Page 89

Story: Delicious

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Quinn chuckles and hands me a taco. “Wait til you meet Finn.”

“Finn?”

“Finn Gallagher.”

“The movie star?” I blink. “Are you seriously telling me he visits here too?”

“Actually, he lives here. He’s with Wyatt, Jesse’s business partner.”

“Looks like I seriously underestimated this sleepy little bay of yours.” I shake my head in astonishment and bite into my taco, moaning in delight when the flavours burst over my tongue. “I love these so much. Ty and I ate at the restaurant the first night we were here and I had these. One bite and I was hopelessly addicted. When I move on again, these alone will be worth a visit back to the bay.”

For a while we sit in companionable silence, too busy devouring our dinner, but gradually conversation starts up again. We talk about anything and everything. It’s just so easy being around Quinn, and it’s not just because he’s hot and I’d love for him to rail me into next week. Ilikehim. He’s funny and smart, but there’s an air of vulnerability about him that makes him somehow… relatable? Accessible? I don’t know what the word is. What I do know is that we’ve made our way through over two-thirds of the case of Ryan’s beer, and everything is looking pretty fuzzy.

The sky above is now a darkened blanket of indigo with bright pinpricks of starlight. The small yard is lit by the security light above the back door of the bakery. It’s a weeknight so the bay isn’t that busy anyway, but even the light foot traffic passing by the back of the bakery fades away into silence. Other than our conversation, the only sound I can hear is the constant crash of the ocean nearby.

“It’s so peaceful here.”

“Yeah it is,” Quinn answers, and I jolt, unaware I’d spoken that last part out loud. Then he sighs.

“Whass wrong?” My tongue is weirdly numb so that first word slurs.

“I’s juss thinkin’ bout”—he hiccups—“havin’ to tell my family I’m a bit of a liar.”

“You’s should write them a letter.” I point at him and nod, which makes the world spin around me a bit.

Quinn blinks and then pats down his bare torso, frowning. “Don’ have a pen.”

I try to think for a moment, but my brain’s kinda sluggish. “Email?”

Quinn brightens. “Thass genius! I should send an email.”

He picks up his phone and presses and swipes at the screen before stopping and looking back at me with bleary eyes. “What should I say?”

“S’okay,papi, I gotcha.” I sway in my chair but lean in closer. “Juss write this, ’kay?”

He nods, his head flopping unsteadily. “Shoot.”

“’Kay.” I squint as I think. “Dearest Mother–”

He blinks. “You been watchin’ too muchBridgerton? Thass a bit formal.”

“How’d you know about Bridg–” I give a little burp.–“Scuse me.Bridgerton?”

“Iss got loads of sex in it.” Quinn frowns. “’Course I’m gonna watch it. Plus, iss romantic.”

“Aww you’re so cute,” I coo at him, and he waves his phone at me. “Oh, right, where was I? Dearest Mother.”

“Iss too formal. Told you.”

“I’m juss tryin’ to sound English. Is not like you can puthey, Mamita.”

“How ’bouthey, Mum.”

I snap my fingers and point at him. “Perfec! Hey, Mom, so you know you thought I was at uni the last couple of years? Well, I wasn’t. Surprise! I’m a superhot fireman.”

“S-U-P-E-R-H-O-T FIRE-MAN,” he mouths as he peers blearily at his phone screen and taps away with his thumbs.

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