“I’m having fun,” I say, trying to sound convincing. I had plans to train a pig. That would be loads of fun.
“I meant having fun withhumans, Quinn.”
I wince, her words hitting their mark. My best friend knew me all too well. “I told you about dinner with Tripp.”
“The non-date that ended in deer rescue? Sure,” she says, wholly unimpressed.
“I can have fun without it being a date. And I couldn’t just leave the deer on the side of the road.”
Why did I have to keep defending myself about that?
“I know, I know. I’m just saying, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to take this time to focus on yourself too—not just Pops and rescuing animals everywhere you go.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it.” I pop the last bite of chocolate chip cookie into my mouth.
“Good, that’s all I ask.” She grins. “But I swear if you adopt a goat next, I’m sending reinforcements.”
I snort. “No goats... probably.”
We say our goodbyes, and I head to the little grocery store next door. But her words stick with me, circling like vultures.
What would focusing on myself even look like out here?
A Bit Wild
Quinn
Ipush the small shopping cart down the aisles, tossing in everything we’ll need for the week. I’d called Sawyer earlier and volunteered to take over most of the supper duty while I’m here—one less thing for her to stress about. My meal plan limits sodium and keeps the red meat to a minimum. Pops might be the one recovering, but Wes and Tripp could stand to think about their arteries too. Good habits should startbeforethere’s a cardiac event.
I round the corner and collide straight into another cart.
“Ope, sorry,” the guy says as I mutter an expletive.
We both laugh awkwardly. I glance up—and blink. Kyle Jensen. He was in my grade, more jock than brain, but cute in that Midwestern farm-boy way.
“Quinn Dawson,” he says, smiling. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
“I’m shocked you haven’t heard. I’m sure it will be front-page news in next week’s Cottonwood Creek Gazette.”
“Right.” He chuckles, gaze traveling down my body slowly enough for me to catch it. “What are you doing back? God, I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’m here helping out after Pops' heart attack.”
“Oh, yeah. I heard. How’s he doing?”
“Had a bypass. He’s doing rehab at the nursing home now, but he should be home soon.”
“That’s good to hear.” He leans casually on the cart, like he has all the time in the world to shoot the breeze.
Linda Andreasen, the town busybody, squeezes past us—cart wheels squeaking as she gives us an overly interested look. I take that as my cue.
“Well, I should probably get going. These groceries won’t buy themselves,” I say with a half-laugh, mentally face-palming myself.
God, why was I so lame?
Kyle doesn’t seem to notice my social awkwardness. “Got any plans tonight?”
“Other than feeding my pig? Nope.”
