He goes, stumbling slightly in his haste to put distance between us, nearly knocking over another vendor's display in his rush to escape.
The moment he's out of sight, Quinn's rigid control shatters. She slumps forward, bracing her hands against the table, the legal notice crumpling beneath her fingers. Her breathing comes fast and shallow, verging on panic.
"Quinn." I put my hand on her shoulder, gentle despite the rage still coursing through my system. "Breathe."
"I can't afford this," she whispers. "Double rent? I'm barely making ends meet as it is. The equipment repairs alone this month..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I'm going to lose everything."
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. "You're not."
She looks up at me with devastated eyes. "You don't understand?—"
"Then explain it to me." I move around to her side of the table, positioning myself between her and the rest of the block party, giving her a moment of privacy. "Tell me what you need."
"I need a miracle," she says bitterly. "Or about three thousand extra dollars a month that I don't have."
My mind is already racing, calculating, planning. My business is doing well. Better than well. I could cover the increase, at least temporarily. Or we could?—
The thought stops me cold.
We could combine businesses. Share overhead costs, split the rent, operate out of one location instead of two.
It's perfect. Practical. Exactly the kind of partnership I've been unconsciously working toward since the moment I first saw her.
But looking at her now, fragile and devastated and barely holding herself together, I know this isn't the time. Suggesting she move in with me, combine our shops, merge our lives—she'd see it as charity at best, manipulation at worst. She needs to come to that conclusion on her own.
So instead, I do the only thing I can. I pull her against my chest, wrapping her completely in my arms, and let her have this moment to fall apart where no one else can see.
And while she shakes against me, her fingers clutching at my shirt like I'm the only solid thing in her collapsing world, I make a silent promise.
This Corrigan bastard has no idea what he's just started. But he's going to learn.
Nobody threatens what's mine.
CHAPTER 11
QUINN
Ihold it together through the rest of the block party. Somehow.
I smile at customers. I hand out samples of lavender shortbread and rose macarons. I laugh at the right moments during conversations I won't remember five minutes later. My hands stay steady as I box up orders and make change, even though the legal notice sits folded in my apron pocket like a lead weight.
Lanek doesn't leave my side. Not once.
He doesn't hover or fuss or try to distract me with conversation. He simply exists in my space, a massive, immovable presence that radiates protection and barely contained violence. Every time someone approaches the booth, his shoulders shift slightly forward. Every time I reach for something, his hand is already there, steadying the table or adjusting the tent pole or silently passing me whatever I need before I have to ask for it.
It should feel suffocating. Instead, it's the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling in front of half the neighborhood.
By the time the festival winds down and the vendors start packing up their booths, the forced cheerfulness has scraped meraw. My face hurts from smiling. My voice sounds brittle and too bright even to my own ears. I need to be alone before I shatter completely.
"I've got it from here," I tell Lanek, already turning away to start breaking down the display. "You should get your smoker back to the shop before?—"
"Quinn."
Just my name. That's all. But the way he says it, low and careful, like I'm something fragile he's trying not to break, makes my throat tighten dangerously.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Really. It's just... it's been a long day. I need to clean up and go home and figure out what the hell I'm going to do about Corrigan and his stupid rent increase and—" My voice cracks. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, using the sharp pain to force back the tears threatening to spill over.
Lanek's hand settles on my shoulder, warm and impossibly gentle. "Let me help."
