Chapter 20
MILLER
For some reason, I thrived in emergency situations, staying calm and level-headed in the face of adversity.
I’d had plenty of experience with Mason’s asthma attacks, a clear head needed when seeing my brother gasping for air.
Granted, in Quinn’s situation, it was hardly life and death, but it triggered a burst of adrenaline all the same.
I got Quinn to sit down on the back of the truck and then I let Clarissa know what had happened. I grabbed my water bottle from my backpack in the front seat and took it to her.
“It’s not real cold,” I said, “but you should drink it. I’ll be back in a minute. You’ll be okay?”
I was buzzing like I was hyper on energy drinks.
I’d never seen anyone faint before, much less fall into my arms, but someone in gym class had once.
The teacher had told the girl to sit down and given her a drink of water.
Strange how the vaguest memories resurface when needed and I drew on that expertize.
A million things ran through my brain. I’d get Quinn a cold drink and some food, something sweet to boost her sugar levels.
She was probably running on empty, and there was nothing to her as it was.
I mean, I’d noticed over the last few weeks that she’d become thinner, confirmed by the fact that she was as light as a feather in my arms.
Yeah, in my arms. Of all the scenarios I could have dreamed of, holding Quinn Devereaux rated about as likely as me riding a Ducati Monster.
And yeah, I had liked it. More than liked it.
But there was no time to dwell on it with the whole disclosure of the Devereaux fortune being in jeopardy rocking me, if her friend was to be believed.
It blew my mind to hear that the Devereauxs were in financial strife, with the high and mighty Annabelle selling off designer bags online to keep the family afloat.
And strangely, though getting her comeuppance should have given me a reason to be smug, I found no joy in it.
There was only a sick feeling that somehow things had all gone wrong for Quinn, especially with her friend accusing her of lying, of not trusting her.
But that wasn’t the only thing that had me reeling.
No, my heart was still jumping all over the place because Quinn had said she liked me.
She didn’t hate me as I’d suspected. No, she liked me.
Okay, so she’d said it right before fainting, which might have meant she was on the brink of delirium, but her words stuck in my head like glue: Actually, I do like you. It’s just that you’re the enemy.
It allowed me the tiniest sliver of hope. Of what, I wasn’t sure. But hope...that my crush wasn’t unrequited, that I wasn’t totally out of her league...
Typically, when you’re in a rush, people always dawdle.
I bumped into a couple walking dreamily hand-in-hand, got stuck behind a woman with a stroller and had to go around a bunch of ladies gossiping in the middle of the market.
I bypassed Bree’s Brews—would never buy from her again—and looked around for another stall.
I stopped at Frieda’s Fresh Fruit, stressing over what to buy.
I ordered a berry smoothie, but then doubted myself and asked for a freshly squeezed orange juice as well.
And then I remembered that she needed something more substantial and bought both an apple and a blueberry tart because I didn’t know which she’d prefer.
And crazily, I didn’t even consider the prices.
For someone who would usually walk several blocks to get a cheaper deal on a can of soda or an energy drink, I willingly spent my hard-earned cash on Quinn without question.
When I arrived back, Quinn was sitting in the exact same spot, but she’d taken off her cap and the white jacket she’d been wearing. She was fanning herself with her hand and I noticed how bony her shoulders were.
“Hey,” I said, rushing up with the supplies she so desperately needed. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, thanks,” she said, the water bottle almost empty.
“You need to eat,” I said, opening the box of tarts for her. In hindsight, I figured I should have bought her a slice of pizza. “And drink. Not sure if you’d want a smoothie or juice. So I got both.”
“Uh...the juice looks good,” she said hesitantly.
I passed it to her, watching over her like a hawk as she sipped on the straw.
“Oh that’s good,” she said after one mouthful.
I perched myself up on the truck bed beside her. “More,” I directed. “Drink it all. So, have you ever fainted before?” She shook her head, still sucking on the straw. “And you didn’t eat breakfast?”
She kept shaking her head, but paused from her drink. “So, Mason was right about you being bossy,” she stated.
I blinked. “Huh? Me? Bossy? That little toad!”
Quinn smiled. “He says you’re always telling him what to do.”
I pouted. “I wouldn’t say always. And half the time he doesn’t listen anyway. He’s always got his nose in a book.”
A giggle escaped Quinn’s lips, her eyes brightening. “It’s nice that you look out for him.”
“He’s my brother,” I said with a shrug.
“Thanks for standing up to my friends.” She cast me a sideways glance and mumbled, “Or my ex-friends.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said, watching as she twirled the straw in the cup.
“I...I couldn’t go against Mom, she’s been desperate to hide—”
“Hey,” I interrupted softly, “it’s none of my business. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Hey, guys?” Clarissa’s voice rung out. “Can I borrow one of you for a second?”
“I’ll go...” Quinn was ready to jump, but I beat her to it.
“No, I’ll go,” I said, stopping her with my hand on her arm. I felt a flush of heat across my cheeks, the innocent touch sending me up in flames. “You finish your...you drink that and those tarts, you hear?” I stuttered in a fluster.
“Yes, boss,” she surrendered with a salute and a tiny smirk.
I helped Clarissa pack up an order for a customer who looked like she was feeding an army and I carried the box to her minivan. When I came back, Quinn was back helping Clarissa, a healthier glow returned to her skin.
“Don’t overdo it,” I murmured as I walked by her, refilling crates of potatoes, carrots and onions.
“I feel much better,” she said and her eyes fixed on me for a heartbeat. “Thanks.”
The stunning blue of her eyes rippled through me, an excitement that was momentary but momentous. I felt it right down to the tips of my toes, a rush that topped any adrenaline surge. Something so freaking amazing, that I knew for sure I’d gone past the crush stage, that I’d fallen hard.
Oh great. Fallen for the enemy.
After Clarissa left, I stayed with Quinn, even serving customers when it got busy.
I didn’t like it much but I didn’t want Quinn to overdo it.
I’d insisted she drink the smoothie too but she said she’d burst if she had to eat the apple tart as well.
I happily ate it, not liking to see food go to waste. Especially when I’d paid for it.
I packed up the stand as Quinn served the remaining customers. Several other stall holders came by, asking after Shayla. I let Quinn deal with those questions, not knowing how to talk about babies.
“She started having contractions last night,” Quinn said to a lady. “But we haven’t heard anything yet, have we Miller?”
“Uh, no, not yet.” I liked that she included me in the conversation even though I had nothing helpful to add.
“Here’s some leftovers,” the lady said, handing a bag of bread to Quinn. “You kids have done a great job today.”
“Oh thanks,” Quinn said. “Here, take some of our freshly harvested potatoes.”
That happened with several other people too. By the time we were ready to leave, Quinn amassed some fresh eggs, a bunch of flowers, a lemon and huckleberry loaf and some butterfinger cookies.
“You did good,” I said.
“I’ll give them to the Hamlin’s,” Quinn said, stacking them in the seat between us. “I’m sure Shayla will like the flowers.”
“You ready to go?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll drop you back in town,” I said.
“Mom’s still working, but...” she paused, “but I can help you unload the truck?”
“Thanks, but I should be—” I stopped, reeling myself in before I regretted it.
Quinn had offered to help which could mean she wasn’t in a hurry to get away from me, unless she felt obliged and was being polite.
But what if it was the first thing? What if she wanted to hang out? On her own admission, she did like me.
“Ah, yeah, that’d be cool actually,” I said, “you know, but...only if you want.”
Quinn nodded, her voice quiet but threatening to wreck me, “Yeah, I want.”
I clamped my fingers tighter around the steering wheel in an attempt to steady myself.
“How’d you kids go?” Mrs. Hamlin was quick to greet us when we arrived back at the farm.
“Yeah, good,” Quinn answered quickly, which meant she didn’t want me to mention her fainting incident. “How’s Shayla? Any news?”
“Yes, she delivered a bonny baby boy just after seven this morning. Eight pounds, three ounces. Mother, father and baby all doing well.”
“Congratulations,” Quinn said. “Has he got a name yet?”
“Silas. Silas Anthony McMahon.”
Quinn smiled, passing Mrs. Hamlin the cash box and the hoard of produce she’d acquired.
“Goodness no, you keep that,” Mrs. Hamlin said.
“But I exchanged it for your potatoes.”
Mrs. Hamlin scrunched her nose. “All yours, honey.”
“Well, can you at least take the flowers for Shayla?”
“That’s very kind,” Mrs. Hamlin said. “Come get a cold iced tea, and I have a proposition for you. For both of you.”
Mrs. Hamlin wanted Quinn and I to man the stall until the market closed for the winter. She appreciated that we’d jumped in at short notice and had heard good things about Quinn already from some of her regular customers.
Quinn blushed but I felt proud, so proud of her.
“You think about it okay?” Mrs. Hamlin said to us. “And then let me know.” She left us in the shed while she took the flowers and cash box away.