Page 97 of Just Let Go

“Oh. No.” Quinn’s voice behind him pulled his attention.

From where he was, up on a ladder in the opposite corner of the store, he turned toward her. She was sitting on the counter, staring at her phone. She tugged the earbuds out of her ears.

“No, no, no.”

“Is something wrong?”

No response. Only the slow headshake of a woman who looked devastated.

“Quinn?”

He balanced the tools on the ladder and stepped down, though he was unsure how she’d respond, given that he was likely the last person in the world she wanted to talk to.

“What’s the matter?”

She sat on the back counter, which sat flush with the wall and parallel with the checkout counter, legs crossed in front of her, pencil stuck in her ponytail, scrolling on her phone. She looked like she might cry.

“Is everyone okay?” Grady asked. “Your dad—Jaden?”

“They’re fine,” she finally said. “I just got an e-mail from Kitty Moore.”

Grady frowned. “Who’s that?”

“She’s from the Floral Expo.” She met his eyes for the briefest second.

“And...?” She certainly wasn’t making this easy for him.

Quinn slipped down off the counter and stood in front of him, then focused on her phone and read out loud: “‘Dear Miss Collins, we tried reaching you by phone, but had no luck. I wanted to let you know we received your application for the Best Design competition, but we are unable to process it due to the missing information. As per the rules listed on our website, each applicant is required to submit a copy of their business license and tax info for our records. Of course we hate for you to be disqualified over a technicality, but rules are rules. Hope you’ll try again next year with all required documents. Have a wonderful weekend.’”

Quinn’s voice had grown progressively more staccato as she read,punctuated finally with the cell phone dropped onto the counter. She covered her face with her hands and stayed hauntingly still.

“Are you okay?”

“My only chance.” The words were barely audible. She picked up the phone and dialed what he could only assume was the number listed at the bottom of the e-mail. He watched as she stood there, one arm wrapped around her midsection, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if she were trying to keep from crying.

She shook her head. “I can’t believe this. No answer.”

“Try again?”

“It’s Sunday,” she said. “Whoever Kitty Moore is, she’s not going to pick up. The e-mail came in yesterday. I should’ve checked it sooner.”

The outgoing voicemail message came on and Quinn put the phone on speaker.

“Thank you for calling the Michigan Floral Expo. We’re sorry we missed your call. If you’re calling about tickets for the Expo, please visit our website or try back during normal business hours. If you’re calling about a design entry, please hang up and call our new president, Jacie Whitman, as all entries have been forwarded to her.”

“Jacie Whitman,” Quinn said, clicking the phone off.

“Who’s Jacie Whitman?”

She turned and faced him, eyes clearly filled with tears. “My mother.”

Quinn’s throat swelled, and she struggled to get a deep breath.

This couldn’t be happening.

“This is what happens when I make stupid, rash decisions,” she said, tossing the phone onto the counter.

“What are you talking about?”

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