Weston became my cause, like I had been Madoc’s. I had the best of intentions, but in the end, my intentions weren’t the legacy.
Hours later, and I wake up in my teenage bed for the last time. Tonight, I’ll be on a plane.
I check my phone.9:48 a.m.
I haven’t slept that late in years, but I blame the jet lag. And the fact that I didn’t get to sleep until almost five. Quinn was already at the bakery. I saw a small light on when I passed by. After our conversation on the phone last night, I couldn’t sleep. Even when I got into bed, I struggled.
It wasn’t so much her words, but her tone. Playful. Inviting.
Promising.
Like she had a world of adventure in front of her, and she finally realized it. What I wouldn’t give for that feeling again.
She was toying with me, but fuck, if I were Noah or Farrow…
Where would I take her? I’m lost in my head, dreaming a pointless dream where I’m younger. A different man with a different life and a pretty young woman like that is talking to me.
Heat rushes to my groin, and I shut my eyes.Shit.
Climbing out of bed, I grab the compass off my nightstand and walk to the window. I find north-northwest.
What would my life be like if Green Street never started? If I’d never met Drew Reeves, or fucked up in a way that altered my life in one moment?
I would’ve stayed.
The summer looms ahead, warm rain and lake days and eating outside on Madoc’s patio…
I had it good.
My phone rings, and I jerk my head, on alert for Hugo Navarre. I’d ignored the call last night, too worried about Quinn, but I wanted to talk to him.
He’s not worried about the trouble that sent me away. He’s worried, because I still own that building. After a while, Lance hadn’t wanted any part of it, so I bought his half. I should’ve went with him.
I don’t give a shit about the building. I want nothing to do with any of it.
I pick up my phone, seeing the real estate agent’s name, instead.
I answer. “Paul.”
“Good morning.” He drags out the last word like a musical note. “Good news. I have someone who’d like to see the house.”
“Already?”
“Today, if possible,” he says.
That was fast. Of course, it doesn’t mean an offer, but the listing just went live yesterday. Selling a house can take years in some cases.
“Would you be able to leave it available to us?” he asks. “Around noon?”
I’d love to know who’s interested in the house. Could it be Quinn?
She mentioned craving a place of her own, and she certainly has all the co-signers she could ever want for a loan in her own family, but I have a hard time believing that she’d ask them.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Sounds good.”
What else can I say? It’s probably not even Quinn. If it is, I can talk her out of it before she signs.
“We might have an offer today,” he tells me.
