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.”
Lena looked over her hair, coming close to do so, having no compunction about putting her hands in it to check it over. “And they still look fucking fantastic on you too. Bitch.”
Quinn sighed and sat on the sand. When Lena didn’t sit, she craned her neck, shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her hand. “You joining me or not?”
“Why would I?”
“Because like it or not, you need a friend. And so do I.”
Lena hesitated. “I’m not very good at being a friend.”
“Just sit.”
“I’m wearing linen.”
“Fine,” Quinn said. “Suit yourself. But I was going to open up to you and whine, and make you feel really good about yourself.”
“Well, hell, if you’re going to make me feel good about myself . . .” Lena gingerly sat, carefully brushing off her hands. “Go ahead. Compliment me.”
Quinn laughed. “Compliment you? Are you serious? You hijacked my hair, have used every opportunity to make fun of me, and you actively tried to steal away the guy I was seeing . . .”
“You said you were going to make me feel good about myself—Wait. Was? Did Mick dump you on your annoyingly great ass?”
“I dumped him,” Quinn said miserably. “But it was totally accidental.”
Lena stared at her and then tipped her head back and laughed.
“It gets worse,” Quinn said miserably. “I’m blowing it with Tilly. If you know anything about teenage girls, now is the time to tell me. All advice is welcome.”
“Tell her to use condoms, don’t be stupid enough to get knocked up, and don’t get fat,” Lena said. “There’s time for all that later, like when you’re old. Or dead.”
“Wow,” Quinn said. “You’re right. You’re really bad at this.”
“Hey, those golden tidbits came straight from my mom when I was a teenager.” She went back to staring at Quinn’s hair. “You really should reconsider using that deep-oil conditioner I wanted you to buy.”
“It was a million dollars.”
“Forty dollars,” Lena said. “And worth every penny. You’re as frizzy as a squirrel on a rainy day.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re not telling people I did your hair, are you?”
Quinn sighed.
Lena was quiet for a moment. “So you’re really not seeing Mick anymore?”
“I’m not sure.” Quinn turned and met Lena’s gaze. “Besides, what does it matter? You were going after him whether I was or wasn’t.”
Lena let out a low, mirthless laugh. “Come on,” she said. “We both know I don’t have a shot as long as you’re in the room.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re not with Boomer, who clearly loves and adores you.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Such as you enjoy sabotaging your own happiness?”
Lena stared out at the water for a long time. “I’m an alcoholic,” she said quietly. “Recovering, but still. Boomer runs a bar and he . . .” She shook her head.
“What?”
“He has a problem. With alcohol. He’s gone to rehab in the past, but it didn’t stick. He says he wasn’t ready then but . . . I can’t . . .” She shook her head. “He’s a bad influence on me.”