Some things never change, I guess.
If he still sees me as that awkward little girl with her hand caught in the honeycomb, or the awkward teenager who planted her face in a freaking pie, is he wrong?
It’s just a shame he’s too much of a gentleman to come out and tell me.
Quinn Faulkner is far too easy to talk to. I almost spilled the beans on just how disappointing my dance career was even back in college.
Yes, it was my big dream then, but half the time, I felt like it was Mother’s.
Some dreams are infectious. They just get their hooks in and there’s no time to stop, think, and consider what’s in it for you.
The show must go on.
I didn’t have a choice.
I’ve never told anyone that.
Just like I’d never told those stupid kids I was allergic to bees way back when they’d dared each other to steal a honeycomb out of Farmer Faulkner’s beehives. The kids kept teasing me about being a ‘fraidy-cat city girl’ who was terrified of bees.
They were right.
I was a city girl with good reason to be scared after Mother lectured me for years, letting me know one itty bitty sting could kill with the wrong allergies. But I’d been determined to be one of the group that summer.
I hadn’t made any friends in Dallas yet besides Bella Reed, and her own visits to her oil baron grandfather’s ranch didn’t always line up with mine.
So off to Farmer Faulkner’s we’d ventured. His place was just on the edge of town, it wasn’t miles, but I remember feeling like we’d walked at least ten miles that day. Straight to his place and down by the pond where he’d kept his bee boxes.
The other kids saw the tall, awkward, pissed off kid coming before I did that day, and took off running. I’d taken their stupid dare, trying to win a smidge of respect.
There I was, stick in hand, ten feet away from certain death by honeybees.
“You know you’re trespassing on private property, right?” Those were the first words Quinn ever said to me.
Oh, I’d known, but before I’d had a chance to say so, he’d started in. Red-faced and tongue running a mile a minute about how flipping hard his grandfather works at beekeeping, harvesting the honey, and selling it because his flimsy pension and Social Security weren’t much to live on.
By the time he was done, I was in tears.
He went quiet when I started up the frantic litany of apologies.
And then he bent down, this hangdog look on his face. He helped me up, pulled the honeycomb I’d pried out with the stick from my hand, and just…
He hugged me.
This big, bearish embrace, even when we were just kids.
“Heard enough out of you, little girl,” he whispered in my ear. “Guess you’ve learned your lesson. I’ll make sure Gramps understands. Now dry your eyes. We’ll forget this ever happened.”
Everybody knows how much teenagers suck at using their words, but Quinn didn’t.
I never realized then how rare it is to meet a straight shooter, but I already respected it.
I didn’t want to join that group of kids anymore.
I just wanted to be his friend.
The same thing I still want now.
“Here ya are, hon! Your man said to mix it up, so I gave you this special stuff Grady bought up for the summer from Maui brewing. Aloha.” The waitress sets two glasses of beer on the table with a smile that smacks me back to the present.
I thank her and take a long sip of the pleasantly sweet, light Hawaiian brew as my eyes roam over to Quinn. He’s talking to a big man at the end of the bar with a thick black beard.
From what I can tell, it’s a heavy conversation.
Neither of them look particularly happy.
Hmmm. My toes scrunch up inside my boots.
He arrives at the table a minute later, finally, but doesn’t sit down, lifting his beer instead for a quick audible slurp before he sets it down.
“Shit, that’s good,” he says, wiping his mouth.
I smile.
“Where’s the fire? Nothing stopping you from sitting down and savoring it like a normal human being, Quinn.” I wink at him, taking another satisfying drink off my glass.
But his face is anything but fun and games.
Oh, no.
“About that. Hey, I’m really sorry, Tory, but Grady, the owner over there,” he gestures to the muscle man he’d been talking to, “he just told me about something I really need to check on.”
“Oh. Okay.” I can almost feel my frown sliding off my chin.
Whoa, that just came out of left field.
So maybe I wasn’t wrong about the bridge. He must’ve had Ridge put it up so he wouldn’t have to deal with me, and now he’s enlisted the bar owner for a good excuse to get rid of me tonight.