Time to move on.
25.Taran
July, This Year
Just like that, the weather turned on Glenvulin. Yesterday had been clear skies and humid warmth. Today on the small beach, at the wee cove where my and Quinn’s story first began, the water hit the shore with a little too much vigor. A chilly breeze ruffled through my hair as the bellies of the clouds rolling in above us grew heavy and mauve, as if on the brink of bursting.
I’d barely slept last night, worrying about whoever had attacked us, concerned about Quinn’s back, blown away that he’d thrown himself at me to save me. When those thoughts gave way, it was to thoughts of what might be said this morning.
My promise to Quinn was that I’d listen to his side of the story, but I still wasn’t sure if it would change anything for me. It didn’t feel like there was a magical word that could be used to erase the heartbreak he’d caused.
I also wanted it to be clear that I knew I was to blame for our initial breakup. Losing Mum had led to a lot of soul searching over the past year.
The sound of a car door shutting had me turning to watch the small trail that led over the dunes and down onto the beach. I shivered as the air turned cooler by the second.
A glance at my phone screen showed it was eight o’clock exactly.
Quinn appeared, dressed a bit more appropriately than me in a cable-knit sweater, jeans, and hiking boots.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunched against the cold. The long-sleeved tee I wore with my jeans was too thin, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand out here.
Quinn studied me as he strode through the sand. Before he even reached me, he began pulling off his sweater with a carefulness that reminded me he’d hurt his back. My pulse raced as he held it out.
“N-no,” I stammered. “You keep it. It’s cold.”
“I’m wearing layers. You’re not.” Without waiting for another rejection, he lifted the sweater and brought it down over my head.
Flustered at his nearness, I grumbled, “Fine,” and took over shoving my arms through it. The heavy sweater smelled of his aftershave, and inconvenient heat flooded my lower belly. It didn’t help matters that Quinn’s layers were a tight-fitted Henley that molded to his strong, appealing body.
Bloody hell.
I lowered my gaze to my feet. “How are you this morning? How’s your back?”
“It’s a bit stiff and bruised. I’ve got an appointment with the doc this afternoon just to make sure it’s all right.”
“Good.”
“How are you?”
Forcing myself to look into his beautiful eyes, I shrugged. “Better than I was last night. I’ve been trying to think who would want to do that. Is it connected to my break-in? Obviously, thevandalism to Cammie’s car is connected. But I can’t think why. It’s … I’m not going to lie—it’s keeping me up at night.”
Quinn scrubbed a hand over his beard, his expression instantly haggard. “I have an idea, but I don’t want to go pointing fingers until I have more evidence. But I need you to know that this could be about me, not you and Cammie. If you think about it, I’m the person who connects you both. Everyone knows that besides Mum and Heather, you two are the most important women in my life.”
This information triggered tumultuous confusion and infuriated intrigue. “Who was it, then?”
“It might be someone from my past.”
“Quinn—”
“Taran, once I know more, I will tell you. I promise. But this morning I want to talk about us.”
The butterflies that had only been mildly fluttering in my belly started flapping like crazy. I snuggled deeper into my borrowed sweater. “We will discuss this threat, though, Quinn.”
“I told you I promise we will.”
“Fine.” I let out a shuddering exhale, trying to force those worries to the back of my mind. “And I promised you I’d let you tell your side of the story. The floor is yours. Or the beach, rather.”
The right corner of his mouth twitched. “I still remember bringing you here to scream after your dad’s funeral. I remember it like it was yesterday.”
