Page 6 of Just One Moment

Iremember feeling likeI’dfound a hidden treasure that night.

Fueledby a questionable shot of liquorIthought was a lemon drop, but most definitely wasn’t,Iskipped over, introduced myself, and dove right in.Therewas something fascinating about him.Mostof the guysI’vedated have been immature and stare at my breasts rather than listen to whatIhave to say.Grahamwas different.Maybeit’s because he’s a little older, but during our short interactionIknew he was listening intently and something about his quiet, considerate demeanor had me forgetting whyIapproached him.

Peoplearound town describe him as intimidating or standoffish, butIdisagree.Icould chat to people until the cows come home, and it’s obvious when my verbal diarrhea starts putting people to sleep, butGrahamgave me his undivided attention the entire time.

WhenIwalked away,Ifelt…appreciated.

NowIwonder if he only stayed quiet soIwould stoprambling.Itstung when he didn’t reach out, andIconcluded that it was due to one of two things:

1.Hedislikes me.

2.Hedoesn’t like my baking.

Ihave no idea which one is worse.Neurotic?Maybea smidge.I’manEnneagramfour, what do you expect?

“Quinn,”Josays with a smirk. “Ihear the wheels turning from here.Don’toverthink it.”

“Lemmethink about it.”Myshoulders relax, andIhope the faux cheer in my voice signals her to change the subject.

Wechat for a few more minutes, making plans to meet up over the weekend, and thenI’malone again.

Huffingout a big breath that blows my bangs off my forehead,Iconnect my phone to the speakers and let the voice ofHarryStylesdrown out the noise in my head.

Ilose myself, singing along, until the last chorus is interrupted by a text notification.

Thenumber is oneIshould have blocked years ago andIstare at the hateful message until the bitter smell of burning fills the air.

Shit, the muffins.

CHAPTER THREE

graham

“Curly,you’ve been circling that tree for five minutes.Gopee already.”

Hestares up at me with a look that saysDon’trush me, motherfucker.

Thepark is empty this time of day, exactly howIlike it.I’vealways been an early riser, but since getting a dog, my days now start with a morning walk.Theair is cool against my skin, andIclose my eyes for a second, listening to the constant chirping of birds in the tall trees.

There’sa hint of smoke lingering in the air from a wood-burning stove, and the scent of damp leaves is strong as we stand at the base of a large oak.Ican’t help but take a deep inhale of crisp, fall air.You’llalways get a whiff of salt wherever you are inSuttonBay, but there’s something revitalizing about the smell of autumn.

Curlyisn’t the friendliest of dogs, andIsupposeI’mnot the warmest of people; a perfect pair.I’mnot rude,Ijust value peace and quiet, and for a small town,SuttonBay’seleven hundred residents sure like to make themselves known.

Whenmy dog finally does his business, we leave the parkand head ontoRobinRoad, the main street leading through town, which ends right at the heart of the bay.Whenwe turn the corner at the bottom of the hill,I’mgreeted with one of my favorite views.Seeingthe bay blanketed in a thick veil of fog is wistful and hypnotizing with the way it snakes around the docked boats suspended above the still water.

Fishingboats have left for this morning’s catch, and there’s about a month left of good lobster catching before the season is over.Asthe head chef ofOurPlace,Boothwill be down there later today to collect fresh stock for the restaurant.

Mypocket buzzes when we reach my shiny blackJeep, butIignore it untilCurlyis securely fastened into his harness in the front seat.OnceI’mbehind the wheel,Ipull out my phone and find an incoming call fromPatrick.

“Hey,”Igreet asIturn on the engine and connect my phone to theBluetooth.

“Nosurprise you’re up this early.Goodwalk?”

“Hmm.”

Along sigh greets my ears. “Gray, full sentences, please.”

ScratchingCurlyon his snout,Iwait forPatrickto continue.Aftera moment’s silence,Iglance at the console screen to check that the call hasn’t dropped. “Areyou still there?”

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