Page 5 of Shuttered Hearts

I met her brother shortly after moving to Ashford Falls and became pretty close friends with him and his father, Scott. They took me in and made me one of their own, and I grabbed on with both hands, refusing to let go.

Even when I spoke with my parents, I was never as close to them as the Marks family is. I might have been a little jealous if they hadn’t made me feel as if I really were one of them.

Even without having met Quinn officially, I feel like I know her. Her family is always talking about her. It’s probably why I didn’t even realizeIhadn’t met her.

I knew from Scott and Caleb they were incredibly proud of what she had accomplished over the last ten years in New York, and while they weren’t happy about the reason she had come home, they were very happy she was home.

“Quinn,” I say with a soft smile. “I can get behind that.”

Now that I've seen her, I'm utterly transfixed by how beautiful she is. Her hair is a dark caramel brown, cut short, falling in waves right past her shoulders. It looks so soft that I'm kind of dying to run my fingers through it, even though I just met her. And her eyes—they're a striking shade of blue, so captivating they stop you in your tracks. There’s something about them that’s familiar.

I was never a firm believer in the saying that eyes are a window to the soul, but when I look into Quinn's eyes, it’s as if I can feel her emotions. Even though I can’t fully understand what she’s going through, I can tell she feels things deeply.

She's fit, but not outrageously so. It's clear she takes care of herself but still enjoys living her life—curvy and soft in all the right places.

We both stand there a moment longer, taking the other person in. I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t look away.

A sound down the hall reminds me of where we are. We both turn back to the case, and I catch myself studying her photograph in more detail.

“The final assignment my senior year was pretty open-ended. Mrs. Cushner had everyone write a single word on a piece of paper, put them in a bowl, and then we each had to pick one and create a piece of work that portrayed whatever word we got usingeverything we’d learned over the years.” I glance at her and see her in a trance as she speaks softly.

“What did you end up picking?” I ask just as quietly, wanting her to continue talking.

“Truth.” Her eyes move around as if she’s taking inventory of what else is in the case. “We never did share who wrote what word. I’ve always wondered who ultimately gave me my assignment.” She laughs lightly, but it doesn’t sound genuine.

“What word did you write to put in the bowl?”

“Family.” She pauses, clearly wanting to say more but maybe not knowing how. “Everything was all over the place back home, and I wasn’t handling it well.” Another pause. “I think I was subconsciously hoping I would pick my own word, but I didn’t.” She takes a deep breath but continues. “Knowing what I know now, it wouldn’t have changed anything if I had picked it.”

I don’t know all the details of her past, but based on the conversations I’ve had with Scott and Caleb, I know her mom is likely the cause of strife during that time. From what I’ve heard, Nicole Marks was not cut out to be a mother, and leaving her three kids behind with no explanation is more than proof enough.

She’s silent for a minute, contemplating something, before her eyes go round, and she spins toward me. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”

This is probably where I should tell her I know her family, but I can’t form the words for some reason. “Maybe you needed to share it with someone”—I turn to face her—“and sometimes telling a stranger is easier than telling someone you know.”

“Yeah, but you likely won’t be a stranger for long,” she says with a smirk.

I laugh—if only she knew how right she was. “True, but hopefully, we’ll be friends, so it won’t really matter, right?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t have many friends.” Her eyes go round again. “I don’t know why I said that either.” She turns away from me and looks back to the display case.

I follow her lead and turn to the case myself, giving her a minute before speaking. “Can I ask how this photo depicts ‘truth’?”

“You can ask, but I’m a firm believer in the viewer taking from the work whatever they see. So, I probably won’t answer that question.” She slowly turns back to me, that smirk back on her face.

“See, youcankeep information to yourself,” I joke, causing both of us to laugh.

As we stop laughing, we get caught staring at each other in another trance. I know I should tell Quinn about my connection to her family, but I still can’t form the words. Quinn is beautiful, but something in her eyes keeps me focused there. I want to know what she’s thinking and feeling.

Something must go through her mind because she looks back at the case for a minute before turning back to me. “Do you have some time to catch me up on everything you’ve been doing with the photography students this year?”

“Of course.” I gesture toward her classroom, silently telling her to go first.

As she turns, I take one more look at her photograph. If you look closely at the girl in the photo, you can see a tear trailing down her cheek, and upon closer inspection, now that I’ve met her, I can see the girl in the photo is Quinn.

The bellfor first period rings just as I finish going over everything with Quinn. “I’ve got to get to class. I’ve got advancedart first period, but I have planning during second period, so I can come in if you need me.”

This is Quinn’s first year teaching, something she never expected to do, based on what I know about her. I remember being nervous on my first day, and while I don’t think she needs it, I want to be available if she needs my help.

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