Mick got up and pulled Quinn to her feet and then kissed her right in front of Tilly.

“Ohmigod,” Tilly moaned, covering her own eyes now. “Gross.”

“Deal with it,” he said. He gave Quinn one more smooch and then headed to the door. “’Night, ladies.”

Quinn followed him, shutting the door behind her. “What was that?” she asked.

“Me saying good night?”

“No, it was you making it clear we’re a thing.”

He looked at her, his amusement fading. “Actually, given what we talked about, your concerns about Tilly, it was me trying to show her that good guys do exist—as well as good relationships.”

She stared at him, her belly pinched as an irrational fear gutted her. “But you and I aren’t—”

He arched a brow.

“I mean . . .” She trailed off, unsure of herself, in uncharted territory. “We started off just as fun. We both said that.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And it was fun, a hell of a lot of fun. Still is. It’s also evolved into something more over the past month.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Which you obviously noticed or you wouldn’t be freaking out right now over a perfectly great evening that didn’t end badly.”

“Are you suggesting I need drama in my life?”

“I’m suggesting you’re scared.”

Her heart was pounding against her ribs now. Because he was right. She was scared, scared he was going to want to define what they had, put a label on them, when she didn’t even know who she was. And the thought of coming up with one made her feel anxious enough for a stroke. Why were they doing this? Why couldn’t they just leave a good thing alone? “I’ve got to go in.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding his head like he wasn’t surprised, and she felt like a coward. He started to go and then paused and looked right into her heart and soul with those deep, melting chocolate eyes. “Being scared is one thing, and in a lot of cases, it’s smart. Probably in this case, it’s smart. But if you’re looking for an excuse to not have a relationship, it’s fine. Just own it.”

Her chest ached. “It’s just that my life, it’s . . . complicated.”

“And?” he asked, not impressed. “Because everyone’s is, Quinn. Mine included. But one thing I know, it’s too short to be with someone who doesn’t know if she wants me.”

“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted.

He looked at her for a long moment, disappointment etched into his face as he nodded. “Can’t fight that. You know how to get hold of me if you figure it out.”

And then he and Coop were gone.

Quinn stared after the taillights of his truck, standing there long after they’d vanished. Finally she walked inside, feeling like she was clinging to the edge of a cliff with no safety net. In 150-mile-per-hour winds. With blocks of cement on her feet . . .

Tilly stood in the kitchen eating more ice cream right out of the container.

“He’s very tall. Mick.”

“Yes,” Quinn managed.

“And he thinks he’s funny,” Tilly said, obviously having no idea that Quinn’s entire world felt like it was shrinking in on her.

“Yes. He does think he’s funny.”

Another silence, and then Tilly said, “But he’s okay, I guess. For a guy.”

He was. And Quinn liked him. Way too much, clearly, as she’d just let her overwhelming feelings and emotions destroy everything.

Guess Lena wasn’t the only one who could self-destruct her own happiness.

“What’s your problem?” Tilly asked.

“I’m . . . not sure Mick and I are together like you think.”

“Why not?”

Yeah, Quinn, why not? “Because he . . . likes me,” she said. “A lot. And I . . .”

Tilly raised a brow.

“I’m not ready for that.”

Tilly’s eyes shuttered. “So you’re, what, moving on? My mom did that too, you know. Hurt the people who loved her. Who’s next? Me?”

“Tilly, no—”

But Tilly walked out of the kitchen and a moment later her bedroom door shut, hard.

Quinn walked around shutting off lights, getting ready for bed, and . . . tripped over Tink.

“Mew.”

“Hey,” Quinn said. “You done hiding?”

With no one around, the cat seemed to have let down her guard-dog stance. She looked somehow smaller, quieter.

Lonely.

Dammit. Quinn picked her up and the thing went completely boneless. She also shed enough fur to make a pillow. Quinn looked down at her black T-shirt, now streaked with brown hair, and sighed.

Tink sighed too and cuddled in more, pressing her face in the crook of Quinn’s neck and then there was a sort of rumbling sound, like a motor starting up far, far away, one that hadn’t been used in a long time and was maybe rusty. And about to break down.

Tink was purring.

“Glad you approve,” Quinn said past a thick throat. “Right now you just might be the only one who does.”

Tink purred some more.

“I’m really screwing things up,” Quinn admitted into the fur. “Bad.”

Tink nuzzled in a little, drooling on Quinn’s neck.

“If only life came with an instruction manual. Then I could just look up all the right answers.” She sighed and hugged the damn cat. “You’re a good listener.” Carefully, she set down the cat. “But it’s time for bed.” She opened the back door for Tink.

But with her ruffled head and tail high, the cat turned and headed down the hall instead.

“Uh—”

Tink jumped onto Quinn’s new bed. And didn’t quite make it. Halfway up, she clung to the side of the mattress by her claws, having to make an effort to climb the rest of the way. At the top, she seemed quite pleased with herself, and also exhausted. She plopped down and began kneading the blanket like she was making biscuits.

At least one of them felt comfortable in her own skin.

THE REST OF the week both flew by and crawled. Quinn and Tilly—and Tilly and the cat—were all in some sort of uneasy alliance, a temporary one.

The story of her life lately.

They did find a routine—of sorts. Quinn and Tilly always got up early and went to the café, where Tilly got the eggs and Quinn cooked.

Then Tilly went off to school and Quinn stayed to cook through the lunch crowd. Quinn heard a lot of things at the café, learning more about the people in Wildstone than she’d ever wanted to know. Things like the fact that Big Hank had been married four times—to twins, and each had dumped him twice. Also, Cliff sometimes dated Lena’s sister, who, apparently, was not crazy. Oh, and Carolyn had also dated Lou’s second cousin’s best friend’s brother, who was the owner of the Whiskey River, and that she had a sandwich named after her there.

But most interestingly, she heard rumblings of Mick going toe to toe with the city manager—who was, as it turned out—Boomer’s dad. There was a city meeting in a few days, and some of the old-timers were gleefully looking forward to watching Mick give the city manager an “ass whooping.”

“It’s not a wrestling match,” Quinn said, hoping to get them to change the subject.