Calm down. I’m heading that way now.
Have you seen Quinn?
Addison:
This morning at yoga
Why?
Shouldn’t you know where your wife is?
What’s going on??
Ford:
Relax
Addison:
Say that to my face
Um, I’d pass on that because for being such a tiny thing, she could throw a punch like…well, like she had five older brothers who’d taught her how to throw a punch.
Addison:
I don’t have time to sit around and wait for your slow-ass, old-man texting skills
I’m showing some guests to their cottage
Aiden’s doing a supply run
Don’t touch anything except the package while I’m gone
I mean it!
I’ll know if something is out of place
I rolled my eyes but tossed my phone on the seat and drove toward the inn, my fingers drumming on the steering wheel. I wanted to see Quinn now. Wanted to tell her all the things I loved about her while I was buried inside her, kissing away every one of her insecurities.
But it wasn’t going to be that easy, and I still had no idea how to approach this. And since I had absolutely zero impulse control, I took a roundabout way to avoid driving past our cottage because if I saw her car there, I’d be tempted to stop and go in half-cocked without a plan.
Instead, I drove the long way. Most of the cottages were occupied now—a far cry from only a few months ago—but it’d been a relief to the whole family. It was more work for us—Aiden and Addison, especially—and I wasn’t sure how long we’d be able to continue on with just us running the show. But for now, we made it work.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot in front of the main inn, I still had no idea what to do about Quinn. No idea how to go about winning her back. But I shoved that aside as I parked next to a rental car in front of the main inn. ABe Right Backsign hung on the inn door, but I knew from experience it wouldn’t be locked, so I made my way inside.
It was quiet, unsurprisingly since both Addison and Aiden were gone. She didn’t tell me where she’d stowed the package, so I headed to the check-in counter first, my steps faltering when I saw someone standing there.
“Can I help—” I started, my words cutting off when the man turned around to face me.
Quinn’s father stood in front of me, a too-bright smile on his face. It was the first time I’d seen him since Quinn and I had gotten married…since she’d shared the devastating stories from her childhood, with him featuring as one of the villains.
Where once I would’ve seen an overly polished man who was obsessed with his appearance—his perfectly groomed hair, freshly shaven face, and name-brand items from head to toe—now all I saw was her abuser. What he’d done to her might not have been physical, but his words had hurt her just as badly as a blow would have.
“Mr. Cartwright,” I said, my voice cool.
“Oh, I think we’re probably beyond that, all things considered.” He winked at me, like we were both in on a secret. “You can call me Brock.”
“I don’t think so. What can I do for you?”
