Greta, Trinee, and Dylan stood there in morbid fascination as Tilly strapped on an apron and headed behind the stove.

“Uh,” Dylan said. “Does anyone but me know that she burns water?”

Tilly jabbed a finger at Dylan, which Quinn presumed meant “Shut it!” Still, Quinn watched for another moment, suddenly torn, worried Tilly might burn herself or mess up on purpose to make a point. “Hey,” she said. “If this is too much—”

“No.” Tilly lifted her chin. “We made a deal. I get to be in charge and be bossy and all that.”

“I’m not bossy,” Quinn said.

Both Greta and Trinee snorted and Quinn gave them a “shut it” look.

Dylan studiously stared at his shoes, looking to be hiding what could have been either a grimace or a grin.

But at least they all zipped it.

“Okay, fine, I get it,” Quinn said to Tilly. “You’re in charge. But if you need a time-out, just say so, okay?”

“Piece of cake,” the teen said. “And anyway, what are you doing standing around? The help doesn’t stand around, they get out there and serve people. Go! Pour coffee, smile, and don’t eat anything off the customers’ plates, they frown on that.”

Quinn opened her mouth and Tilly grinned. Grinned. With all her teeth and all her heart, and for a beat, she looked so young, so cute, so adorable and sweet that Quinn could only stare at her, unbearably moved.

“Go,” Tilly said, shooing her along. “Oh wait! First we need fresh eggs.”

Quinn’s smile immediately drained away. “Oh no. Not me. I’m not going. Those chickens hate me.”

“You backing out on our deal?”

Dammit. Quinn went out to the chickens, who got all ruffled up at the sight of her. “Oh, cool it,” she said, hands on hips. “We’re going to do this and we’re all going to survive it.”

Five minutes later she had a basket full of eggs and only one puncture wound.

Baby steps.

AN HOUR AND a half later, Quinn’s arms were aching from carrying heavy trays and her back and feet were killing her. At a rare lull, she took a peek into the kitchen.

Tilly was flipping pancakes like she’d been born to the task, and Quinn had to admit she was feeling a little bit annoyed that the experiment, meant to make Tilly understand the difficulties of being an adult in charge, seemed to be backfiring. Spectacularly.

Then she caught sight of Trinee and Greta rushing around cooking everything else. “Hey,” Quinn said. “That’s cheating!”

“It’s not cheating if you’re the boss,” Tilly said without looking up from the pancakes.

“You’re not the boss.”

“Today I am. You said so.”

“No,” Quinn said. “We’re walking in each other’s shoes, and I’m not the boss here.”

Tilly looked confused. “Then who is?”

“We’re both the boss,” Quinn said. “Equally.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to win,” Tilly said.

“And that,” Quinn agreed and Tilly snorted. It made Quinn smile. No one on the planet could make her as crazy or as amused as this girl.

Which was an odd and uncomfortable and kind of wonderful feeling all in one.

When the shift was finally over, Quinn and Tilly looked at each other. Quinn raised a brow. She happened to know that Tilly had indeed burned water, and that she couldn’t have handled the shift without Dylan, Greta, and Trinee all sneaking time in the kitchen to save her cute little ass.

Tilly lifted a shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your life sucks too. Happy?”

“Our lives don’t suck,” Quinn said. “But maybe we could each appreciate each other’s role more.”

“Hmm,” Tilly said, noncommittal. “Sure. I guess.”

Small favors . . . Quinn gathered Greta and Trinee and the rest of the staff. “I’d like to have a small surprise birthday party for Lena here tonight. She’s turning thirty and she’s sad,” Quinn said. “Plus I need someone to make a cake. Chocolate. Anyone interested?”

“It’s her thirty-first birthday,” Greta said.

“She definitely said thirty,” Quinn said.

“Well, of course she did, no one wants to admit to being thirty-one.”

Quinn blinked. “You sure?”

“Yep. Unless last year’s thirtieth roast she held for herself at the Whiskey River didn’t happen.”

Quinn sighed. “Okay, so she’s pretending to still be thirty. So what?”

“I’d pretend to be twenty-seven,” Tilly said. “’Cause thirty’s old. Just sayin’.”

Quinn did her best to ignore this. “We doing this or not?”

“Does this mean you’re no longer fighting over that incredibly sexy package named Mick?” Trinee asked.

Quinn did her best not to react to that. “We’re not fighting over a man.” There was no way to explain that Lena really wanted Boomer, she just wanted him sober, and that Quinn had already blown it with Mick, so there was no fighting because she and Lena were both equal idiots. “She’s sad and feeling alone on her birthday, which no one should feel.” And okay, so she was projecting, sue her. “Look, are you guys going to help or what?”

They all stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Then Greta tossed up her hands. “Fine. I’m in. And yeah, we’ll bake the cake.”

Quinn turned to Tilly, who gave an impressive eye roll, doing her best to remain sullen even though Quinn could tell she was into it. “If I have to,” she said.

“Good. Text, e-mail, or call everyone you all know. Here, tonight. Lena’s working until seven. Have everyone get here before then so we can surprise her.”

An hour later her phone rang.

“So you finally lost it,” Mick said.

“I lost it a long time ago,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady at the shock waves his voice sent through her. She missed him. “So you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

He chuckled and the sound scraped at all her good spots and made her ache. “You’re having a surprise birthday party for my ex.”

Well, when he put it like that . . . “It’s her birthday and she’s alone and sad.”

“She’s alone and sad because she wants to be alone and sad. If she’s even alone or sad. More likely, she’s playing you.”

“She’s not,” Quinn said. “She needs a friend and so do I.”

Silence.

“Mick?”

“I’m here,” he said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.” Sort of. Or not at all . . . “I need you to get Boomer here.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Don’t let him give up on her.”

“Actually,” he said, “that’s exactly what he’s not going to do, but he’s got to go take care of some things first.”

Quinn stilled. “Rehab?”

“How did you know?”

“Would you buy that I know everything?”