Page 18 of A Simple Life

“Here to vote against my name, Mr. Elliott?”

“I have plans up for a new renovation on an old building.”

“I looked around today. It seems you own every house available for rent here.”

“Moving already?” I asked mildly.

“I thought perhaps it might be for the best.”

“There are a few places in Terryville. I don’t own those. Not as nice, though.” I slammed my door and stepped closer. “You don’t have to move. We don’t have to like each other for you to rent a house. I won’t bother you.”

She frowned, her shoulders slumping. “That’s the problem, Mr. Elliott. For a few moments these past couple of days, I did like you.”

I was at a loss for words. I had liked her too. Then I opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it. But I didn’t want to drive her away.

“Don’t move, Quinn. Abby picked her color,” I said quietly. “If you have any issues, call Laura, and they will be addressed immediately. I give you my word.”

She hesitated, and something passed between us. A silent conversation—a promise given, one accepted. We would agree to disagree and be strangers who lived in the same town.

It was for the best since we seemed to strike sparks. Yet I had to admit, a small part of me felt sad at the thought of the distance we would keep.

She walked away and I followed, sitting on opposite sides of the small room. My request for the renovations came up, I answered some questions, and I was granted permission to move ahead. I sat down, half listening to the few items on the agenda.

My ears perked up at the sound of the request for the new name for Thelma’s old place. There were a few remarks, some laughter, and the mayor smiled at Quinn. “Unique idea.”

She stood. “I make pickles. Really good dill pickles—my grandmother’s recipe. Each sandwich or plate comes with one. Hence the name.” She met my eyes across the room. “Some find it silly. I think it’s perfect.”

Mayor Rhodes chuckled again. “Normally, this is not needed, but since you are on a trial run here, we want to make sure no one objects to the name.” He glanced around the room.

I knew if I held up my hand, I could make it more difficult. If more than one resident objected, they could ask Quinn to change the name. I glanced her way, noting the stress showing in her expression, the way she was holding her shoulders. This meant a lot to her.

Beside me, Laura squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back in silent acknowledgment.

Laura was right. It was time to move forward. I couldn’t do that to Quinn.

“Sounds kinda cute,” I offered.

Quinn’s head snapped in my direction, shock on her face. A few other people murmured their assent, and when old man Harvey grumped, I shook my head.

“Come on, Harvey, what’s not to like about pickles?” I called over.

He laughed, and a moment later, Quinn had her name.

Laura beamed at me. “Good job.”

I waved her off. “Just making sure I get my rent.”

She shook her head. “Keep telling yourself that, big brother.”

A few moments later, I headed to the truck, tired, hungry, and wanting to be alone. Hearing my name being called, I turned, seeing Quinn hurrying after me. She stopped in front of me, confused.

“Why?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s a name. In the end, that’s all it is. You want to name your restaurant after a pickled vegetable? That’s your business.”

“Thank you.”

I turned to leave, and she reached out, grabbing my hand. I looked down to where she was touching me, then back at her. The sudden desire to hold her hand, pull her to me, was as surprising as it was shocking.