Page 1 of Just One Moment

CHAPTER ONE

graham

MARCH

I’menvious of my ten-poundDachshund.

Noone expectsCurlyto show his face at social gatherings.Butthey expect it from me.

Iknew coming here tonight was a mistake and a total waste of my time.Somewhere, deep, deep down, there is a tiny, extroverted version of myself living inside me, who takes over my decision-making on occasions and leads me astray from my introverted ways.That’sthe only explanation as to whyI’mstanding in an overcrowded, loud, and stuffy bar.

It’sbarely spring and already tourists have found their way into the local drinking hole, hoping to experience that small-town way of life.Allthey’re going to find here are sticky floors and an owner who would rather they fuck off back to the big city, which is putting it politely.

Ourfamily’s restaurant,OurPlace, is holding a team bonding night this evening.Mybrothers have somehow convincedLenny—said owner—to allow them to host a pool competition here.He’sprobably grateful we’re filling the roomwith townsfolk rather than tourists, but his attitude says otherwise.Shirley’sis one ofSuttonBay’soldest establishments, having spent the last thirty years as every local’s favorite hangout spot.

Myeyes scan the sea of people asItake a sip of club soda.It’sthe same oneI’vebeen nursing for the last hour, andIgrimace as the flat, lukewarm liquid glides down my throat.WhenIspot my brothers from across the room, whatIsee doesn’t surprise me.

Booth, my younger brother, has been floating around like the social butterfly he is.He’scurrently chatting up a couple of doe-eyed tourists in the corner.Theywon’t be in town long enough to catch feelings, which helps with his affliction to relationships.Myoldest brother,Patrick, is trying his hardest not to drool at the sight ofJohanna, his childhood best friend, as he not so subtly watches her bend over the pool table.They’vebeen doing this dance for years, right up untilJoleft town six years ago.It’sno surprise to anyone that they picked up right where they left off when she returned.

They’reperfect for each other.

Thatnotion leaves an acrid taste in my mouth.

Iwant him to be happy; he deserves it after years of looking after everyone else.Alittle over a year ago,Iwas in a long-term relationship and with my life in order.Now,I’msingle and the idea of meeting new people, let alone entering the dating pool again, makes my skin itch.Mybitterness doesn’t stem from a place of what could have been, but from whatIignored for so long simply because it was easier.

Twelveyears wasted.

Slammingmy glass down on the high-top table and pushing up the sleeves of my sweater,I’mabout ready to call it a night when something soft and warm lands on my forearm.

Lookingdown,Ifind a petite hand with bright pink nails and a pinky ring with a smiley face stamped into the silverband.Myeyes trail higher, following the path of smooth, sun-kissed skin until it reaches the short sleeves of a denim dress.WhenI’mmet with the most spectacular smileI’veever seen in my life, does my journey stop.Alongwith my heart.

Arow of pearly white teeth dazzle me, framed by two plump, glossy lips.

Butit’s the woman behind the smile who steals the show and leaves me speechless.Though, most would argue that’s normal for me.Bouncycurls frame her heart-shaped face.Icouldn’t tell you what color her hair is.It’sa mix of so many earthy tones: dark brown, caramel, honey, and a few strands of auburn.Hereyes aren’t just hazel either.No.Becausethat description is too simple for the molten copper irises that glow and shift, they’re so iridescent.

Shebarely reaches my chin and the quick sweepIdo of her body reveals soft curves thatIwant to trace with my palms, to follow the luscious slope of her hips and waist.Denimhas never looked so good.

Herhead tilts and the realization thatI’vebeen staring at her without uttering a word hits me.Wordswould be helpful and stop me from looking like a voiceless moron.Ifinally open my mouth to speak, only for my breath to get caught in my throat, turning me into a sputtering mess.

“Ohgod, are you okay?” the woman asks as she reaches behind me to lightly pat my back.Idon’t know if she’s singing or if her voice always comes out like the soft chime of bells.It’ssomething close to howSnowWhitesings to the herd of animals she keeps in her kitchen.Iknow this because my niece has forced me to watch it an illegal amount of times.

It’sbeen minutes, yet no one has captivated me like this before.

Otherworldlycomes to mind.Whichmakes sense, because she seems to have appeared out of nowhere.Itake in everything about her, let it run through my mind, soIcan processher unparalleled beauty.Whenit’s finished processing, it’s clearI’mmalfunctioning, becauseIstill haven’t spoken.

Mymouth opens and closes like a goldfish asItry to find my voice.I’mnot usually one to rush to get my words out;Ilike to think them through before blurting the first thing that comes to mind, but with her, the need to speak is oddly overwhelming.

Shegiggles and, fuck, it’s a nice sound.Betterthan nice.

No, concentrate.Wordsare what you need right now.

“Youmust beGraham.Josaid you weren’t much of a talker.Andwell,Iam.Sorrynot sorry.”Sheshrugs, her smile not faltering. “I’mQuinn.”

Theangel has a name.

Quinn.

Neverhas a one syllable sounded so glorious.Iwant to say it aloud.Tasteher name on my lips and let the letters roll off my tongue.

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