Lots of loose ends.

“Liar. You’re still afraid to admit that you want to stay.”

This from Beth, who was sitting on the top of a stack of craft supplies in a bathrobe, eating a bowl of cereal.

Quinn sat up. “I’m not afraid.” She was petrified. “Tilly’s going to turn eighteen in less than three years. Maybe she’ll take off. You ever think of that?”

“And you’re worried about where that would leave you?”

“Yes!”

Beth snapped her fingers and her bowl of cereal vanished. “You know where it’d leave you.”

Yes, here in Wildstone . . .

“You’re happy here, Q.”

She was. She loved working at the café. Maybe not in the same way that she loved the restaurant, but in a different way. A better way, actually. It wasn’t as creative as the restaurant, but there was no tension. Any criticism was given with a dose of laughter. It was . . . freeing.

As was Wildstone in general. “I am happy here,” she said softly. Feeling in control and proud of herself, she looked up.

Beth was smiling from ear to ear and . . . fading away.

“No!” Quinn said. “Don’t go!”

“You should go to L.A. and break the news to Mom and Dad in person,” Beth said, her smile so beautiful. “I’d say do the same to Chef Wade but he already replaced you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he just hasn’t found the nerve to break it to you yet.” She blew Quinn a kiss. “Love you. Stay happy. It suits you . . .”

“No!” Quinn said, panicking because Beth’s voice was somehow different. This was good-bye. For real. Well, as real as a ghost got anyway. She jumped up. “Don’t you leave me again!”

But Beth was gone.

TILLY WAS LYING in bed using Snapchat to take a selfie with horns coming out of her head when Quinn knocked and came in.

Quinn looked at the pic with the horns and snorted. “There’s a stretch.”

“Ha-ha,” Tilly said, embarrassed to be caught doing the selfie thing. Not that she was about to admit to that.

Quinn leaned against the dresser, trying to look casual, but the expression on her face was anything but.

“What’s wrong?” Tilly asked.

“Do you ever . . .” She grimaced. “See your mom?”

Tilly blinked. “You mean my dead mom?”

Quinn shifted uncomfortably. “I’m talking about her . . . spirit. Do you ever see her . . . spirit?”

Tilly took a beat. “Like . . . a ghost?”

“Never mind.” Quinn ran a hand over her face.

“Do you see my mom?” Tilly asked her carefully, feeling a little bit absurd but oddly hopeful at the same time.

Quinn dropped her hands and sighed. “I see my sister.”

Tilly’s gut tightened. Beth. Of course. Because Quinn didn’t really think of Tilly as her sister. “You see Beth’s ghost.”

“I said never mind!”

“Dude.” Tilly paused. “Maybe you need a vacation.”

“I can’t afford one,” Quinn said and shook her head. “Forget all that. I need to talk to you about something else.”

At this, everything inside Tilly went still. Never let ’em see you sweat . . . She forced her muscles to relax and met Quinn’s gaze. “You do realize nothing good has ever come from that sentence, right?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Quinn said. “I need to go see my parents. How do you feel about this weekend? We could make a shopping trip out of it, get some new clothes or something.”

“I thought you were broke,” Tilly said.

Quinn blew out a breath. “Well, there’s broke and then there’s broke.”

Tilly drew in a careful breath. “So . . . you want to go shopping.”

“I realize I’m resorting to blatant bribery, but I need to talk to my parents and my boss.” She paused. “We’re doing okay, the two of us, right?”

Tilly shrugged, not ready, or willing, to comment.

Quinn searched her expression. “I just don’t want to jeopardize that by leaving you here to remember how much you loved living at Chuck’s.”

Tilly let out a low laugh that wasn’t really a laugh.

“So . . . you’ll come?”

Tilly shook her head. “I don’t like L.A.”

“You ever been there?”

“No,” Tilly admitted.

“You don’t have to come, I won’t make you. I just have some business to take care of and thought you might enjoy the trip.”

Tilly shook her head.

Quinn looked disappointed, but turned to the door. Tilly warred with herself and lost.

“Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still going?”

“Yes. We’ll talk to Chuck tomorrow.” Her phone buzzed. “Cliff returning my call,” she said and stepped out of the room.

Tilly stared at the door Quinn shut behind her and then leaped out of bed and pressed her ear to the wood.

“Thanks for finishing up the paperwork,” she heard Quinn say. “I can’t keep Tilly floating adrift like this any longer, a toe in each world. She’s got roots here and she’s not interested in L.A.”

Tilly froze. So with or without her, Quinn was leaving. The betrayal of that cut deep but she’d gotten good at operating from a place of pain. Real good.

Time to make her own plans.

QUINN STARED AT her phone. She’d changed her mind. She didn’t need to go to L.A. This was about Tilly. So even though it was ten o’clock at night, she’d called her parents. She’d called Brock.

None of them had been surprised at her decision to stay.

She’d called Chef Wade, who had reluctantly confirmed that yes, he’d hired someone. It was a temp but she was working out so well he’d like to make it permanent. Quinn told him she didn’t blame him one bit, she completely understood, and she was sorry that she hadn’t come clean about not wanting to come back sooner. He told her the door was always open for further discussion.

She sat there for a few moments after the call, wondering how, if Beth’s ghost was just a figment of her imagination, she’d known Wade had hired someone . . .

But since that hurt her brain, she moved forward and called Skye, who had squealed in excitement.

“You do realize I just told you I’m moving away,” Quinn said.

“Yes, but you’re following your heart!” Skye sounded like she was grinning. “I’m so proud of you. And so happy. You’ve got the right temperament to live in that crazy-ass, old wild west ghost town.”

Quinn laughed. “Thanks. I think.” Smiling, she disconnected and texted Mick with a simple: I’m staying.

When she didn’t get an immediate response, she slid into bed, not sure if she was confused or hurt. She was asleep when her phone finally buzzed with an incoming call.

Mick.

“Hey,” she said. “Thought maybe I scared you into a coma or something.”

“I’m on my way home.” His voice was low and gruff, and just the sound of it brought her an aching smile, so it took her a moment to absorb his words.