Page 15 of Just One Moment

“Mylife is not a romance novel.”

“No, because you need to experience romance for that to be possible.Youtwo would look good together.Ifanything, you might gain some confidence again and if you show up to the wedding withQuinnon your arm,Jennawill realize what she lost.”

“It’snot about making her jealous or wanting her back,”Iprotest loudly, gaining the attention of a couple passing by. “I’drather a lobster take off my thumbs than be associated with her again.”

“Christ,Iknow that.Ifyou ever thought about getting back with her,I’dpush you off one of the bluffs.Itwould show her that she no longer holds any power over you.Iwant to see you happy,Graham.”

ThelongerIsit here, the salty air blowing away the veilI’vebeen wearing sinceJennawalked out of the door, the moreIwant to prove to her thatI’mdone living under her rule.

Sheprobably thinks she still knows me well enough and expects me to decline the invitation with my tail between my legs.Butthe thing is, she doesn’t know me anymore.WhenIlook back,Idon’t think she ever did.Bringinga woman likeQuinn—someone so unlikeJenna—with me will be the last thing she expects.

MaybeifIprove her wrong,Ican finally stop overthinking everythingIsay and do.Stopseeing myself as lonely, pitifulGraham.BoringGraham.UnlovableGraham.Gray.

Isasking the girlI’vebeen infatuated with for months to be my fake date the best idea?No.Butshe’s the only womanI’vemanaged to string whole sentences together with when we talk.Shesmiles at me freely and doesn’t get annoyed whenIstumble over my words or fall silent.

Pivotingtoward my brother,Isit up straight and take a deep breath. “CallFlorence.Weneed the names of those fake dating books.”

CHAPTER SIX

quinn

Shefound me.

It’staking her longer than usual, perhaps the years are slowing her down.She’snever dared show her face in any of the townsI’vesettled in, but she has other ways of screwing with my life, no matter the miles between us.

Findingout whereIwork and spreading lies to my boss that resulted in me being fired, is a personal favorite of hers.Itried not to let it break me down, and if my boss believed her over me,I’dmove to a new town.Easy.Myend goal was never to work at a bakery; it was to own one.

Shewould never expect me to ownanything, which is why she’s resorting to other methods of ruining my life.Itmakes me seethe, but never enough to do something about it.Idon’t want a relationship with her, yet cutting her off and blocking her number is somethingI’venever been brave enough to do.

Notonly isMr.Willisa great landlord and regular customer, but he lets me live on the far side of his land and charges me a fair rate for water and electricity.Hecalled last night and calmly told me some woman sent him an email,informing him thatIwas an ex-tenant of hers and owed rent and property damage fees.

Hesaw right through her bullshit.

Shedoesn’t knowIhaven’t rented an apartment in years, not sinceIgot the van, butMr.Willisdoes.Heblocked her email and didn’t once question me.

Perhapsshe’ll finally leave me alone.Itwas no secret she despised me, yet the momentIwas no longer under her roof, her interest in me increased tenfold.

Mysneakers slap against the sidewalk with each angry stepItake upRobinRoad.Iwelcome the burn in my calves, but wishI’dworn some shorts under this dress, because the thigh rub is real on this oddly warmOctobermorning.I’mso determined to get inside,Idon’t notice the wall untilIgo slamming into it.

Awall of man.

Myhead whips up when a strong hand holds me steady at the small of my back.Ourfronts are squished together as something crinkles between us.

GrahamSadlerreally has a sexy librarian thing going on andIfeel every hard plane of his body underneath his navy wool suit.

Westare at one another breathlessly, our chests rising and falling in tandem.Neitherof us has spoken sinceIcollided with him—or moved.Idon’t want to do the last one, butI’llhappily break the silence.

“Graham.Whatare you doing here?”

Heaudibly swallows andIwatch hisAdam’sapple bob with the movement. “Iwas waiting for you.I’mheaded into the city and wanted to apologize beforeIleft.”

I’mso distracted by the deep timbre of his voice, likeI’vebeen dipped into a barrel of smooth whiskey, that it takes me a second to realize what he said.

“Apologize?Forwhat?”Istare up at him in confusion.

Theonly reasonable explanation for me wanting to protest the loss of his touch is that my hormones are running haywire this week.

Hishand slips from my waist as he steps back, and that’s whenIsee the crumpled bouquet of flowers between us. “Ithink…Iupset you the other day.I’msorry.Sometimes,Isay the wrong thing.Ididn’t mean to make it awkward.”

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