The next morning a handwritten note is stuck in the windowpane of the front door. If I didn’t recognize his distinct, tidy strokes in black ink, the thick smooth paper would be a dead giveaway.
I miss your good mornings.
I remember his sleepy face and the feelings I’ve pushed back since June work their way up.
Today the note delivers another blow to my decision to stay as far away from him as humanly possible.
I love the tea you make for me.
Change of plan. I need Quinn to slap some sense into me.
“And then he pops out of nowhere and says he wants to—” I stammer, outraged. “I don’t know what to call it. We were never together for real.” The lukewarm chocolate swirls in the cup I keep fidgeting with.
Quinn is unaffected by my agitated state and is unhelpfully silent.
“You said we’d hate him. Nothing to say now?”
“To be fair, I said we’d hate him a little bit.” She’s bouncing her leg under the table.
I leave my indignation aside for a moment and pay closer attention.
She’s chewing her lip, eyes shifting to the side.
“What’s up?”
“Promise you won’t get mad,” she says, eyeing me nervously.
“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” I deadpan, but an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu pokes at my insides.
Quinn takes a deep breath and knocks me back into my chair. “Carter’s hub offered me a grant to expand the coffee shop.” She gulps and I keep staring at her. “I can do the expansion we’ve talked about. It would be a game-changer. His only condition is I get a booth at the fall and spring fairs and donate the money to a local charity of my choice.”
“Oh.” My mind is struggling to keep up with her news. Carter’s hub?
“I know,” she says, deflated. “I know. I can turn it down—”
“Don’t you dare!” I cut her off. No matter my issues with Carter I’d never rob Quinn of her dream. She’s been nothing but supportive. “It’s great news. I volunteer to help you at the booth. Anything you want. If anyone deserves this chance, it’s you.”
Her lower lip wobbles and she jumps off the chair to crush me in a hug that whooshes the air out of my lungs.
“I won’t take his side just because he’s funding me with a truckload of money,” she promises, talking rapidly. “On that note. What’re you wearing for your date tomorrow?”
Oh, crap. With Carter storming back into town I forgot about Matt.
“Don’t make that face,” she scolds me. “You’re not bailing on this one.” That’s what I get for last-minute canceling every one of her most recent efforts to set me up on coffee dates.
We don’t need to have a repeat of the discussion about Finn. Her notepad almost didn’t survive when I told her there was no spark. My blood doesn’t warm my cheeks when he’s near and I don’t want to settle anymore if it’s not something I can feel deep in my bones.
I like him as a friend, and he seems to be OK with that. We even talked about doing some projects together.
When a guy I knew from the library asked for my number while I was waiting for my order, I almost turned him down, but Quinn’s eyes were bulging menacingly. A wordless reminder of her incessant push to start dating. She waved away my excuse of being buried in work and the fact I was still reeling after seeing Carter last month.
“Stuff will always happen. Perfect timing is an illusion,” she said with the attitude of an experienced life coach. She could have pulled it off if not for the flour dusting half her face and most of her hair.
I gave in and now I’m on a coffee date with a nice enough, well-mannered Matt who’s brought his niece a couple of times to reading time at the library. It seems he didn’t want to give up his signature camouflage vest even for our date. I picked the coffee shop so Quinn could bail me out in case it goes south, since she’s the reason I’m wearing uncomfortable heels on a Thursday afternoon while Matt looks like he’s going hunting for boars straight after.
After he orders the “healthiest” smoothie on the menu for me, because he knows what I need, according to him, Matt proceeds to give me a ten-point lecture on how sugar affects female fertility. I can barely get a word in. Keeping my mouth busy with the drink turns out to be a bad idea. The swamp green concoction is the grossest thing I ever tasted.
“I love kids. I’d like to have at least five. What do you think, Miss Cherry Pepper?”
