Page 32 of Quintessentially

“I could bring them to the store tomorrow,” he offers.

“Don’t bother.”

I’m up the staircase and out to the breezeway when I hear him call.

“Wait, Kandace, I’ve been thinking about you.”

The anger wins as I spin around.

In only shorts, he’s standing in the doorway to the house a few feet higher than where I’m standing. My eyes narrow as I lie. “I haven’t thought about you. Sign off on the store or don’t. I’m not waiting for your decision to plan my life.”

The windows on one side of the breezeway lead out to a slate patio. On the other side is the door I entered earlier. My hand is on the doorknob.

He comes closer, taking one step at a time. “Who is Molly?”

ChapterThirteen

Dax

Kandace is here, in my grandparents’ home. With her being in my thoughts, it is as if she materializes from my wish. Mick said that she had a key, but I never dreamt she’d be here. She is also fucking beautiful, the way I remember her but better.

The only thing missing is her smile.

In the light of the breezeway, I see she’s been crying by the tear tracks on her cheeks.

The pictures upstairs come back to me as I step down to where Kandace is. I have to ask before she leaves. “Who is Molly?”

The color drains from her cheeks as she shakes her head.

“Goodbye, Dax.”

Kandace turns and, opening the door, steps outside.

I pound my fist against the doorjamb as I watch her walk away.

Sitting on the steps, I try to recall the girl I last saw after my grandfather’s funeral. Kandace wasn’t a girl; she was a woman. Outwardly, she’s still as stunning, but something has happened to her. Maybe that’s why Justin is so protective.

The clues start falling into place.

When I asked Joyce about Kandace, she told me to move to town and keep my eyes and ears open. Shit, I’m in town. My eyes are open wide. I hurry back into the house and up to the bedroom. Shuffling through the pictures, I come to one of Molly alone. She’s staring up at the camera with a blue ice cream cone in her hand. Her lips are covered in ice cream, and her eyes are wide, filled with joy, and the same color as mine. Grandma used to make homemade blueberry ice cream. It was my favorite.

The reality hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

Five years old.

Eyes the color of mine.

Hair the color of Kandace’s.

Breakfast at the diner, only two storefronts away from Quintessential Treasures.

With each revelation, my heart beats faster.

Molly can’t be my child, can she?

Why didn’t Kandace tell me?

Fuck that, why didn’t Grandma?

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