Page 24 of One Night Collision

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"Hey, I got your message about bringing you a shirt." Maggie cuts off as she walks into my office. "What is this?"

I've got her favorite pizza and the cupcakes she always buys from the bakery on the square sitting on my desk. "Thought we could have a late lunch. The shirt is for when I inevitably spill this pizza on this one." I motion to the white button-down I'm wearing.

She raises her eyebrows. "I kinda don't trust you."

"That's a problem." I snag the ring box off the side of my desk and walk over to her. "I'm gonna need you to trust me." I have a seat on the corner and pull her in between my legs before opening the box. "Because if we get married, trust is gonna be paramount."

Her hands go over her mouth and tears pool in her eyes.

"Marriage will be a partnership here, Mags. You never have to ask me for permission, and you never have to explain yourself. I want you for you, and I want to see your business grow. One day I want us to move out to my parents' place, and I want to teach our kids how to ride horses. Is that good for you?"

She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, a tear spilling over as she nods. "Perfect."

I slide the ring on her finger and then bury my face in her neck, hugging her tightly. I've never been so thankful for a collision before. Running into her and knocking over those flowers changed my life.

In the absolute best of ways.

Untitled

Epilogue Two

Cecily

I’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into this house. As I sit on the porch and look at the plants I’ve coaxed to life in the front yard, the light fixtures and ceiling fan I put in by myself—I love this house. Old, tiny, with more character than working parts, but it’smine. My grandmother left it to me, and I have poured myself into making it the kind of home I always wanted. Warm, inviting, welcoming. Everything about it looks lived in and cozy instead of like the mausoleum I grew up in. And now, because I made a mistake and pissed off the wrong person, I’ve lost my job. I’m about to lose this house. At this point, if I don’t sell, I’ll just have to suffer the humiliation of eviction and foreclosure.

And as if all that isn’t stressful enough, I’m now having to face off against the biggest mistake of my life. Quinn Carter. My ex. At this point, I don’t even know what to call him. Is he my almost ex or my almost husband? We were only married for a hot minute when I was too young and stupid to know any better. Then my dad had a fucking meltdown over it and insisted we get it annulled.And Quinn didn’t fight him on it. He just let me go.

Why the fuck that matters now, why it still stings my pride, I cannot say. But sitting here on the verge of bankruptcy, selling everything I own to repay Peter, Paul, and every other apostle who’s waiting in line, I’m not looking forward to facing him. But I don’t have a choice because Calvin Farnsworth the second was a shitty, shady lawyer who pocketed my dad’s money and apparently did nothing else.

A large truck, older but in good condition, pulls onto my street. I sit up straighter. It’s him. Quinn. He’s here.

The truck eases to a stop in front of my house and he climbs out. And this is not the boy I dated in high school.Sweet baby Jesus.

The dark hair is the same, still thick as ever. And as he walks toward me, he shoves his hands in his pockets. It’s a familiar gesture. One I saw him do a million times, usually when he was nervous about something. But that’s where the similarities end. With his tattoos and wary expression, this man looks dangerous.

“Cecily,” he says.

“Quinn… This is a fine fucking mess we’re in, isn’t it?”

He smiles at that, and for a split second, I see the boy he used to be.

“That’s an understatement. I stopped in and saw Damien Sizemore this afternoon. He’s going to look into it and figure out what we have to do.”

I nod. “Thanks. I don’t guess there’s much point in doing any of the other paperwork until we figure that out.”

“Probably not,” he agrees.

Silence falls between us. When we were younger, we could sit together for what felt like ages without saying a word and it was completely fine. But this is uncomfortable. Awkward.Because we’re strangers now.He was my first date. My first kiss. My firsteverything. And now we don’t even know what to say to oneanother. And I can’t come up with a single intelligent thing to mutter to ease this purgatory we’re in.

After a minute, he just starts glancing around, like he’s looking for an escape. Then he stops. “You’ve got a flat tire.”

I look over to the driveway, like I don’t know what’s there. That tire got slashed two days ago. But no job means nowhere to go, so I’ve just let it sit. “Yeah, I know. I’ll have to get it looked at.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says.

Before I can even formulate a protest, he’s already striding toward it. That his ass is still that amazing in a pair of jeans catches me off guard. Then he squats down and his head whips back toward me. “This isn’t just a flat, Cecily. Who slashed your motherfucking tire?”

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