Page 7 of Imperfect Arrangement
The guy’s infuriating—an entitled, self-important, smug jerk.
I’d bet my last dollar he’s never been denied anything in his life. I can practically see the silver spoon stuck in his mouth, permanently lodged there since birth.
My knowledge of the man is not based on assumptions. No, it’s from hardcore research, as I’d hoped to find one tiny chink in his armor. But, of course, I came up empty-handed.
If Raymond Teager ever lost his memory, I’d be the best person to help him piece it all back together.
It’s mildly terrifying, given that my brain can’t help running mental laps around the guy, dissecting every aspect of him down to the last detail, hoping to bring him down. I do feel guilty sometimes, but then I remember his face. I’ll give him one thing, though—he didn’t just coast on his dad’s legacy at Elixir Inc. or on his mom’s thriving baking empire. He’s forged a name for himself in real estate and hotels.
The cabin jolts to life, and I open my eyes, blinking as I shake off the fog of my own thoughts. I glance over to check on Captain Lick, only to nearly jump out of my seat when I see a little girl—maybe five or six years old—sitting beside me, quiet as a whisper.
Well, crap. Talk about being in my own head.
“Hey there,” I say softly with a small wave. “Didn’t see you there.”
She grins, showing those perfectly spaced baby teeth, but doesn’t say a word. Just sits there, all serene and sweet, like she belongs here.
Alright then, maybe we’re both here for a bit of peace and quiet. We share a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled. But eventually, my curiosity gets the best of me. She’s so tiny and mysterious, it’s impossible not to reach out.
“I’m Willow,” I say before gesturing to Captain Lick’s bag. “And this is Captain Lick.”
She gives me a shy, almost secret kind of wave, but no words follow. I was hoping for a bit more—at least a name. But no, she looks down, her smile slowly fading as time passes, and I feel an odd pinch of worry.
Did I do something wrong?
“Hey,” I say gently, catching her gaze. “If you don’t want to tell me your name, that’s totally fine. We can still be Ferris-wheel friends.” I try to coax her back from wherever her mind just wandered.
After a moment, she loosens her grip on the safety bar, relaxing a bit. She brings her pointer finger to her chest, signing, “I,” and something in my heart gives an unexpected tug.
Slowly, she fingerspells her name. One letter after another, her small hands carefully shape each one.
“Quill?” I ask out loud.
A few years ago, we hosted a wedding at Whispering Willow. The bride and groom were both mute, and all our communication was through email. They’d asked for an ASL interpreter to help with the ceremony, but I figured, why not learn some ASL myself?
We had a few months before the wedding, so I spent every free moment practicing the basics. Seeing the couple’s faces relax the moment they realized I’d taken the time? It was one of those rare, heart-pounding moments that made all the late nights worth it. After that, Mom and I decided to keep learning. Now, Whispering Willow is a top choice for couples in the sign language community, mostly through personal recommendations.
I smile down at Quill and sign, “It’s nice to meet you, Quill.”
She points to Captain Lick, her eyes alight with curiosity. “His name is really Captain Lick?” she signs, that grin slipping back onto her face.
“Oh, absolutely. When he was a puppy, licking was his favorite pastime. Everything and everyone. He even licks his own butt. So, Captain Lick.”
She lets out a soft, silent laugh, her shoulders shaking with mirth, and just like that, I feel a little warmth break through the tension in my chest.
“You can pet him, if you want,” I offer as I unzip the top of Captain Lick’s bag enough for her small hand to reach inside. “He’s a total lovebug.”
Quill doesn’t hesitate. She slips her little hand inside, letting him sniff her fingers before stroking his side. Captain Lick’s tail thumps against the bag, wagging with unrestrained joy. Her whole face lights up, and I think I might’ve just witnessed the purest form of happiness. Her laughter deepens, silent but so contagious, just as the Ferris wheel jolts to a stop. Her smile fades in an instant, and a flicker of panic crosses her face.
“Hey, no worries.” I try to keep my tone light. “This Ferris wheel is a bit of a diva. Likes to take little breaks now and then, but she’s totally safe.” I hope I sound convincing.
Quill’s shoulders ease, even if the uncertainty doesn’t fully leave her eyes.
I can’t help but wonder where she’s from—she doesn’t seem to be a local. And where are her parents? No way would anyone who knows this town let her ride solo on this quirky old wheel.
“You want to see something magical?” I raise my brows dramatically, and Quill nods. “This is the best seat in all of Cherrywood.”
I gesture to the sweeping view before us. The hills, dressed in deep greens for summer, will be blanketed in snow come winter, but today they’re vibrant, alive. The whole town is basking in the glow of the annual Cherrywood Summer Festival, and we’re sitting here with front-row seats to the yellow-and-red banners decorating the streets below.
