Page 7 of Any Girl But You
The cranked-up air-conditioning is barely making a dent in the heat. I roll to a stop in front of a crosswalk, and peek at thehalf dozen or so people walking on the sidewalk on Main Street.Half dozen. Not hundreds. Not the sardine-packed sidewalks in the Financial District where I could feel people’s breath on me and smell the coffee in their hands when I hustled from the subway to my office building.
A woman scurrying across the crosswalk waves to me. I squint out the windshield.Do I know her?Ah…the thank-you wave—for doing the bare minimum as a driver and not plowing her down in the middle of a crosswalk. I wave back and smile. Driving is taking me a little bit to get used to. But the thank-you waves will take even longer.
The fresh, heated Minnesota air streams through the windows as I bump down Main Street and wait for the air-conditioning to kick in. Another thing I’m getting used to, being back in Spring Harbors? The air. New York has a different smell than Minnesota. Exhaust, the savory smoke from restaurants and vendors, some days the tangy garbage smell of too many people occupying a space until the sanitation workers clear the streets. Here it’s clean. Pure. Like freshwater, pine trees, and freshly mowed lawn.
“I can’t believe that happened,” I mutter. I can’t blame my actions on New York directness, either. My stomach knots. I pop open the cookie box and sink my teeth into the blue and red cookies.
And, of course. Sigh. They’re freaking delicious. I polish off one in three bites and before I reach the end of the block, I’m going in for a second. I cannot make enemies of someone who can bake like this.
Or…who looks like that. For God’s sake. At the red light, I push my thumbs into my forehead and pull in a heavy breath. Sure, Frankie and Morgan made an offhand comment about Zoey being cute if you’re into the nerdy-sexy librarian vibe (which I absolutely am). But they failed to mention that Zoeywas gorgeous. Messy bun, bangs sweeping to her crystal-blue eyes, chunky black eyeglasses, gorgeous.
At the house, I kick off my shoes at the mat and slump on the couch. I have a million things I need to do, but right now I’m itchy, restless, and feeling pretty shitty about the whole Zoey situation. Maybe I should apologize?
Or maybe she shouldn’t have blamed me for something her staff screwed up. At least, Ithinkthey screwed up. Ugh.
When I left the city, I thought the whole blame thing was done. Clearly, I was wrong.
God, this sucks. I rub the corner of my shoulder with a thumb and try some deep breathing exercises, but it’s useless. Before I meet hundreds of strangers tomorrow at the Christmas event, I need to release this pent-up tension. I grab my phone and start swiping through a dating app, going directly to the “looking to keep it light” and “casual vibes only” posts. I drop a couple of “hey, love your profile, you around tonight?”-type messages and wait for a few bites. It’s Saturday after all. Someone within a sixty-mile radius must be looking to let off some steam.
The phone buzzes against my palm.Yes!That was quick.
Grrr. Buzzkill. My sister.
Did you meet Zoey?
She follows with a raised eyebrow emoji message. Did I meet Zoey? Yes. Did the woman with the softest, sweetest voice and eyes as big as sugar cookies essentially kick me out? Also, yes.
Sure did. Not great. Probably won’t go back.
The phone rings immediately. “What do you mean it didn’t go great? How can itnotgo great? She’s literally one of the nicest human beings in the world.”
I punch the pillow behind my head and lower myself into the couch. “Really? That wasn’t my experience. She told me from now on I should get my cookies from someplace else.”
“What… Oh no. What did you do?”
Heat flashes across my chest. “Really? How about defending me for once? Maybeshedid something. I swear to God, I am always the one taking the blame for everything.” Silence meets me and my snarky tone. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. “I told her that her employee effed up my order.”
“You didn’t. Did you actually use the f-word?” It’s like I can hear Frankie clench her jaw through the phone. “I don’t even think I’ve heard Zoey say anything stronger than ‘gosh darn.’ Seriously, Quinn? Comeon. You’ve got to control that temper.”
“Control my temper? Are you serious right now? It’s not like I threw punches or anything.” ButmaybeI went a tad too far. I retell Frankie the chaotic story of ordering on Wednesday and everything that happened when I stepped in there today.
I leave out, however, how this Zoey person my sister keeps talking about not only surpassed my expectations but flew to the freaking moon. Reading energy of others is a lifetime survival skill, and I instantly saw she’s a good person. And still, I stomped out of there like a toddler not getting their prized Christmas present. Ugh. I’m such a dick.
“You’re still letting your old boss win. This isn’t you, Quinn. At all,” Frankie says. “Yes, you’re a massive pain in the ass, but you’re not someone who says that to people, especially when you first meet.”
Frankie’s words hit me, hard. I want to say that it’s not true, that deep down I’m heartless and don’t care about people, and it’s not my responsibility to coddle those around me, but Frankie’s right. Thisisn’tme. I didn’t recognize myself in that shop. When Zoey said I made a mistake, that the order was my fault, I saw red. Actually, I saw the former VP’s face, saying thisin front of a crowd of peers and leaders, then messaging me late at night retelling me what I did wrong. The amount of times he did that has blurred, but the humiliation still stings.
Frankie takes a long breath. “I’m sure things will get smoothed over. I know you’re under a ton of stress with the farm and everything. Hopefully, you both can let this go,” she says. “What are you up to now?”
A notification pings me from the app and I swipe it open. “Currently, I’m fielding a message from the dating app about meeting up with someone tonight outside of Duluth.”
A judgmental sigh sounds over the phone. “Tell me you’re being safe.”
“Do I sanitize my strap-on after every session?” I say, wiggling back into the couch. “Sure do. I’m not a monster.”
“That is absolutely not what I meant.”
I know what she meant. But Frankie has played a surrogate mother role for me my entire life and sometimes forgets that I’m a sexually independent woman in my early thirties, not a dumb, horny teenager. “Just because you’ve been with like two people in your whole life?—”
