Chapter 9
nine
Chris
“Ohhh, what do you think of this one?” Quinn holds up a souvenir mug identical to the last half-dozen she’s shown me—heavy, ceramic, and absurdly overpriced, with an image of Mackinac Island on the front.
“That’s it. That’s the one. Mission accomplished. You should buy it.”
“You’re just saying that so I take mercy on you and leave this shop.”
“Of course not,” I lie. I grab the first item I find and hold up what turns out to be a small model of Arch Rock from our bike ride. “I’m totally on the hunt for my own knick-knacks to bring home, shove on a shelf, and never think about again.”
Surprisingly, Quinn appears unmoved by my impassioned rebuttal. “You know, if you’d offer me a valid opinion, this would go a lot quicker. Plus, bonus—you might start to enjoy yourself.”
“I’m enjoying myself.” I slam the model down hard enough that the entire display shudders.
Quinn’s only response is a raised eyebrow.
I scowl and turn away, but there’s no real heat in it. I know she has a point. I’ve been even moodier than usual since my encounter with Percy in the woods.
Seeing him like that, looking so lost and vulnerable, had sheered past my usual defenses.
For a fleeting moment there, I’d even considered trying to comfort him.
Then, I’d remembered that terrible winter break, locked in my bedroom waiting for support that never came.
Not to mention everything that followed.
Maybe that’s why I’d lashed out at him the way I had.
How dare he try to elicit my sympathy when he’d been the one who abandoned me when I needed him most!
Quinn mercifully settles on a mug, and I follow her out of the little shop. The bell above the door chimes as we exit. It’s early enough in the afternoon that tourists still pack the sidewalks outside, and a few determined bicyclists chug along the street past the carriages.
“Aren’t they adorable?” Quinn says, watching two girls about our age lean their heads together in one of the carriages.
I can’t tell if she’s talking about the couple or the horses. “If crawling to your destination is your thing. Pretty sure they could walk twice as fast as that horse is moving.”
Quinn swats at me, hindered by the plethora of shopping bags dangling from her arms. “That’s not the point, and you know it! It’s romantic. Who cares how long it takes to reach your destination when you can travel in style?”
A passing horse releases a load into the pouch strapped at its rear, and I snort. “Style. Right.”
Rolling her eyes, she grabs my arm. “Come on.”
“Where are we going now? Can you even lift any more crap?”
“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t carry my bags for me if I asked.” She smirks while I grumble under my breath. “Besides, I’m not looking for more souvenirs. It’s time for the real attraction.”
Real attraction? She drags me down the busy street, ignoring my protests as she weaves through the crowds with mixed success. I’m about to stalk off after careening into yet another angry pedestrian when I catch the intoxicating aroma of fresh fudge.
“Where’s that coming from?” I demand, jerking to a halt and sniffing the air.
She points to a storefront a few shops down. “There, I think.” She eyes me. “If I buy you some chocolate, will that shut you up for the rest of the afternoon?”
“I dunno about all afternoon,” I hedge. “But at least until I finish eating it.”
“Good enough.”
She switches directions, moving toward the indicated shop.
Through the large glass window at the front, I can make out thick marble slabs of fudge resting behind the counter as they cool in at least a dozen different flavors.
Some I can pick out even from here, like the one with nuts or the pure chocolate fudge.
Others defy categorization. The combined smell, however, is heavenly.
“Ready to go in, or would you rather stand out here drooling all afternoon?” Quinn asks with a grin.
“No one alive could smell that and not drool,” I say as another customer exits through the door, stepping past Quinn and me. They stutter to a halt, and I glance at them, sucking in a breath.
Percy. Of course.
I’ve spotted him a couple of times since the bike trip, checking his phone as he hurries down Main Street like he has somewhere important he needs to be. I’d managed to steer clear of him until now, but I guess my luck finally ran out.
“Hi,” Quinn says, smiling at him while shooting me an unreadable glance. “Percy, right?”
He doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at the ground.
I frown at him. There’s no need for him to be rude to Quinn because of our unresolved issues. “You’re blocking the door, Wentworth.”
Percy mumbles something unintelligible and shoves past, retreating down the sidewalk.
I watch him go, shaking my head. “What the hell is his problem?”
I glance at Quinn, but she’s looking at me, not Percy. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure he’s the only one with a problem. Is he why you’ve been in an even worse mood than usual?”
“Percy’s got nothing to do with how I feel.”
“Uh-huh. So, it’s a coincidence that you’ve been avoiding him all afternoon?”
I clench my jaw, refusing to answer.
After an awkward silence, Quinn holds open the door to the fudge shop for me. “Okay, then. Forget I asked. Your chocolate awaits.”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I mutter, shoving my hands in my leather jacket.
She sighs. “Of course you have. Fine, no fudge for you.” The door clangs shut, and she resumes her original heading. “Good to go?”
I consider begging off. We still have a couple of hours until Oshkoff’s mandatory group dinner—enough time for me to head back to the Royal Lilac, lock myself in my room, and do some writing. I’ve got no shortage of thoughts waiting to be released onto the page.
But somehow, that feels like giving up. Like letting Percy win.
So instead, I say, “Lead the way.”
We duck down a side street another block over and cut north to Market Street.
It looks much the same as the area we’d just left on Main Street, only less crowded.
It’s also, I realize, filled with a long stretch of art galleries.
No wonder Quinn called this the main attraction—she could shop for hours without getting bored, but she could literally spend her entire life inside an art gallery, studying each piece until she’d memorized every palette choice and contour.
I spend the next few hours with her doing exactly that.
While I’m nowhere near the art connoisseur she is, I think I get what she sees in it.
Like my writing, the paintings and sculptures are an attempt to impose order onto a disordered world.
Plus, it’s kind of fun listening to her try to explain the merits of a piece so my plebeian eye can understand.
We peruse our way through one gallery after another full of expensive pieces neither of us can afford.
By the time we decide to head back to freshen up before dinner—and give Quinn a chance to deposit her loot from earlier—my mood’s considerably improved.
The high doesn’t last long. As we start up the stairs to the Royal Lilac’s wraparound porch, Devon and his group shove through the door.
His eyes narrow when he spots me. I ignore him and try to slip past, but he slides in front of me.
“Move,” I snarl, balling my hands into fists.
Devon smirks. “Are you really that eager to finish what we started?”
Before I can respond, Quinn’s voice rings out loudly from behind me. “Is this sort of macho posturing supposed to be sexy? Because, speaking as a woman, it definitely isn’t.”
One of Devon’s friends snickers, and Devon glares at him. “Whatever,” he growls, shoving past us. “You’re not worth it anyway.”
Even though I know Devon is a jerk, his offhanded comment still stings, coming uncomfortably close to the tangle of anger and rejection I feel every time I see Percy. My feet remain glued to the wooden steps.
Quinn sets a hand on my arm, tugging lightly. “Let’s go freshen up, yeah? We want to look our best for Professor Oshkoff.”
“Dress to impress, right?” I manage with a weary smile.
“Exactly!” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll bag a hot island boy for your trouble.”
Her words linger with me as I lie on my bed and wait for her to get ready. When I envision grinding up against a hot guy, it’s not some local’s face that appears in my mind’s eye. No, it’s something far more tantalizing—and far more destructive.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking my reverie.
When I glance at the screen and see the number, I groan.
Great. Just the thing to make this sucky day even suckier.
I consider letting it go to voicemail, but I know from personal experience they’ll keep calling if I do.
And if I miss those calls, there will be hell to pay when I get back.
Resigned, I pick up. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” If one of them is calling, it’s a fair bet the other’s around, too.
“Christopher!” My mom’s shrill voice comes through so loud it might’ve been deafening had I not already been holding the receiver away from my ear in preparation. “I am glad we caught you. Are you safe? You know I do not like the idea of you in the wilderness.”
I roll my eyes even though I know she can’t see. “Yes, Mom. And it’s not like Mackinac Island is in the boonies. It’s only a couple of hours from campus, and—”
My grip on my phone tightens when she barrels right over me. “It is the Upper Peninsula.” She says it as though that ends the discussion. Maybe to her mind, it does. “People in the UP are not like in the cities. It is not safe, especially for someone who lives their life like you.”