Page 20 of Tin

Nate observes me over his coffee cup. “You’re in a good mood.”

I take the plate Kirsten made me anyway. “I really like cinnamon rolls.”

He puts down his mug, smiling like he knows something. “Oh. I thought maybe you were looking forward to your date with Carson this evening.” He knows nothing.

“Nope. It’s the cinnamon rolls.” With my plate in hand, I move over to the kitchen table and have a seat by myself. Until Kirsten takes the chair beside me.

“Listen. What are the odds of getting you into a dress tonight?”

I smile back at her. “I don’t know. About the same as getting you into a pair of overalls made entirely of burlap.”

She rolls her eyes. “Be serious, Quinn.”

“Back at ya.” I take a massive bite and practically rip it out of my cinnamon roll like an uncivilized animal. I don’t know why she always brings out my inner four-year-old. Maybe because she treats me like one.

Judging by her expression—and the smear of frosting on my cheek—I’m pretty grotesque to behold right now.

I swallow hard to get it all down, then surrender. “Fine. I’ll wear a dress. Whatever. But be warned that putting me in heels could prove potentially dangerous for myself as well as anyone within a ten-foot radius.”

She flicks her wrist, instantly dismissing my concerns. “It’s early. You have all day to practice walking in them.”

And I want to cry, because I know she’s not kidding.

From there, the day doesn’t get much better. After breakfast, Kirsten and I pile into her car, while Nate takes Sophie over to C.J.’s house for a play date with her husband and daughter, since C.J. winds up joining us on our shopping spree.

Four hours and three potential outfits later, we wind up back at the house, where Kirsten really does make me practice walking in the four-inch stilettos she purchased for me, insisting they were the only viable shoes for an evening out with a guy like Carson Winn, which instantly made me think of Riker and his considerably simpler dress code.

For some reason, almost everything that happens after I’m doomed to suffer for Carson’s sake triggers some thought of Riker in one form or another. Reminding me of something he said, something he did. A look he gave me. Anything and everything from the last month crosses my mind, suddenly making my afternoon a thousand times more bearable.

Until it’s time. Time for my date. Time for Carson Winn.

CHAPTER EIGHT

RIKER

“Hey. You wanna go out and grab a beer with me?”

I picture Sid doing a double take, staring at her phone in disbelief. “What? You want to go out? Like, in public? What if people see you, Riker? They might realize you’re not dead after all.”

She thinks she’s so fucking funny.

“Nobody thinks I’m dead, Sid. Crazy, sure. And missing. Isn’t that a thing too? Whatever. I want to get out of the house. And drinking alone will only fuel the rumor mill, so are you in or what?”

She laughs. “Yes, of course I’m in. Where do you want to go?”

I stare at the fridge blankly. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. “I don’t care. Somewhere on the main drag? Near the water?”

I hear a horse snort in the background. She’s still at the ranch.

“Sounds good. Give me an hour and I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

My eyes automatically travel to my mattress. “Nah, that’s fine. I can just meet you.” I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to risk being stranded if there’s any chance at all of seeing Quinn tonight.

“That works too. See you in a bit.” She hangs up and I’m back to standing in my kitchen, aimless and annoyingly unsure of what to do with myself. What the fuck did I do with my time before Quinn filled every waking second of it?

QUINN

I’m sitting here staring at Carson Winn and wondering who in the hell thought this would be a good idea. It’s not that he’s unattractive. I mean, I think he’s probably attractive. I’m not attractedtohim, but I would be happy to believe other women are.

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