Page 22 of Just Let Go

She lay in bed, savoring the warmth of her two old quilts, staring up at the eleven-foot ceiling with exposed ductwork. She rolled to her side. It was Tuesday. There was so much to do. The Winter Carnival was scheduled, as usual, to begin with a ball the day before New Year’s Eve, and she hadn’t even started on her design for the opening ceremonies stage. The display—and the mixing of snow with flowers—was one of those traditions her mother had started so many years ago in Harbor Pointe. And this year, it was up to Quinn to make it the very best it had ever been.

But for some reason, her creativity was completely blocked. For days she’d sat with an empty sketchbook, trying to summon that fleeting inspiration. So far, it eluded her.

She drew in a deep breath, wishing away the pressure that seemed to follow her around. At least here, in her loft, she felt a modicum of peace.

She’d painted the brick walls white and added long, flowing curtains on each of the three windows that looked out over the street. It might’ve made more sense to buy a little cottage (though they didn’t go on the market very often), but Quinn loved living above the flower shop. She loved the way the old-fashioned streetlights shone through her windows every night, and how, in the summer, she could watch the tourists strolling down the sidewalk, stopping at Dandy’s Bakery or the Old Time Ice Cream Parlor for a post-beach treat. She could hear the bells from the trolley cars that took people from the boardwalk to the shopping or dining spot of their choice.

In short, she loved Harbor Pointe, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, partly because she never had. Even in college, Quinn had commuted and lived at home.

She’d said it was to save money, but she knew the real reason. Leaving wasn’t an option.

She pulled herself out of bed and stepped into her fuzzy raccoon slippers—a gift from Beverly two Christmases ago. She made a mental note to talk to her dad about Beverly. The poor woman had to be in agony trying to win his attention after all these years. Was her father really that clueless?

She stood in the shower and let the hot water run down her back. Winters in Michigan were long and often dreary, and Quinn was always cold. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t find her inspiration. She leaned against the wall of the shower and prayed it would find her—that suddenly, out of nowhere, she’d fall into a vat of it and emerge with the best design ideas she’d ever had.

“Lord, you know how important this is to me.”

He did, didn’t he? He was God, after all. Had she been clear enough in explaining it to him?

Just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to reiterate.

“Everything depends on this. I’ve been waiting years—twenty years—for this moment. I can’t let it slip through my fingers.” She spoke the words aloud, as if that made them matter more.

She finished up in the shower and got dressed for the day—jeansand her favorite gray sweater. Once she’d dried her long blonde hair and put on a tiny bit of makeup (mascara was a necessity thanks to the blonde eyelashes), she pulled on her cozy gray Ugg boots, stuck her planner, sketchbook, and laptop in her bag, and walked out the door.

There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and the air was chilly—surprisingly so because the sun was shining, making someone inside think perhaps they were going to get a little bit of a heat wave.

No such luck.

The streetlamps were decorated with wreaths, and at night the huge Christmas tree at the center of downtown would sparkle with its twinkly white lights. The Harbor Pointe tree lighting was held on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Quinn was thankful for the extended period of time in which to enjoy it. When she looked out the windows of her loft, she almost felt as if she were standing in the middle of a snowglobe.

She walked a few doors down to Hazel’s, thinking of last night’s dinner and Grady Benson trying to buy his way out of his punishment. He obviously didn’t know Judge.

Part of her should feel sorry for the man. He was in quite the predicament. But she found it difficult to muster sympathy for someone whose troubles were self-made.

Didn’t he feel even a little bit sorry for what he’d done to the diner? Betsy had worked so hard building her business—and now what? She had to spend money and time fixing everything he’d destroyed just because someone insulted his ego?

Another reason Quinn was glad she was single. She didn’t understand men. Even Marcus, as predictable as he was, had never made sense to her—and they’d dated for five full years.

She pushed the thought aside as she waved to Juniper Jones, the town’s most eccentric resident. Quinn couldn’t be sure, but she thought perhaps Juniper was responsible for the cotton-candy paint treatment the storefronts of Harbor Pointe’s downtown hadgotten long ago. She was, after all, the one always talking about how charming it was—and how unique.

“Cottage towns in Michigan are all the same. Quaint. Brick buildings. Striped awnings. I’m glad Harbor Pointe is as colorful as the personalities of the people who live here.”

Quinn always nodded in agreement, though she couldn’t think of anyone quite as colorful as Juniper. She was a perfect example of why Quinn loved this town. She may never have traveled anywhere else, but she had to guess if she did, she’d never stumble upon another Juniper Jones.

Quinn pulled open the door to Hazel’s and beelined for her usual booth. With any luck, Ryan Brooks would be at his usual table, and Quinn could pick his brain about some of the changes she wanted to make in the flower shop.

Hailey Brooks, Ryan’s sister and one of Quinn’s best friends, spotted her from across the restaurant. Quinn’s eyes scanned the damage. They’d cleaned up the shards of glass and removed the broken tables, but Betsy had lost a number of seats, and Hazel’s felt more crowded for it.

She glanced at Ryan, who sat, as usual, at the booth kitty-corner from her, drinking coffee and looking at a menu she happened to know he did not need.

This was his ritual—to come into this diner, order the same thing every morning, and then go off to work. Lately, Ryan’s fiancée, Lane Kelley, joined him, and Quinn swore if she walked in the door right about now, she’d take it as a sign from heaven that she should go ahead and ask them all her questions, even though she was pretty sure she couldn’t afford their services.

After all, the two of them worked together to restore cottages throughout Harbor Pointe and all the way into Summers Bay. She’d seen their work. It was exquisite. And while she could use the professional help, it likely came with a professional price tag.

Hailey brought Quinn her usual skinny vanilla latte and sat down across from her. “You’re late today.”

Quinn took a drink and let its warmth settle inside her empty belly for a few seconds before talking. “I overslept.”

---