Chapter Five
When You’re Ready
Damien
There are moments in a man’s life when he knows he should keep his mouth shut. This is one of those moments.
Unfortunately for me, my self-control left the building about five minutes ago, right around the time Emette Black called Quinn stupid in the cereal aisle of Franklinton’s only grocery store.
I grip the handle of her cart as we move slowly down the next aisle. She’s pretending everything is fine, I can tell. People think pretending is convincing, but it isn’t.
Quinn’s shoulders are a little too stiff and her smile comes a second too late whenever she glances up at me. And she keeps blinking rapidly like she’s trying to force back tears she refuses to let fall.
I hate it. Not just the tears but the reason behind them.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask quietly.
We’re standing in front of the baking section now. Flour, sugar, cocoa powder, chocolate chips, all the things she came here for before this evening turned into something neither of us planned.
She glances down at her phone where a grocery list is pulled up.
“Vanilla extract,” she says after a second.
I grab the small brown bottle from the shelf and drop it into the cart. She smiles faintly.
“Thanks.” The word is soft and polite, like she’s thanking a stranger instead of someone who just watched her boyfriend tear into her in public.
We start walking again. The wheels of the cart squeak slightly with every turn. Normally that sound would annoy me, but right now my brain is too busy replaying the last ten minutes on a loop.
Emette’s voice. The sneer in his expression. The way Quinn’s face fell when he said the word stupid.
Old ghosts stir in my chest. Because I’ve heard that tone before. Directed at me. Years ago. Back when Emette Black ruled the hallways of Franklinton High like he owned the damn place.
Funny how some people never grow out of being assholes.
“You don’t have to stay,” Quinn says suddenly.
I glance over. “What?”
She pushes a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “You probably have better things to do than babysit me while I shop.”
“I’m not babysitting.”
“You kind of are.” I stop walking and she stops, too, looking back at me with mild confusion. “What?”
“You think helping someone finish their grocery shopping counts as babysitting?” I ask.
She shrugs slightly. “It’s not exactly thrilling.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On the company.”
Her lips twitch. There it is. That almost-smile. I’m calling that progress.
“Well,” she says lightly, “I hope you’re not expecting entertainment.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.” She turns back toward the shelves and grabs a bag of powdered sugar. “Because my grocery trips are extremely boring.”
“Oh, I disagree.”
“Oh?” She quirks a brow.
“Watching someone bake ingredients into cupcakes that disappear in under ten minutes is fascinating.”
She laughs softly. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“You only help me because you want the baked goods.”
I consider that for a moment. “I’m not saying that’s not a factor.”
Her smile widens a little and the tension in her shoulders eases slightly. Good. That was the goal.
We reach the end of the aisle and turn toward the dairy section. For a few moments we walk in silence but it’s not the awkward kind. It’s the kind that settles comfortably between two people who don’t feel the need to fill every second with noise.
Still ... the conversation from earlier keeps clawing at the inside of my skull. Emette’s voice and his disgusting insults. The way Quinn tried to brush it off like it was normal.
That’s the part that bothers me most. Because no one should be used to being treated like that, least of all her own boyfriend.
“Quinn.”
She looks up. “Yeah?”
I hesitate. This is the moment where I should mind my own business. Where I should remember that she has a boyfriend and this situation doesn’t involve me. But the words push their way out anyway.
“You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”
Her expression tightens slightly. “I told you it’s not a big deal.”
“He called you stupid.”
Her lips press together. “He didn’t mean it.”
The instant the words leave her mouth, I feel something inside my chest snap.
“He absolutely meant it.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Instead she reaches into the cooler and grabs a carton of eggs, placing them carefully in the cart like they might shatter under the wrong kind of attention.
“Relationships are complicated,” she says finally.
“No,” I say quietly. “They’re not.”
She looks at me again. “You’ve never been in a long-term relationship.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m blind.”
“It means you don’t know how things work.”
I lean against the cart handle. “Explain it to me then.”
She sighs softly. “People get frustrated. They say things they don’t mean.”
“And calling you stupid counts as frustration?”
Her gaze drops to the floor. “Emette has a lot of pressure on him.”
I blink. Pressure. Right. Because that makes insulting your girlfriend in a grocery store totally acceptable.
“You deserve better,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“You deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel small.”
For a moment the air between us goes completely still, like the entire store has paused to listen. Quinn studies my face carefully.
“You don’t know anything about our relationship.”
“I know what I saw,” I counter.
“You saw one moment,” she replies softly.
“That moment was more than enough.”
Her expression shifts slightly, something softer and more uncertain. “You’re being nice,” she says quietly.
“I’m being honest.”
“That’s dangerous.” She shakes her head.
“Why?”
“Because honesty tends to make things complicated.”
I chuckle softly. “Life’s already complicated.”
She leans her elbows on the cart handle and studies me thoughtfully. “You’re a lot more opinionated than people think.”
“I hide it well.”
“That quiet accountant routine?” she jokes.
“Works like a charm.” I say with a wink.
Her eyes sparkle faintly. “You’re not nearly as boring as you pretend to be.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Why?”
“I worked hard on that reputation.”
She laughs again and this time the sound is real and warm. God, I love hearing her laugh.
We head toward the checkout lanes. The store has quieted down slightly as the evening crowd thins out.
A few people move through the aisles, carts rattling softly over tile.
Quinn unloads her groceries onto the conveyor belt while the cashier rings them up and I grab the bags at the end and start filling them.
“You really don’t have to do that,” she says.
“I know.”
“But you’re doing it anyway.”
“Yep.”
She watches me for a second. “You’re stubborn.”
“I prefer persistent.”
“It’s the same thing,” she says with an eyeroll.
“Not really—it depends on the situation.”
The cashier hands Quinn the receipt and we carry the bags outside together. The evening air feels cooler now. Streetlights flicker on across the parking lot, casting soft pools of yellow light across the asphalt.
We reach her car and she opens the trunk and I set the bags inside. For a moment neither of us speaks but the silence feels different now. Heavier and more personal.
Quinn leans against the car door, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “You didn’t have to help me tonight,” she says.
“I know.”
“But you did.” It’s a statement of fact.
“Yeah.” I shrug my shoulders like it doesn’t matter but we both know it does.
“Why? My own boyfriend only showed up to complain about me spending too much time shopping for ingredients.”
There it is. The question I’ve been trying not to answer. I shove my hands into my pockets and glance up at the sky for a second before looking back at her.
“Because I don’t like seeing good people treated badly.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” She studies my face carefully. “You’re a good friend, Damien.”
Friend. The word lands square in the center of my chest. Friend. Right. That’s what this is supposed to be.
Still... The thought that’s been sitting in the back of my brain since the grocery store finally pushes forward.
I take a slow breath. “Quinn?”
She steps closer without thinking and suddenly she’s inside my space. Close enough I can see the tiny gold flecks in her eyes.
“Yeah?” She is standing too close, looking up at me. The scent of her perfume clouds my senses. I hesitate for a second before I say the thing that’s probably going to haunt me later.
“When you’re done playing with boys...” Her eyebrows lift slightly. “...there’s a man out there who’ll treat you the way you deserve.”
She blinks. Processing. Before a small smile spreads across her face.
“That’s sweet.”
Sweet. She thinks I’m giving general advice. Talking about some hypothetical future guy. Not the one standing right in front of her.
“That man’s going to be very lucky,” she says.
My heart does something strange in my chest. “Yeah.” Lucky. That’s one way to put it.
She closes the trunk and steps closer, giving me a quick hug before I can react. It’s brief and friendly but the warmth of her body lingers long after she pulls away.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“For what?”
“For reminding me I’m not crazy.”
“You’re definitely not crazy.”
She smiles again before she climbs into her car and starts the engine. I step back as she pulls out of the parking space and watch as her taillights disappear down Main Street a few seconds later.
I stand there in the quiet parking lot for a moment longer than necessary. Because the truth is ... I didn’t mean some random guy when I said those words. I meant me.
And one day when she finally realizes she deserves better than Emette Black ... I’ll be right here waiting.