6. Quinn
CHAPTER SIX
quinn
She found me.
It’s taking her longer than usual, perhaps the years are slowing her down. She’s never dared show her face in any of the towns I’ve settled in, but she has other ways of screwing with my life, no matter the miles between us.
Finding out where I work and spreading lies to my boss that resulted in me being fired, is a personal favorite of hers. I tried not to let it break me down, and if my boss believed her over me, I’d move to a new town. Easy . My end goal was never to work at a bakery; it was to own one.
She would never expect me to own anything , which is why she’s resorting to other methods of ruining my life. It makes me seethe, but never enough to do something about it. I don’t want a relationship with her, yet cutting her off and blocking her number is something I’ve never been brave enough to do.
Not only is Mr . Willis a great landlord and regular customer, but he lets me live on the far side of his land and charges me a fair rate for water and electricity. He called last night and calmly told me some woman sent him an email, informing him that I was an ex-tenant of hers and owed rent and property damage fees.
He saw right through her bullshit.
She doesn’t know I haven’t rented an apartment in years, not since I got the van, but Mr . Willis does. He blocked her email and didn’t once question me.
Perhaps she’ll finally leave me alone. It was no secret she despised me, yet the moment I was no longer under her roof, her interest in me increased tenfold.
My sneakers slap against the sidewalk with each angry step I take up Robin Road . I welcome the burn in my calves, but wish I’d worn some shorts under this dress, because the thigh rub is real on this oddly warm October morning. I’m so determined to get inside, I don’t notice the wall until I go slamming into it.
A wall of man.
My head whips up when a strong hand holds me steady at the small of my back. Our fronts are squished together as something crinkles between us.
Graham Sadler really has a sexy librarian thing going on and I feel every hard plane of his body underneath his navy wool suit.
We stare at one another breathlessly, our chests rising and falling in tandem. Neither of us has spoken since I collided with him—or moved. I don’t want to do the last one, but I’ll happily break the silence.
“ Graham . What are you doing here?”
He audibly swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. “ I was waiting for you. I’m headed into the city and wanted to apologize before I left.”
I’m so distracted by the deep timbre of his voice, like I’ve been dipped into a barrel of smooth whiskey, that it takes me a second to realize what he said.
“ Apologize ? For what?” I stare up at him in confusion .
The only reasonable explanation for me wanting to protest the loss of his touch is that my hormones are running haywire this week.
His hand slips from my waist as he steps back, and that’s when I see the crumpled bouquet of flowers between us. “ I think… I upset you the other day. I’m sorry. Sometimes , I say the wrong thing. I didn’t mean to make it awkward.”
I thought I had a really good poker face, but he saw right through the act. My heart aches that he thinks he did anything wrong. It was all me, getting irrationally upset over a phone number and my inability to accept help. “ Graham , you didn’t upset me. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. It’s totally a me issue, not you. No apology needed.”
“ Are you sure?”
“ Positive .” I hope the big grin I’m flashing is enough to convince him.
His eyes drop to the flowers in his hand and then he looks at me hopefully. “ Can I still give you these? I’d really like you to have them.”
“ Those are for me?” I ask, mouth agape, heart in the soles of my Chucks .
“ Yeah , um”—he runs a hand along the back of his neck—“the bright colors remind me of you.”
“ They’re beautiful. Yellow is my favorite color,” I whisper as my fingers trace along the soft petals. Yellow daisies, eucalyptus, and gypsophila. “ No one has ever given me flowers before.”
“ Ever ?” I ignore his dumbfounded expression and nod my head. “ Well , that’s unacceptable.”
What in the world is going on? A laugh slips free, but when I look up again, it gets lost in my throat, because holy shit, Graham is smiling. It’s faint, the corner of his lips turning upward a fraction, but it’s all in his eyes. They shine so bright, like early morning sunshine on dewy grass.
Apparently my brain has melted, because it doesn’t do anything to filter my next words. “ You’re very handsome when you smile. I like it.” I slap a hand over my mouth and my eyes bug out of my head.
Then it happens. He laughs. A laugh . It’s a little shaky, but the deepness of it sends a shiver through my bones.
Graham isn’t grumpy. I get why people would put him in that category, but he’s just quiet and I suspect it takes him a little longer than most to open up. He probably doesn’t laugh or smile freely the way I give mine out like candy. It’s oddly endearing, and I suddenly want to do anything I can to see it again.
There’s a moment of silence before he quietly says, “ I like it when you smile too.” Now it’s his eyes that go wide. “ We should get these in water,” he mumbles and nods toward the front door of the bakery.
As I turn away from his hard, warm body, another girlish laugh bubbles in my throat. A smiling, chuckling Graham giving out flowers will do that to any female.
We shuffle into the bakery after I unlock the door, and I fumble around, switching on the coffee machine and the display fridge lights next to the counter. Graham standing awkwardly in the middle of my bakery is becoming a regular occurrence. How can I help him feel more comfortable?
I grab a ceramic pitcher I found at the thrift store and fill it with water before walking over to Graham , who is typing something out in a rush on his phone, before he pockets it. I hold my hand out for the flowers, but he doesn’t budge.
“ Are you taking back the flowers?” I ask.
“ No . Do you know what you’re doing?”
Pointing at the bouquet and then to the makeshift vase of water, I say, “ Stems in water. Job done.”
I swear to god, he rolls his eyes, before gingerly taking the pitcher from my hands and making his way to the small stainless-steel table at the back of the kitchen. Once he has the bouquet unwrapped he glances down at me. “ Do you have scissors?”
“ I do…” I walk to the wall of utensils behind him and pluck down what he needs and place them in his open hand. Peeking around his shoulder, I watch as his long fingers peel away some of the leaves from the stems. “ Why are you doing that?”
“ You don’t want the leaves to sit in the water, or they’ll decompose and cause the flowers to die quicker.”
“ Huh . I really was about to ruin them. Now what are you doing?” I ask as he trims the bottom of the stems at an angle.
“ If you cut them like this, it allows for better water intake.”
“ How do you know what to do?”
He pauses his nimble movements, and bends his head, his voice soft. “ My dad used to do it for my mom and sister. After he passed, I didn’t want them to go without having fresh flowers or have to do it themselves. It’s stupid. My ex thought it was weird to get them flowers.”
My hand darts to his arm and his eyes fall to where I’m creasing his well-pressed suit jacket. “ Don’t say that. It’s not stupid. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. They’re lucky to have you.” I give his arm a final squeeze, before dropping my hand next to his on the table.
Note to self: find out who his ex is, and make sure she never finds the cold side of the pillow ever again.
It’s the first time he’s mentioned an ex, but it’s not the first time he’s shot himself down. I tilt my head to study him. He peers down at me, and even whenthe tip of his pinky brushes against mine, we don’t break eye contact. This hushed moment with Graham is comforting and dangerous. His company feels warm, genuine, and calming, but it also stirs something unfamiliar.
“ Thanks , Quinn .” There’s that hint of a smile again.
I’d happily stand here with Graham all morning, but I know he has somewhere to be, and I have to get set up for the day. The ten minutes I’ve spent with him have changed my mood drastically. With little effort, he scared away my fury and replaced it with a belly full of butterflies.
“ You didn’t need to apologize, but these flowers have really brightened my day. I’m sure you need to get on the road, and I’ve got a batch of blondies calling my name. Did you need anything else, or can I get you something? I have some fresh croissants—not sweet at all.” The wink I give causes his lips to twitch.
He turns back to the flowers, blatantly ignoring my question, and from the thoughtful look on his face, I think he’s searching for the right words to respond with. He shuffles the stems around before tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks, shoulders hunching up with the movement. The telltale sign that he’s uncomfortable stains the tips of his ears as his mouth opens and closes. “ This might sound— I , um, don’t know how to…it’s fine.”
“ You can ask me anything,” I encourage.
“ No . Honestly . Forget I was here.”
Unlikely , but I don’t press him. “ Okay then. Let me get you a take-out ba?—”
“ Will you be my girlfriend!?” he all but shouts, his face a similar shade to the jar of jam beside him.
Oh .
“ So …is that a no to the croissant?