Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

QUINN

"You got fired? Again? You haven't even been there a month!"

I wince at George's tone, then unwrap a butterscotch candy—my favorite—and pop it into my mouth because I could really use something sweet right now.

For a man in his seventies with a heart condition, George sure does like to get riled up. Then again, he's been like that since I started coming to George's Grocery two years ago. It's a little store with everything you need from milk to ice cream to bread but also somehow everything you don't need, like the display of whoopie cushions that sit by the register. I honestly have no idea how this place is still in business with its identity crisis, but the people love it.

"First of all, settle down, Mr. Heart Problems," I tell the old guy I've spent way too much time talking to over the years. "Second, yes, but it wasn't my fault this time."

He huffs like he doesn't believe me, and honestly, I can't say I blame him. I have a bit of a reputation of losing my job to things that "aren't my fault" but, if inspected extremely closely, might actually be.

Aw, who am I kidding? They've all totally been my fault. Generally because I can't keep my own impulses under control. The proof of that can be found in the overdue credit card statements sitting on my kitchen counter.

"What happened this time?" George asks, his arms crossed over his burly chest and covered in thick white hairs.

"Marco."

"Polo," the old man automatically responds.

I smile. "No. He was my assistant manager. And, uh, let's just say we had a… special connection and his fiancée didn't appreciate it very much and made a scene during our lunch rush when she found out."

Or at least that's what Marco said after he stripped me out of my dress and had me for dinner on his kitchen counter. Then for dessert on the living room floor. And second dessert in his bedroom. How the hell was I supposed to know he was engaged? I didn't ask, and he didn't offer up the information. I assumed he was single when he asked me out after work one night.

Now that I think about it, the heels sitting by his front door should have been an indication, but I was so lost in the lust I didn't even think twice about them.

George is right. This is my fault too.

"So what are you going to do now?" he asks. "Isn't your car still in the shop? You're going to need somewhere local you can walk to."

"Are you offering me a job, George?"

He laughs. "Not a chance. I know you too well."

I know he's only teasing because George loves me like his own daughter, but I can't deny that his words sting.

"I don't know. I'm sure I could ask my mother for a few hours at her bakery until I find something."

The thought turns my stomach sour. I hate asking for help from anyone, especially my parents. It's not because they don't love me or won't help support me; it's because of that I won't ask. They're too nice and take too much pity on me. I'm too old to keep asking them to bail me out.

"Or figure something else out," I add.

"Like you figured it out when that last roommate of yours moved out?"

"Hey! I'm working on it! "

"It's been months, Quinn. Your savings isn't going to last you forever."

What he doesn't know is that my "savings" were never big to begin with, and I blew through them two weeks after my last roommate moved out when I allegedly ate the cookies her mother sent her all the way from London.

Fine. I did, but in my defense, she didn't label them, so I had no idea they were hers and she knew I had a little online shopping issue. I thought they were something random I bought, not a gift from her mother.

But I don't tell him any of that. There is no way I could stomach more disappointment today.

"I've got it handled, so don't you worry a hair on that gorgeous, absolutely stunning full head of white."

His cheeks turn a deep red, and my words do just as I've intended—distract him. Truthfully, I appreciate George's worry and his desire to look after me. It's sweet, and it's nice to have someone who cares. But a big part of me wishes he wouldn't care at all. That way, I wouldn't feel so terrible whenever I disappoint him.

That's what I inevitably do—disappoint people.

I'll be the first to admit I'm not exactly the most stable person ever. I've had six roommates over the last three years and just as many jobs, and I've dropped out of college twice. I'm behind on every last bill in my name, and my trusty, old, cherry-red VW Bug is almost always in the shop for one reason or another. I don't exactly scream "responsible adult."

But isn't that what your twenties are for? Finding yourself and making mistakes? I'm just out here having fun. Is that really such a crime?

I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. "Now, which cookies did you put the most love into this week? I'm on dessert duty tonight for family dinner."

"You mean The Bensons Pile on Quinn Night?" George grumbles, annoyed by my family's monthly ritual of dinner and a show—me being the entertainment.

I don't even want to think about how tonight is going to go once they find out I lost my job again.

"They're in the back," he tells me. "I'm sure we've got some left. But just so we're clear, it's absolutely criminal taking my cookies to dinner when your mother makes the best in the city."

"Thanks, George. You're the best, and even though you've yet to compliment me on my sweet, sweet lollipop earrings today"—I tuck my shoulder-length brown hair behind my ear to show them off—"I still love you."

He might roll his eyes, but I still see the corners of his mouth twitch before I make my way to the back in search of my favorite cookies, which I know he keeps in the back near the beer section. This place is right around the corner from me. There is no way I'm not going to know where he keeps the good stuff.

I dig around until I find what I want—butterscotch cookies. They're heaven and just what I need to make sure my mother doesn't go completely off the rails when I tell her I've been fired yet again.

"They have cookies here?"

I lay a hand against my chest to calm my racing heart as I stare at the little girl standing just a few feet away. I swallow down the last of my candy, which I'm glad I didn't just choke on.

"You scared the shit out of me."

Her big, blue eyes widen, but she doesn't call me out on my bad language. Instead, very quietly, she says, "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"It's okay, sweetie." I peek around for an adult, but nobody is nearby. I crouch down closer to her height and give her a reassuring smile. "Uh, does your mom or dad know you're back here?"

"I don't have a mom or dad."

She states it calmly as if every kid doesn't have a mom or a dad, and it completely breaks my heart. I don't even know this girl, but I want to scoop her up into my arms, hug her tight, and keep her safe from all that is evil in this world.

"Are you here alone? "

She shakes her head.

"Are you here with someone else?"

A nod.

My senses start tingling. She's not talking much and looks skittish, as if she will bolt at any moment. If she doesn't have a mom or dad, and she's not here alone, then…who the hell is she here with? A kidnapper?

No, no. Don't go there, Quinn. You've been watching too many Lifetime movies.

But the thought refuses to leave my head the more I look at her sad blue eyes, so I make my decision: I'm taking this little girl to the police station.

I rise to my full height. "Why don't we try to find someone to help you, huh?" I hold my hand out to her, giving her my best You can trust me face.

She looks at my outstretched hand, and her little brows crush together when she stares back at me. "I'm not supposed to go places with other people."

"It's okay. I'll make sure you're safe, sweetie."

Her eyes dart around the store. "I don't know…"

"I promise I won't let a thing happen to you. I?—"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I jump-spin for the second time today, but it's not a little girl I find behind me this time. It's a man—a big man, tall with broad shoulders, reddish-brown hair, and the most piercing silver eyes I've ever seen.

And I know him .

Well, I don't exactly know him, but I know of him. Adam Hayes, forward for the Seattle Serpents, and a regular at my mother's bakery. The latter part I only know because he came in the last time I was between jobs and my mother took pity on me—I hate that it's a trend—and was incredibly rude when I messed up his order.

"It's a simple black coffee. How hard is it to not screw that up?"

I might have "accidentally" spilled his replacement cup on his shoes. Maybe.

Okay, I totally did, but did he really have to be such a jerk about it? So I got the orders mixed up and added a couple packets of sugar to his. Big whoop. Clearly he needs some sweetening as he's currently scowling at me like I just stole his last piece of cake or something.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he barks again, this time moving past me and sinking to his haunches, grabbing the little girl by the shoulders. "Are you okay, Flora?" His voice is softer now, sweeter. Nothing like how he just talked to me.

Even though he's crouched down, the girl still has to tip her head back to look up at him. "I'm okay, Uncle Adam."

Ah, he's her uncle. Not stranger danger. Thank god.

"I told you not to move." His voice is a mixture of anger and panic. "I was just going into the bathroom for a minute."

"I—I'm sorry. I…I…"

He sighs, shaking his head, water droplets from the downpour outside sliding over his forehead and down his slightly crooked nose. "It's okay. Just…don't do that again, all right? I was worried about you. Someone could have taken you." He swings that intense stare of his back my way as if I wasn't already aware he was talking about me.

"The only place I was taking her was to the police station."

He grunts. "I don't need someone who can't even get a simple black coffee right to be taking Flora anywhere."

So he remembers me too.

"Sorry about your shoes." I smile at him, but we both know I don't mean it.

"It's okay. Bess made sure to take the cost of them from your paycheck."

"You know Mrs. Bess?" Flora asks, her eyes lighting up for the first time. Sure, it's only a little, but at least it's something.

I smile at her. "I sure do. Mrs. Bess is my mother."

"You have a mom?"

That same ache from earlier lets its presence be known. This kid, who is likely around seven or so, shouldn't be surprised people have parents because she should have parents. It's heartbreaking to know that isn't the case.

"I do," I tell her. "And she makes the best desserts."

Her lips twist to the side, her brows scrunching together. "Then how come you're here buying George's cookies?"

"Because I'm going to dinner at her house tonight, and she asked me to bring dessert, and because I'm a grown-up with a job"—well, not technically anymore—"I don't have much time to make cookies. Besides, I'm not very good in the kitchen, so it's probably safer for everyone."

Flora nods like it's all making sense now, and her uncle makes a noise. I narrow my eyes at him but don't say anything since little ears are present. If it were just the two of us, I'd let him know what an ass I think he is. I mean seriously, who gets that upset over coffee?

"Well, as fun as this has been…" The hockey player rises back to his full height, and holy hell is he tall. I mean, sure, I'm only five foot four, so damn near everyone seems tall to me, but he looks extra big.

And strong.

And muscly.

And hot . Seriously hot. Like "stop traffic" kind of attractive .

He also doesn't seem to like me. A pity. I bet we could have a whole lot of fun together.

Just like you had fun with Marco, right, Quinn?

I pack the thought away for another day. It's still too fresh and a wound I don't want to deal with right now, especially not when I still have to face my family tonight.

"We should really get going before it starts raining harder out there." He grabs Flora's shoulder. "You ready?"

She nods. He tugs her along, and I watch them go, my heart aching still. The girl looks so sad. It makes me wonder what kind of scary things the world has brought her way in her short life.

I've started sorting through the cookies once more when I hear the squeak of shoes against the floor.

"Flora, what are you…"

There's a tug on my hand. I look down, and Flora is staring up at me with those sad blue eyes.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Did you try putting love in your cookies? That's what Mrs. Bess does. She told me so herself."

I smile. It's impossible not to with this cute-as-a-button child telling me to put love in my cookies to make them taste better.

"You know, I think I heard something about that once upon a time. Maybe I should try it out. "

I send her a wink, and if I'm not imagining it, the corners of her mouth twitch a tiny bit. I don't even know this kid, but something tells me that's a major accomplishment.

"I bet it would make them amazing, just like Mrs. Bess's cookies are."

"They are pretty great, aren't they?" Flora nods, her eyes sparking just the tiniest bit. "Well, thank you for the tip. I'll have to give it a go. Who knows? Maybe my cookies will be better than Mrs. Bess's."

She scrunches her nose up, then shakes her head. "They won't."

Her uncle coughs out a laugh but quickly recovers. "Flora, that's not very nice."

She looks up at him sheepishly. "Sorry, Uncle Adam."

He lets out a deep rumble. "Don't tell me you're sorry. Tell Quinn ."

His thick, dark brows pull together when he says my name, and I can't help but smile. Man sure can hold a grudge over some coffee.

"Sorry, Miss Quinn," Flora offers quietly.

I grin. "That's okay. I happen to agree with you. Mrs. Bess is the best, isn't she?"

The little girl nods vigorously, the corners of her lips tipping up in a half-smile.

"Tell you what, I'll make sure she gives you extra cookies the next time you're in." I pat her head. "Now, you'd better get going, or that vein on your uncle's forehead will pop."

Said uncle's brows dip closer together, but he doesn't have a response to my comment. "Come on, Flora. We have to get going."

She gives me one last look before returning to her uncle's side, slipping her hand into his outstretched one. This time, I watch them leave, and I can't help but smile at him tugging her along and her tripping after him.

Just before they turn the corner back toward George, he looks over his shoulder, his silver eyes clashing with mine.

I smile.

He frowns.

That's when I hear it.

"I like her," Flora tells him.

He looks down, and I swear his scowl deepens.

I like you too, Flora , I want to say.

But I don't. Instead, I pop another piece of candy into my mouth, return to the cookies…and prepare for another evening of disappointing my parents.