Page 108 of Over the Edge

“Talking to Quinn about it is what helped in the end,” he says as we stand side by side reading the labels. “Not that we were together or anything. Especially not back then. But you know how she is, cutting through the bullshit and saying what you need to hear.”

“We’re definitely better for it. How many times would we have been left without the extra dipping sauce we ordered?”

“She saved us from such tragic fates.” He looks at me and we share a tender look before shifting our attention back to the chocolate. “But yeah, she basically told me that if I wanted it to work I could and to not ignore emotions so they didn’t go nuclear.”

“I’m happy we have her and I hope she’ll be happy to have this chocolate,” I say as I grab a bar to stop stalling.

At the checkout I insist on paying even though Oliver tries to slide the cashier his card. He might be Quinn’s boyfriend, but I’m the best friend who hasn’t been there to step up for a while.

39

Evelyn

Garrett is slightly drunk on sleep, and he tries to hold onto me as I get up.

“Where are you going?” he asks. His voice is rough from disuse. A new part of him that I’ve been happy to collect. Sometimes, I compare the image I had of him before I came to Hartsfall with the one I have now. It reminds me a bit of an artist comparing old work to what they’re capable of now. The first image rough with potential. The more recent work vibrant and fleshed out.

“The inn to check on Quinn.” Instead of going to the closet to get fresh clothes, I grab his button down from the floor. I pull it over my shoulders and button it most of the way up, leaving the top few undone for a relaxed look.

“You could grab a clean one,” he says as he surveys me.

“But this one smells like you.”

“Are you saying I smell?”

“Good.” I crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his mouth. “Your three-hundred-dollar cologne is doing some heavy lifting.”

He shakes his head. He’s not wearing his glasses, so his eyes are slightly unfocused. Morning Garrett. A new version of him I get to cherish. “Five hundred.”

“Of course it is.” I go back to getting dressed, hopping into my jeans and searching for matching socks in the dresser. “I was going to ask them if they wanted to go on a day trip to Manhattan. I’m assuming you have stuff in your office to clean out, so if there’s a day that’s best…”

“Let me know what they say. I’ll tell Holt I’ll be in the area.”

I go to Love is Brewing to get ginger tea for Quinn. We used to stock up on it in our apartment for this reason. I also grab a coffee for Oliver and a matcha for myself.

The inn has massive rose gardens fanning out along its sides. Stone paths wind through the flowers and the benches that are spread out at regular intervals. It’s the exact type of place I can imagine someone renting out for a wedding.

No one is at the front desk inside. I wait five minutes before peering around the corner to where I hear casual chatter and the clinking of utensils on plates. In what appears to be a dining area, I spot a familiar redhead with springy curls is speed-walking around the dining area to drop off orders. After she slides a steaming plate of pancakes and sausage onto a white linen draped table her eyes flick to me.

“Hey! I’ll be right with you,” Poppy chimes with an enthusiasm that is at least a little bit because of the rush she’s in. She does another lap collecting plates, darts through a swinging door that I assume is to the kitchen, and then finally strides to me.

“You’re not checking in, right?” Her eyes flicker with uncertainty. “I didn’t see anything on the reservation books for today.”

“Sorry. No. I was just wondering if I can get these delivered to a friend? I wanted them to be a surprise,” I say.

The man at the table closest to us knocks a mug onto the floor with his elbow and the entire room goes silent for a heartbeat before returning to its steady murmur of conversation. Poppy is doing her best not to wince through her customer service mask.

“Quinn and Oliver? You were at my pottery class with them the other day right and at the festival prep?” she asks as her eyes fix on the mess on the floor. There was little coffee in the mug, but porcelain shards are strewn across the carpet.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I shouldn’t do this but we’re understaffed and fully booked. Garrett likes you too and that’s good enough for me. Room 8. It’s at the end of the hall on the first floor.”

Thank God for small towns.

“Thanks.” The word isn’t fully out of my mouth before Poppy is headed to start cleaning the mess.

The flight of stairs up to the first set of rooms is lined with paintings of flowers in gold and brass frames. My steps are muffled by the thick burgundy carpet that starts on the second floor. Each of the rooms are marked with a gold number and they all have actual keyhole locks instead of electronic ones.

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