinn,” she said, backing up farther as he took another step closer. At least he wasn’t looking at the bag anymore. But then, when his eyes did a slow perusal over her body, she wondered if maybe she’d prefer him looking at the bag.
“Holly?” His voice was rich and sweet like honey.
Holly cleared her throat in an attempt to sound normal. “Yeah?”
“You kept the shirt.” The shirt! She had forgotten about the shirt! Her face felt like it had just been lit by a blowtorch as his eyes dipped down and landed on her breasts for a few hot seconds. Everything in the room suddenly slowed, throbbed, and then pulsed ahead.
“It’s uh”—she crossed her arms in front of her as she tried to appear nonchalant, despite the lack of air in her lungs—“I just found it up here and thought it would be fun to try it on…it’s obviously a little small,” she said, tugging at the shirt. Just shut up. Stop talking, Holly.
His jaw clenched and he gave her a slight nod, his eyes doing a thorough appraisal of her. “It looks a hell of a lot better than I remember.”
Good grief. She stepped back and banged into the bookcases behind her, yelping as a cascade of books came tumbling down over her.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked as she slowly peered out from her hands.
She nodded, feeling her cheeks burning. She forced herself to tilt her chin up and look as though nothing remotely embarrassing had happened.
“Seriously, though, what are you doing up here?” he asked, stepping a little closer to her.
“Trying to kill myself, obviously,” she choked out, shaking the dust off her hair.
He smiled. His eyes sparkled and danced until they landed on her mouth. A decadent shiver ran through her body as Quinn moved within inches of her. Her mouth went dry at his p
roximity, at the heat that radiated from him.
“Look, Quinn. Normally I am a very put-together person. Very graceful, well-dressed, poised, and all of a sudden—”
He leaned down a little, the corner of his delicious mouth turned up slightly. “It’s because of me.”
Luckily the arrogance of that statement poured some cold water over the rising temperature of her body. She narrowed her eyes. “Pardon me?”
He straightened himself up. “I make you nervous.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” She crossed her arms defensively as he looked at her all smug and confident in his suit.
“Yup,” he said with a self-satisfied grin. She was irritated that Quinn looked as good in a suit as he did in his everyday work jeans. She wished he’d have looked awkward all dressed up. Instead, he’d handled it like he did everything else—with smooth, unmistakable confidence. And arrogance, don’t forget the arrogance, Holly.
“What makes you think you make me nervous?”
“Well, your heart is racing a mile a minute, your face is all blotchy—”
“That’s because I almost died under a pile of falling books!”
“Mmm-hmm.” His eyes flickered down to her mouth again. “Holly,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice that made her toes curl. Her eyes flew up to his, and she licked her lips.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know if I told you, and I know things have been kind of crazy since you arrived, but it’s good to have you back,” he said.
A Risk Worth Taking Page 6