Page 57 of Any Girl But You
My face heats, and I push out a heavy breath. “You of all people should understand what this is like. What if there was a storm before your opening day? Would you have just not checked it out? I have a four-wheel-drive truck and a survival kit, okay?”
I don’t like my tone. It doesn’t feel good, and I know that Zoey is coming from a place of love. But sometimes I don’t think Zoey understands. Yes, she’s set up her own business. And she knows how difficult it is to do something like this, solo. But she’s imbedded into the town. The community is practically an extra limb. And she has a strong family support system, with the kind of parents people dream about.
I have Frankie. That’s it. There’s no one to fall back on, no parents I can borrow money from, no grandma who’s still alive that I can lean on. So, sure I know it was dumb to attempt to drive in a budding storm, but I needed to check on my second home, my livelihood, my dream.
Zoey steps over to me and wraps me in her arms. “You’re shaking.”
I didn’t realize it until she said it, but she’s right. I’m not sure if it’s from gripping my steering wheel so hard, or the realization that I did something not very smart. Her warm honeysuckle and vanilla scent engulfs me, and I lean into her embrace.
The wind roars against the building. A large branch tears from the tree and cracks against the window and I flinch so hard I feel a pop in my neck.
“I’m going to lock everything up,” Zoey says, releasing me. “No one’s coming in and I sent the staff home an hour ago.”
While she goes into the kitchen and returns with a container to save the items in the display case, I stack chairs on the table, then grab the broom and mop. Twenty minutes later, we head back to the kitchen where the counters overflow with pie supplies.
Yikes. That is a very overwhelming pile of product. “Need some help?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go rest?” Zoey asks, but I can see in her eyes, that yes, she would love the help.
After I tie my hair into a tight bun and wash my hands, I follow Zoey’s instructions. It’s methodical and precise, and after a while I lose myself in the motion. Being with Zoey, baking, building, makes me forget about everything outside. A little. With no windows, it’s quiet in the kitchen, and I can’t see the outside. So, for now, I’m going to pretend that everything’s okay.
Even though something in my gut tells me that everything is definitely not okay.
TWENTY-NINE
ZOEY
I roll over in my bed and run my hand around the cool, wrinkled sheets. One second passes, then two, then… “Quinn?” I bolt upright and blink into the darkness. Oh no… I click on the lamp and glance around the room.
“Quinn?” I call out a little louder, but silence meets me.
She wouldn’t have…right? I hop out of the bed and shove my glasses on my face. My footsteps are heavy against the hardwood floors as I rush from room to room. In the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, I’m met with nothing.
It’s 6:30 a.m. but feels much earlier. In the living room, I open the blinds and look at the alley. Truck Norris is gone. My stomach twists. Quinn is gone. What time did she bolt from here? I didn’t even feel her leave the bed.
Granted, we were both exhausted. After prepping all of the pies, the storm was so loud and fierce last night that it took a bit for us to fall asleep. It rattled the windows and shook the building for hours, before it finally stopped. Thankfully, it was quick, if relentless.
I rush back to the bedroom. Where did she go?
Obviously, something is wrong. I could sense it last night. Sure, at some point the sex has to slow down, but Quinn onlygave me one small kiss, then rolled over to snuggle a pillow instead of me. Did I push things with her too quickly? No. Maybe? I don’t know. Or is this about me chatting with heragainlast night before bed about how dangerous driving in these conditions can be? When Quinn stepped into my bakery and said that she’d tried to go to the farm, I almost choked. She’s lived in New York for all these years, without a car. Does she remember about black ice? How to prevent skidding? What the heck would she have done if she actually made it to an unplowed county road?
I grab my phone to call her. The call goes directly to voicemail. I send a text, but it shows undelivered.Oh no… I push my palm into my head. I want to go after her, but that would be ridiculous. What am I supposed to do? Drive out to her farm, which is where I’m assuming she went, and check if she’s okay? I can’t. Even if I want to, I can’t. I have almost two hundred people coming in today to pick up orders, and only Luna is on staff.
I try one more text message and it goes undelivered. She didn’t block me, right? Wait, no. I’m not doing this. Now is not the time to be overbearing or insecure. Something most likely happened with the cell towers.
After getting ready, I brew a large pot of coffee, fill a Thermos, and go to the shop. Yes, of course I’m worried about Quinn, but she’s an adult and if she wanted to leave, that’s her choice. The MnDOT folks around here are spectacular. The streets are already plowed, there is no wind, and besides massive snowbanks filling the holding spots, no one would know we had a storm last night.
I tuck my hair into a bun and get to work. Today is going to be a long day. The shop itself is closed except for the half-priced goods left over from yesterday, and folks coming in to get their orders for Thursday. I check my phone one last time. No newmessages. I push out a quick breath, then stuff it back in my pocket.
Time will probably fly by quickly with the revolving door of folks coming into my shop, but I cannot shake this dark, icky feeling churning in my gut. Where is the line between caring and overbearing? I do not want to overstep and turn into my mother, and yet, if something happens to Quinn, and I’m the only one who knows she’s not answering her calls, I’ll never forgive myself.
Forget it. I’d rather be overbearing than regretful. I dial Frankie, who answers with a groggy voice. “Hey, it’s Zoey,” I say. I feel like I’m the student barging to the teacher to tattle. “Have you heard from Quinn?”
“No…I thought she was with you,” Frankie says.
I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “She was, but when I woke up this morning, she was already gone. And I’m probably being paranoid, but she’s not answering any of my calls and I’m worried.”
“Did you guys have a fight?” Frankie asks.
