“Thought I’d visit my fiancée.” He said this with his eyes locked on Mick. “I’d ask you the same question but I think it’s pretty obvious what you’re doing.”

Resisting the urge to tug Mick’s shirt down lower on her thighs, she shook her head. “I thought you were in London.”

“I’m back. Surprise.”

“Mick,” she said with what she felt was remarkable restraint, “this is Brock. Who is not my fiancé. And also knows how I feel about surprises.” She gave Brock a long look. “Brock, this is Mick.”

The men stared at each other. Neither spoke. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

Quinn’s dad wasn’t a quiet man. When her dad got angry, he blew his lid so everyone knew it. Brock was very much the same. And those were the only two real relationships she’d ever had with the male species.

Mick was nothing like either of them. He was . . . stoic. When angry, he got quiet. She had no experience with this and had no idea how to defuse the situation. The only thing she could think of was that she had to get rid of Brock so she could explain things to Mick, but she knew Brock wasn’t going anywhere until she made him. “Brock,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“I agree,” he said.

She nodded and turned to Mick. “Can we have a minute?”

For a single heartbeat, Mick remained still, his body language carefully neutral, calm even. Then he gave her a single nod and turned away, giving a low whistle for Coop, who’d been sleeping on the living room rug.

Quinn assumed Mick would go back into her bedroom, or maybe the kitchen. Instead he walked—still shirtless and barefoot—right out the front door, Coop at his heels.

He must’ve had his keys in his pocket because he headed to his truck and drove off, leaving a small cloud of dust thanks to the dry weather, and a big hole in her heart.

“Fiancée?” she asked Brock, pissed off. “Seriously?”

“Hey, you once made a promise to marry me if we were both single when we hit forty.”

“You know neither of us meant that!”

He blew out a sigh. “I want to mean it, does that count?”

She shook her head in temper and whipped around, heading to her bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“For pants!”

“Don’t do that on my account.”

“Brock?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” She shoved herself into a pair of jeans and moved back to the living room.

“So who is he?” he asked.

“None of your business.”

“Come on,” he said. “I’ve got eyes in my head. He’s someone to you.”

“More than a wild oat,” she agreed, and that it was true no longer surprised her. “He’s an engineer from the Bay Area. He doesn’t live here either, his mom does. He’s helping her remodel her house and then he’s out.”

Brock took this in. “So . . . you’ve once again got yourself an out clause? Nicely done, Q.”

Not a can of worms she intended to open, not with him. “Why are you here, Brock? The truth.”

He ran a hand over his head and gave her a sheepish grin. “I came because your mom pleaded with me to talk some sense into you, but somehow when you opened the door and I saw your wild oat standing behind you with that bite mark on his neck, I talked myself into fighting for you instead.”

Oh dear God. She’d left a bite mark on Mick? “You’re not the fighting type.”

“Yeah, the urge was temporary,” Brock admitted. “I mean when the guy opened the door minus his shirt and with you in it, the first thing I felt was jealous.”

“So that’s why you kissed me.”

He nodded. “But then you didn’t respond to it and I felt . . .”

She raised a brow.

“Relief.”

She smacked him in the chest and he let out an “oof” and caught her hand in his as he flashed her a grin, which slowly faded. “I know I’ve hurt you. I was an ass to not hold on to you harder.”

“Not all your fault,” she said. “Not nearly.”

“No hard feelings?”

“Never,” she said and walked into his arms. They hugged hard and Quinn spent a moment grieving for what would never be: having Beth alive to grow old with, having Brock as her “maybe,” and . . . a life in L.A.

Because she got it now, 100 percent. She hadn’t spoken to Tilly about leaving Wildstone for L.A. because . . .

She didn’t want to go.

She wanted this life.

She wanted Tilly in this life.

And she also wanted Mick.

“About effing time,” Beth said, laughter in her voice.

Quinn looked behind her but there was no Beth. Except for in her own head.

Brock pulled back, his face full of affection and regret. “I do love you, Quinn.”

“I know,” she said. “I love you too.”

In what was actually the most tender moment they’d ever had, he leaned in and kissed her softly. “Want to go get something to eat?”

“I know you just drove three hours to get here,” she said. “But I have something I really need to do.”

Brock gave her a small smile. “A half-naked, pissed-off dude in a truck?”

“Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, Quinn located Mick standing in his dad’s garage, hands on his hips. When he was tired, he wore the look he had now. Wary, as if maybe he couldn’t count on his normal sharp instincts to function well enough on autopilot.

Although she wouldn’t tell him so, she liked him best this way, a little worn and weary, a little rough around the edges. He was so different from any man she’d ever met. “Hey,” she said.

He glanced over at her and didn’t say a word. Nor did he give away any of his thoughts, though she figured he was angry. He’d found shoes and a shirt, and appeared to be getting ready to paint.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said, coming into the garage. “I didn’t know he was coming, or that he’d say he was my fiancé. He thought he was being funny.”

“Did he.”

Quinn moved to his side and met his gaze. Definitely angry. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I could’ve handled that better. It’s just that Brock and I go way back, we’ve been friends forever.”

“Friends. And lovers,” he said. “He’s the one you broke up with after . . .”

“. . . Beth’s death.” She nodded. “Yeah. That’s him. But we aren’t sleeping together.”

“That kiss said otherwise.”

She sighed. “He did that to piss you off. It didn’t mean anything. We broke up years ago.”

“Two,” he said. “And you’re missing my point. You were with him until your world caved in, and then you two fell apart. Not because you fell out of love, but because you felt you couldn’t love.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re reading this wrong. My relationship with him has no bearing on the one between you and me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, see, I’m not sure you understand what constitutes a relationship. You’re either in or you’re out with someone, Quinn. I thought after the other night on the bluffs . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind.”