Page 126 of Good Graces

I force a smile, but my chest feels tight. The air feels too warm, the room suddenly too small.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, already rising from my chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, I slip out of the dining room and down the hall, barely registering the framed pictures lining the walls—smiling faces, vacation shots, old family photos. I keep walking until I find one of the break rooms near the back.

I sink into an old leather armchair and press my palms to my face, forcing a breath.

God, I should’ve said something years ago. Should’ve told Daniel the truth before Warren ever had to take the blame.

“Quinn?”

I look up and find Warren in the doorway. For a second, I think he assumed I was having an asthma attack. But it’s not the tightening in my lungs that’s stopping the air; it’s guilt. Old and heavy, the kind that never quite lets go.

He steps inside and closes the door softly behind him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, my hands still covering most of my face. “Just needed a second.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way his eyes narrow, sharp with concern. He crosses the room, crouching down in front of me so we’re at eye level.

“What’s going on with you?”

“I should tell them, shouldn’t I?” I ask quietly. “About what I did.”

Warren places a firm hand on my knee. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

“I know they’ve forgiven you, but I can’t just sit there like nothing happened. I stole from Daniel, and they blamed you for it. They still do. That’s not fair. They should know the truth.”

“They don’t need to know,” he says softly. “Not anymore.”

“But—”

“Quinn.” His voice sharpens, not with anger, just certainty. “That’s not going to fix anything. It’ll only dig up something they already let go of.” His fingers tighten slightly around my knee. “Besides, I have everything I want right here. I have you. I’m not losing that just so you can carry the guilt instead.”

“I should be carrying it,” I whisper.

“It’s done now.” His hand slips up to my face, fingers curling gently at my jaw. “Let’s leave the bad where it belongs and take the good with us. Okay?”

I lean into his touch, pressing my cheek against his palm. His thumb traces along my skin, light and slow, and I let my eyes close.

“Okay,” I murmur.

His forehead touches mine, his breath warm against my face.

“I can’t let the girl that I love worry about something that’s already behind us.”

My eyes snap open. “What did you say?”

His fingers flex gently along my jaw.

“I said I love you. You know that, right?”

I blink hard, my breath catching somewhere between my ribs and my throat. “I thought ...” I shake my head. “I mean, yeah. I hoped.”

“Always,” Warren says, like it’s a truth he never had to question. “I’ve loved you since I was eighteen, Quinn. Since you let me read your notebook in the break room and tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. Since you kissed me in the cart garage and laughed when I nearly tripped trying to leave.”

“I love you, too. I never stopped.”

“I know.” His thumb brushes softly across my cheek, like he’s memorizing me by touch. “I know.”

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