Page 62 of Enemy Crush
“Congratulations,” Quinn said. “Has he got a name yet?”
“Silas. Silas Anthony McMahon.”
Quinn smiled, passing Mrs. Hamlin the cash box and the hoard of produce she’d acquired.
“Goodness no, you keep that,” Mrs. Hamlin said.
“But I exchanged it for your potatoes.”
Mrs. Hamlin scrunched her nose. “All yours, honey.”
“Well, can you at least take the flowers for Shayla?”
“That’s very kind,” Mrs. Hamlin said. “Come get a cold iced tea, and I have a proposition for you. For both of you.”
Mrs. Hamlin wanted Quinn and I to man the stall until the market closed for the winter. She appreciated that we’d jumped in at short notice and had heard good things about Quinn already from some of her regular customers.
Quinn blushed but I felt proud, so proud of her.
“You think about it okay?” Mrs. Hamlin said to us. “And then let me know.” She left us in the shed while she took the flowers and cash box away.
“What do you think?” I asked, stacking the crates up. “You keen?”
Quinn nodded. “Yeah, definitely.” She tilted her head and gave me a wry look. “I could really do with the extra money.”
“Yeah, don’t we all,” I said. “Hey, thanks for helping with all this.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, adding more crates to the pile. She hesitated, cleared her throat and whispered my name, “Miller?”
My body reacted with an involuntary shiver, delicious and thrilling.
“Thanks for being there for me today,” she said, her voice soft and a little shaky. “For standing up for me. And for taking charge. It...it means a lot.”
The unsteadiness in her voice jolted me and I worried I was about to witness a flood of tears. That was something I didn’t know how to deal with. Because it occurred to me that Quinn had been going through a lot—not only leaving her prep school but losing her friends in the process of keeping her mother’s secret.
And there had been so much more—the bullying on the bus that I did nothing to stop, being left out of the girls soccer team, hey, even the failed date with Ronan King. That had to be tough on her—and yet, in all that, she’d managed to stand up for my little brother.
“Well, it means a lot that you saved Mason. You were there for him when I wasn’t. That means the world to me.”
She shrugged timidly, like she didn’t deserve the praise. And it struck me that Quinn was a good person. She was humble and kind and the complete opposite of a snob. And I needed to apologize.
“Hey, I should’ve stood up for you when those kids bullied you on the bus. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” I said, my words rough with regret. “Forgive me. Please?”
Quinn peered at me from under her long eyelashes, her nod and sweet smile causing a flutter in my stomach. It was impossible not to like her. In fact, I was liking her more and more by the second.
But she was vulnerable, and even though Dad’s stance on her had changed, in Annabelle Devereaux’s eyes, I guessed I was still the enemy. Which meant I had a mountain to climb before I could ask Quinn on a date.
“Ah, I’ll ask Mrs. Hamlin if I can take you home in the truck,” I said as we finished tidying away everything.
“Wh...did you—?”
“I rode my motorbike here,” I said, guessing she’d forgotten I didn’t have a car.
“Oh—duh,” she said, touching her palm to her forehead. “I didn’t think. My bad. Sorry, I don’t wanna put you out.”
“It’s fine,” I said, grinning as I suggested, “Unless you wanna ride on the back of my bike?”
Quinn’s eyes glinted, maybe at the absurdity of the proposition. And it was absurd. She didn’t have proper motorcycle gear.
