Page 59 of Just Let Go

She hurried across the room and snatched up the other pieces of paper, tucking them back inside a large sketchpad. “Can I have that?” She held her hand out toward him, expecting him to turn over the sheet he held.

“You’re still working on the designs,” he said.

“Yes.” She sounded exasperated. “I’m behind. I know.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Creativity doesn’t just happen.” She gave him a once-over. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

He glanced back down at the images she’d drawn on the paper he held in his hand. “It’s supposed to be a secret garden, right?”

“It’s inspired byThe Secret Garden,” she said.

“So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a book.”

He didn’t have to tell her he’d never read it.

“Can I have that back, please?”

He ignored her, choosing instead to walk over to the counter and set the page down, studying it intently for effect. “It all looks pretty boring to me.”

He felt her irritation. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing?”

She glared at him. “How could that possibly be a good thing? You don’t see me over here telling you how to ski.”

“You get worked up a lot,” he said. “It must be exhausting.”

“I have a lot to do.” She slammed her sketchpad down on the other end of the counter. “And so do you if you want me to put in a good word for you. How about you pick up all the stuff you dropped in the middle of my floor?”

“I think a secret garden should have a wild side.”

“You think everything should have a wild side.”

“Think about it. If it’s a secret, maybe it’s left alone a lot. And it kind of does its own thing whenever it can. Maybe it can’t really be tamed.”

She drew in a slow breath and glanced down at the paper in his hand. He expected her to tell him to shut up, but when she said nothing, he took it as a sign he could continue. He didn’t get many creative ideas—but there was such rigidity in her drawing, it seemed almost the opposite of the effect she was going for.

Should he tell her so?

“You seem to like things in their place.”

She stiffened. Everything he said must come across as an insult to her.

“But think about it—if a garden was just growing somewhere, wouldn’t it be sort of haphazard? I don’t know anything about flowers, but I know about nature, and nothing ever really seems to stay in its place out there.”

The image of the wildflowers that grew in the woods around the house where he’d grown up sprang to mind. He’d never paid them much attention, but he did know they were relentless in the way they grew. Chaotic, even.

He glanced up, seeing that familiar furrowed brow he’d come to expect from her.

“Never mind. I don’t really know what I’m talking about.” He turned away, reminding himself he really didn’t care about this Winter Carnival and he should keep his uneducated opinions to himself. No sense giving Quinn yet another reason to be annoyed with him.

Quinn drew in a slow breath that was meant to calm her down, but her imagination had started swimming. She could kick herself, but she wanted Grady to keep talking. As he spoke about wildflowers,about untamed nature, images started forming in her head. And they weren’t standard Quinn images. They were different, as if something new had been sparked, and she couldn’t keep the ideas from rolling in.

Grady stared at her, clearly finished with his thoughts. “It was just an idea.” He slid the sheet of paper across the counter toward her.

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