Chapter 12
TWELVE
QUINN
Okay, so this is really fun. Probably the most fun I’ve had since moving back to Minnesota.
After Zoey and I scrubbed out a kids’ wagon that a bridal party had used for a wedding photo prop, we loaded it into the back seat of Zoey’s car and drove back to the bakery.
It took less than a half hour to package everything in the display case and then we took off with a wagon full of chocolate and raspberry croissants, cookies, macaroons, cakes, and cupcakes.
First, we drove to the animal shelter and dropped off several boxes for the volunteers and workers.
Then we went to the salon where Zoey gets her hair done, and one of the local grocery stores (not the one Zoey worked at years ago because apparently there’s a juicy story Zoey needs to tell me about later when they accused her of stealing recipes).
And now we’re strolling up and down the sidewalks with the sun beaming on us, stopping at each store on Main Street and handing them out like Mrs. Claus herself.
At the hardware store, Zoey opens the door, and I drag in the wagon behind me.
“Hey, Erica!” Zoey says to the woman behind the counter.
“Zoey, what the heck happened to your store?” Erica says, tugging off her garden gloves. “I went there over lunch and saw the closed sign.”
“Electrical problems, can you believe it?” Zoey tosses up her hands. “Gonna be a few weeks before we open.”
I feel so freaking bad for Zoey. If an unexpected closure happened at my farm, I’m not sure if I’d be able to handle it.
And Zoey had seemed frazzled, of course, to the point I thought a swear word was close to slipping from that pretty mouth of hers, but she pulled herself together.
And not only did she overcome this huge setback today, she gifted the town with her baked goods rather than dealing with insurance and logistics.
The more I learn about Zoey, the more time I spend with her, the more I like her.
Things like giving up a rare day off to sit with me at the Christmas event—even though I’d chewed her out the day prior—shows me her heart.
And now, when this chipmunk catastrophe happens, the first action she takes is to brighten others’ days with her baked goods.
Who is this woman? And… why is she single?
I step forward with a small box and hold it open to Erica, the same drill I’ve done for the past ten stores. “But may we offer you a box of cookies for you and the crew, compliments of Zoey? Although, to be perfectly honest, I’ve been taking partial credit for the last hour.”
Zoey flashes a smile at me. “You can take full credit. There’s no way I could’ve done this without you today.”
Everything in me warms. This interaction, this entire day, these last few weeks. I feel a blush sweep beneath my freckles.
“Thank you! Yum.” Erica snatches the cookie box. “How’s the tree farm coming along, Quinn? You haven’t been in here for tools lately. Ya musta found yourself a new store, or getting the hang of things.”
Being back in Spring Harbors, I’m constantly reminded of how things are so different than New York.
Yes, I grew up here, but as a kid, I either didn’t know or didn’t care about the community’s interconnectedness.
At first, it felt suffocating. Like the town plants spies everywhere, ready to tell my parents anything to make them even more disappointed in me than they are already.
But now I realize it’s how the community rallies and supports each other.
“Nope, I’m not cheating on you,” I say back to Erica.
“I’ve just finally hit my groove. Although, I need to come back later this week for a wood-burning tool if you have it.
” Sure, I could get some of these items, often cheaper, online, but there’s something so gratifying about spending my money locally.
Something else deeply gratifying? Spending my day with Zoey. Oof. It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve had a friend like this, and I think this is exactly what my soul needs.
Not to mention she’s cute. She’s so damn cute that even through the chaos and sweaty foreheads and rushing to save her products, she continually catches my eye. And when she stripped down to that white tank in her kitchen, flashing me more skin than she probably meant, everything in me revved.
Yes, I’m a feral woman in my sexual prime, but anyone would flush with jolts of electricity when around Zoey.
Sadly, so very sadly, I cannot look at Zoey that way.
It’s not respectful, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is objectify her.
She was so upfront and honest about wanting a life mate.
And I respect that. I do. So, from here on out, I need to constantly remind myself to not be drawn to her mouth, or smooth skin, or the slope of her neck, and look at her only as a friend.
Zoey tucks a fallen strand of hair behind her ear and glances at Erica. “Is Amanda still on maternity leave?”
I swear Zoey is just like Morgan. She seems to know everyone in town, who’s getting married, having babies, who just had surgery. She has this sort of quiet softness. People gravitate towards her like she’s a warm hot tub during a snowstorm.
But, for once, I actually do remember that Erica’s daughter—and employee—Amanda had a baby.
A “guess the due date” calendar was at the front of the store, where you could drop in dollars on the predicted birth date.
Half the pot went to mom, half to the winner.
Was it an illegal gambling ring? Yep, kind of.
But even a few of the sheriffs joined in on the fun.
Erica crunches into a chocolate cookie and dusts the crumbs from her fingertips.
“Yep, Amanda’s going to stay on maternity leave for a few more months.
She loves being at home with that little peanut.
I bought baby Berkley a pair of denim overalls, but Amanda said I have to wait until Berkley’s at least potty trained before I can put her behind the registers. ”
We chat for a few more moments, then step back out onto the sidewalk.
The nearly empty wagon squeaks and bobs against the bumps in the sidewalk, and Zoey and I take turns dragging it behind us.
Although I’ve had enough sugar to wipe out an entire army of Sugar Plum Fairies, my belly rumbles.
“Last few cookies,” I say. “Who’s the lucky winner? ”
Zoey stops right outside of the bakery door and steps underneath the pink-and-white awning. Shade falls across her face and she yawns into her sleeve. It’s pretty obvious the activities from today have finally caught up with her.
“I think we’ve done all the good deeds I can handle for today,” she says, blowing bangs away from her face. “Maybe I just toss the rest of the cookies.”
“Blasphemy!” I throw my hands on my chest like I’m warding off a heart attack. “I’ll take them home for Frankie.”
“Perfect.” She digs out keys from her purse and jingles them into the lock. “My foot is throbbing. I might have overdone it.”
“Oh shit, I totally forgot about your foot.” I grit my teeth and scan her ankle. She’s in tennis shoes, thankfully, but it’s hard to see if there’s swelling. “Do you think you should elevate it?”
She nods and opens the door. A waft of doughy and sticky air meets us, and I follow her inside.
This is a time where I could leave. Call Frankie to come get me since she and Morgan should be back from Duluth now, or see if there’s an Uber available.
But being around someone like Zoey feels pretty damn good, and even with the full, chaotic day, energy fills me.
It’s almost dinner time, and I’m not ready to call it quits, yet.
And with the way Zoey is not hesitating at the entry with me and instead saunters through her place with me at her heels, I have a sneaking suspicion she feels the same.
“God, I hope my home isn’t muggy,” Zoey says, and we cross the waiting area room to the swinging kitchen doors. “Just my luck we have a heat wave in October.”
“Where do you live?” I ask.
She points up to the ceiling. “Right above here is my bedroom.”
I’m not sure why a tiny zip springs through me with the word bedroom and knowing where Zoey sleeps.
It’s like a little insight into her that I’m not sure she shares with other customers.
Which I think means we are, officially, in a solid friend-zone.
I’m part of an inner circle and helpless to stop my goofy smile.
I made a friend. A real friend. “No way. You live in the loft?”
“Yep.” Zoey escorts me into the kitchen. We pass by the station where we wrapped items this morning, and she tosses her bag on the counter. “Hey, do you want me to bring you home?”
My stomach drops. No, I don’t want her to bring me home. I want to stay here and ask her everything about her life. Cats or dogs? Beer or wine? Water or pop? Fruit or veggies? I want to know about past relationships and embarrassing stories and her celebrity crushes.
Today was everything I needed. I’m more imbedded into the community than before, I made a friend, and the last thing I want to do is go back to my place, alone. “Do you want me to leave?”
A long silence stretches, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same as me.
Maybe, in a strange sort of way, even as awful as things were, she also needed today.
She nibbles the side of her lip. She has such a pretty mouth, and I can’t help but let my gaze fall.
Soft pink with a cupid-bow shape, and maybe I shouldn’t notice it, but I do.
“No, I don’t,” she says.
And… a flutter bounces inside me.
But I’m sure this tingling physiological reaction is just a friends thing. The spark of having someone I connect with, outside the bedroom. Just because it’s been a while since I got laid, I cannot confuse what’s happening on my insides with what’s happening outside. I. Cannot. Confuse. This.