Page 10 of Falling for the Wrong Guy

Nurse Jessop placed a thoughtful hand on my shoulder. “It helps to talk to him. A familiar voice, a fond memory, a funny story—all of it is good medicine.” She walked out, leaving me alone with the stranger in the bed.

Then my gaze fell to the tattoo on his arm. He’d gotten it after only a few months of dating Angie. That was how Quinn went through life, hair on fire with nothing to slow him or get in the way of what he wanted. Angie didn’t talk to him for a week afterward because she thought it would bring them bad luck. But Quinn persisted, and Angie couldn’t resist his charms. Now that lust for life, that determination to let nothing get in his way, had brought their whole life crumbling down. Meanwhile, as he wasted away in a cold hospital room, his adorable, lively little boy grew taller and more boisterous and smarter. Max was so young when Quinn was arrested, his dad was merely a shadowy figure from his past, like an invisible friend.

“The county fair,” the words cracked out of my dry throat. “Remember the fair? Of course you do. Used to be one of the best days of the year—” I continued. “My dad would hand us a few dollars, so we could go on some of the rides and buy a cherry ice, which you proceeded to puke up when we went on the Turbo Spinner. Your idea, by the way.” I rested back. It might not have been doing much for Quinn, but talking to him, sitting in the room, just the two of us, and remembering a good time was helping me. “Then you found out Ruby Prescott was at the kissing booth, and you used the rest of your quarters to kiss her. I think she’d have kissed you for free. Man, the girls at school used to fall all over themselves to get your attention, and you knew how to make sure all of them got that little spark of a smile or wink that they badly wanted. You were always like that, Q. You never ignored anyone, even if they weren’t worthy of your attention. Like your dad. I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sorry. I know you tried to get his attention. I know you badly wanted him to love you, but he didn’t have it in him. It was his loss, because he never saw how amazing you were.”

I reached forward but stopped short of touching his arm. “Max is getting big, and he shoots around like a rocket on those stubby little legs. He’s in a dinosaur phase. When you get home”—my throat tightened—“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about them.”

I leaned forward and rested my arms on my thighs. There was a small twitch in Quinn’s cheek, still yellow from the bruises. I knew it was just an involuntary muscle twitch, but for a second, I allowed myself to believe it was Quinn smiling. Miss Wakin, the vice principal at our high school used to joke that Quinn’s smile was his best defense. No matter what he said to try and talk himself out of trouble, all he really needed was that smile.

“Quinn, buddy, I’m trying. I’ve negotiated time served and a long probation, but we need to return the coins. The last words you said to me—they’re not enough. I’m going to search that cove from top to bottom to find ‘em. I just hope I can get to them first.”

This time I reached over and put my hand on his arm. It was warm to the touch. There was no reaction at all to my palm. Even the blasted monitors beeped on steadily, without disruption. “You have to pull out of this—for Angie, for Max. They need you. We need you. Come on, buddy. You can do this.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Please, Q. For me. Do it for me.”

ChapterEight

Aria

Isla showed up with some butterscotch blondies and a stack of color samples. My sisters all lived together in Nonna’s two-bedroom cottage. Now Isla spent half her time in the city with her boyfriend, Luke. His sister and grandmother had bought a penthouse apartment in the city as well. Luke’s sister, Rachel, and Isla had become fast friends, and his grandmother, Hazel, was a sweetheart. His mom and dad were a different story altogether, but Isla had figured out how to handle them without causing herself too much grief. I’d moved out of the cottage back when I started the café. I loved my sisters, but it was nice to have a quiet place of my own.

“Now, I’m leaning again toward a soft peach color, possibly paired with a cheery teal trim.” Isla was talking and moving a mile a minute. Her dreams were all falling into place—her dream man and her dream bakery. I envied her. She always knew exactly what she wanted, and she kept her focus straight and steady. Of course, ending up with the incredible Luke Greyson was somewhat of a fluke. The whole thing had started out as a fake wedding date situation, but after spending a weekend with my sister, Luke realized she was the one.

Isla placed the blondies on the counter and tossed out the color cards. I noticed she’d marked a few dozen colors. At least she’d narrowed it down from a million.

I always enjoyed a visit from one of my many sisters, especially Isla and some of her delicious treats, but I had to admit my mind wasn’t really on color choices this evening. Isla went on about some of her favorites and her vision of how her bakery would look as I poured us each a glass of milk to go with the blondies.

“What do you think?” she asked at one point. I turned back from the refrigerator with a questioning look. Isla sighed. “All right, what’s up? I can tell something’s bothering you. You’ve been quietly listening to me babble on about seafoam green and blush pink. What’s going on? Is this about the gull incident?”

That incident had stuck with me all day, but now there was something much weightier on my mind. “Kellan gave me earrings for our six-month anniversary.”

“I thought those were new. How exciting. Sounds like things are getting serious.” We carried the blondies and milk to the couch and sat down. Isla turned to face me more. “Why am I not getting big enthusiastic vibes from you?”

“No, I’m excited. Really.”

“Yes, clearly,” Isla said wryly.

“It’s just—I guess they were badly timed. He’d planned this nice, romantic lunch, but when I got there, he was talking to his brother, and he was really tense and angry after he hung up. Apparently, he doesn’t get along with his brother at all. I didn’t even know he had a sibling because he’s never mentioned him.”

“Lots of people lose that sibling connection when they grow up,” Isla said. “Not everyone can be the Lovely sisters.”

“That’s just it. They were close in age, but even growing up they had nothing to do with each other. That’s strange, right?”

“Not necessarily. Maybe his brother is really unlikable. But that’s not what this is about, is it?” Isla knew me too well.

I pushed off my slippers and curled my feet up behind me. “For a brief second—when Kellan handed me the small velvet box?—”

Isla sat forward with comprehension. “You thought it was an engagement ring, and you were thoroughly disappointed when it turned out to be earrings.”

I scrunched up my face. “You got half of that right.”

It took her a second to understand what I meant, and when she did, a frown followed. “Oh, Aria, you were worried he was going to propose. It’s understandable. You’ve only been dating six months. I’m sure you’re not ready, especially after your engagement to Paul.” Isla occasionally brought up my rather unfortunate engagement, which I pulled out of late in the game when I realized I liked Paul, but I didn’t actuallylovehim. She always used that near catastrophe as a way to remind me to stay true to myself and to my heart. It was something Nonna drummed into us our entire childhood. I still wasn’t exactly sure how I managed to stray so far from her advice back then, but I was sure it had to do with telling myself I needed to settle down with a sensible man because I was, after all, the family rock. Being married to a man like Paul made sense for the role I was given as my sisters’ main guardian.

I nodded. “I’m sure that’s the reason behind the apprehension. We haven’t known each other long enough.”

“I’m going for another blondie. Want seconds?” she asked.

“Yes. Seeing all those color samples, I think I’m going to need some stamina.”

She returned with another blondie for each of us. I took a bite. “These remind me of that butterscotch fudge Nonna used to make for Thanksgiving.”

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