“No, you don’t.”
Quinn poured Maggie a glass of chardonnay and passed it to her.
“Thank you.” She took a sip. “I wanted to talk to you about Courtney.”
“I thought maybe you did.” Joyce gave Sarge a piece of cheese. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to say what I did. I shouldn’t have pushed Courtney like that. It wasn’t my secret to share.”
Maggie’s mouth turned down. “What I don’t understand is why she had a secret in the first place. She’s my daughter, but she’s so much closer to you than to me.” Her lower lip trembled. “Everything was so difficult after Phil died. I know I focused on work, but I thought the girls were fine. I never meant to hurt them.”
“You got through it,” Joyce assured her, her tone warm. “Maggie, you had a high school education and minimal training. You lost your husband, your house, and had three young girls to raise. Look at all you did and where you are now.”
“But at what price? Maybe if I’d paid more attention to my girls, they wouldn’t hate me so much.”
“Now you’re being silly. No one hates you. Courtney’s doing everything she can to make your wedding wonderful. It makes her happy to see it all come together.”
Maggie’s expression turned hopeful. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Quinn gave Pearl some watermelon, then stroked her long, silky ears. Not that anyone was asking him, but in his opinion, everything about this conversation was wrong. If Maggie was so upset, why wasn’t she talking to Courtney or her other daughters rather than Joyce? And what about all Courtney had been through? Where was the regret for that?
He remembered what she’d told him about being held back twice and the fact that her mother had barely noticed. How she’d moved out when she turned eighteen rather than face being the freak at school. He recalled the tattoo on her lower back, how it was a promise to herself. She wasn’t going to give in. She was going to keep fighting.
But he didn’t say any of that. He wasn’t part of the conversation.
“Did she mention we’re going to have a DJ?” Maggie asked.
“No. That will be wonderful.”
“I’ve been thinking about the decorations. Don’t you think it would be nice to have some kind of blooming tree brought in?”
Quinn fed Pearl some cheese. He needed the distraction to keep from rolling his eyes. Apparently, Maggie’s pain was fairly short-lived.
“Trees are difficult to move around,” Joyce mused. “But what if we did something that offered the same kind of visual interest? Just the other day I was talking to someone about Astrantia. It’s so beautiful. We could pair it with cherry blossoms.” She turned to Quinn. “Be a dear and get my laptop. I want to show Maggie what an Astrantia looks like.”
He stood and kissed her cheek. “I live to serve.”
She laughed. “If only that were true.”
“You know I’m busy, right?” Courtney said as Quinn let her into his bungalow. It was Sunday and technically she wasn’t on duty, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t busy. “The wedding is getting closer by the day.”
“Time does march on,” he murmured, shutting the door behind her.
“Ha-ha. There’s some new weird flower combo I have to find and get delivered. Apparently, my mother and I are now speaking, even though we never had anything close to a reconciliation talk. Suddenly, there are texts and phone calls. She wants cake pops.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Like at Starbucks?”
“Yes. Little round cakes on a stick. Pink, of course. The tablecloths are pink and copper, so of course we need copper chargers on the table.” She glared at him. “Do you know what chargers are?”
“Decorative large plates you put out before the dinner. Then they get taken away before anyone eats. It’s very confusing. Your point being?”
“I’m busy! Why am I here?”
He’d texted her and asked her to stop by. Not that she wasn’t happy to see him. He looked good, as always. Faded jeans, an untucked gauzy white shirt rolled up to the elbows. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the faint stubble looked nice. Sexy.
Don’t think about that! She didn’t have time for sexual daydreams, let alone actual sex. There were about five thousand things on her to-do list.
“And the shoes,” she added.
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve ordered our bridesmaid dresses. They’re black, which I like. But because of you, I keep thinking I want to wear high heels. I can’t wear the blue ones. So I’m going to have to buy some. This is Los Lobos. Where am I supposed to buy a pair of nice black heels?”