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“Oh, we can’t do this, then.” Quinn sat back and shook her head. “That’s a red flag if I’ve ever heard of one.”

Abby laughed and said, “So, if I don’t put syrup on my pancakes, we’re breaking up already?”

“I think so, Abs.”

“Do our past lives together not mean anything to you?” she joked.

Quinn laughed and said, “Just take a bite of mine, and we’ll live to fight about sugar another day.” She cut a piece of her pancake and held out the fork.

“Are we going to be the kind of couple to feed each other in public?” Abby asked.

“Yeah. You can feed me something at dinner tonight. Come on.”

Abby leaned forward and took the pancake off the fork. Then, she licked her lips and wiggled her eyebrows at Quinn.

“Oh, you tease,” Quinn said with a laugh.

Yeah, Abby was falling in love with Quinn Jordan, and oddly, it felt like the start of any other relationship where two people were meant to be. Sure, they were still getting to know each other, and there were many things left to talk about, but Abby had those butterflies and all the nerves and excitement bundled up inside her whenever she just thought of Quinn. While many people said that this was the best part of love, the falling part, Abby somehow knew that the best parts of their love were still ahead of them, and for once, not knowing the path or what would happen didn’t scare her. It felt right.

CHAPTER 41

“There are about five that I remember being able to make out the actual images,” Quinn said as she unlocked her door.

“Are you open yet?” the woman from the previous night asked, approaching from Abby’s right side.

“Weren’t you about to call the cops on us last night?”

“I was merely watching over your shop. You should be grateful.”

“Are you going to buy something?” Quinn asked.

“I might. I might not. It depends on your selection.”

“Babe, just let her in already,” Abby said with a little laugh.

“Fine.” Quinn gave the woman a mock-glare and pushed open the door. “Go for it. We’re going to be working in the back, so if you need me, just yell.”

“I will do no such thing. Do you have a bell to ring?”

“No,” Quinn replied and tugged on Abby’s hand. “Can you turn the sign from closed to open?”

“You know, back when my uncle owned this shop, he treated it with care.”

Quinn stopped moving then. Abby had been about to grab the box of photos that were still sitting on the table by the door, but she stopped, too, and they both turned to face the woman.

“Your uncle owned this shop?”

“Yes. You should know that. You bought it from him,” the woman replied as if Quinn should know better.

“Your uncle was Mr. Vincent?” Quinn asked.

“Yes, Steven Vincent. He turned this building into an antiques and collectibles shop back in 1975, which is why it says, ‘Established in 1975,’ above the door.You, certainly, didn’t do thatnow, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did he paint the window?” Abby asked.

“Abs…” Quinn said gently.