I’m going to find Quinn.

Quinn slowly shut the journal. So now she had the answer to the question of why Carolyn had come looking for her.

She’d needed someone to look after Tilly.

However Quinn felt about that, the fact remained that without her, Tilly was far too alone. She blew out a breath and put the journal back, shutting the drawer a little harder than necessary.

She headed through the house to the living room, Tink on her heels.

The sun beat in windows that were old and not dual paned, so the house was hot. The air conditioner had apparently gone on the fritz a long time ago. A fast, cheap fix would be some quality window shades to keep out the afternoon sun. Then there was the fact that of the two bathrooms, only one shower worked, and that one only trickled out tepid water.

She missed hot water. A lot.

The dishwasher was broken. And so was the lock on the back door. The list went on and on.

Whether they kept this house and rented it out, or sold it and the café, either way there needed to be some serious upgrades. Before they left for L.A., which they still needed to talk about.

The problem about fixing the house was money. Chef Wade paid her decently—when she was working there, that is. But the pay scale at the café wasn’t exactly comparable and she was wracking up her own personal bills, including the last of her school debt. Her parents had offered to pay her school loans off several times, but it had been a point of pride with her.

She’d wanted to do something for herself.

She wouldn’t ask them for help with this. She couldn’t.

Which meant it was time for some tough decisions. She’d just lowered the price on her car in her ad when the front door slammed.

Quinn turned and looked at Tilly as she stepped into the living room. She wondered when would be the right time to bring up the whole moving to L.A. thing when school got out. Now?

The girl was subdued, standing there clutching a backpack and a big paper bag with clothes in it, looking . . . hollow.

Okay, so maybe they wouldn’t talk about L.A. right now . . . maybe after a tub of ice cream. “How was camping?”

“It was camping,” Tilly said. She looked around, eyes sharp.

Quinn had barely changed anything in the entire house; most of the changes had occurred only in the craft room. The only thing that she’d done out here was add a plant to the coffee table.

And a cat.

Tilly’s glare zoomed in on the plant and narrowed. “What did you do in here?”

“Added a plant.”

“You also stacked up the magazines.”

“Yes,” Quinn said, setting down Tink. “When I dusted.”

Tilly looked at the cat.

Tink looked back, seeming as displeased by this new intrusion as the teenager herself.

“The stray’s still here,” Tilly said.

“Yes, and she’s good at it, she hasn’t strayed at all,” Quinn quipped.

And speaking of that, neither had Tilly. She’d made sure she had the option to stay here or at Chuck’s and yet from the day Quinn had started sleeping here, Tilly had done the same.

Surely Quinn could take some comfort in that.

“Mom didn’t like cats, you know,” Tilly said.

Quinn refrained from pointing out that no, she didn’t know. “She’s homeless. And her name is Tink.”

Tilly stared at the cat some more.

The cat continued to stare back.

Bitchy teen versus bitchy cat in a standoff. Quinn wondered how long it could possibly go on. Who’d lose patience first?

Turned out it was her. “So . . . you going to tell me about camping or not?”

Tilly lifted a shoulder. “It was hot, dusty, and there were huge spiders in the bathrooms. Whatever.”

“Okay then. So a good time was had by all.”

Tilly rolled her eyes and headed toward the hall, slowing because the cat was in her way.

Another showdown began, and tired of it, Quinn moved in and picked up the cat.

Tink immediately went boneless in her arms, setting her head on Quinn’s shoulder and snuggling in.

Quinn’s heart did a slow melt as she hugged the skinny cat, who was less skinny now after a week of Quinn feeding her regularly. “She’ll warm up to you,” she murmured as Tilly vanished down the hall. “Probably we should give her a little space right now—”

“What the hell?” came Tilly’s unhappy voice.

Still holding Tink, Quinn moved down the hall to find Tilly standing in the middle of the craft room staring at the room like a bomb had gone off.

“I was tripping over boxes getting in and out of bed,” Quinn said. “I simply pushed some stuff over to make more room.”

“You moved my mom’s things.”

“No, I purposely left your mom’s bedroom alone. I just moved some of the craft and sewing stuff—”

“You had no right!”

“Tilly—”

“Some of that stuff was mine, did you think of that?” Tilly asked, voice raised but also quavering, like she was near tears.

“Honey, listen,” Quinn said, “I didn’t throw anything away, not a single thing. I just piled some of it up a little bit and put a few things in the attic—”

“The attic? There’re mice in the attic!”

“Tilly—”

But the girl was gone, running down the hall to her room, where she—shocker—slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows and every thought in Quinn’s head.

Okay, so maybe a tub of ice cream wasn’t going to do it either.

“Well,” she said to Tink. “That went well.” She’d hoped to show Tilly her mom’s journal, but instead, knowing the teen needed some space, she worked on her laptop in the kitchen.

No offers on the car ad.

No sexy texts from Mick.

She checked in at home. Her parents were fine. Brock was still in London and sounded in his element. Skye told her Marcel horror stories.

When Tilly didn’t come out, Quinn left a note on the kitchen table that she’d be back in time to cook dinner and got into her car.

Fifteen minutes later she was on the bluffs that she’d visited her first day in Wildstone. She kicked off her shoes and climbed down to walk along the shore. It was foggy and she felt like she was alone in the world.

Except she wasn’t. A lone figure came out of the fog. Quinn sighed, more than a little irritated to have her solitude disturbed, especially by Lena.

Who looked no less thrilled than she.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, sounding as grumpy as Tilly and Tink. It must be contagious. “Don’t tell me you’re out here exercising.”

Lena smiled. “The first time I see a jogger smiling, I’ll consider taking it up. I’m just walking off some tension before I end up in jail for murder one.”

“Who’re you looking to kill?”

Lena just looked at her.

Quinn choked out a laugh. “Right. Me. Got it.”

Lena sighed. “Okay, not you. Life.”

“Join the club. But just remember that if you go to jail for murder, I don’t think you get a full range of hair products in there.”

Lena shuddered. “People would see my roots. Can you imagine?”

“This from the woman who gave me blue highlights.”