Page 16 of A Thousand Second Chances

“Good enough.”

She switches directions, moving toward the indicated shop. Through the large glass window at the front, I can make out thick marble slabs of fudge resting behind the counter as they cool in at least a dozen different flavors. Some I can pick out even from here, like the one with nuts or the pure chocolate fudge. Others defy categorization. The combined smell, however, is heavenly.

“Ready to go in, or would you rather stand out here drooling all afternoon?” Quinn asks with a grin.

“No one alive could smell that andnotdrool,” I say as another customer exits through the door, stepping past Quinn and me. They stutter to a halt, and I glance at them, sucking in a breath.

Percy. Of course.

I’ve spotted him a couple of times since the bike trip, checking his phone as he hurries down Main Street like he has somewhere important he needs to be. I’d managed to steer clear of him until now, but I guess my luck finally ran out.

“Hi,” Quinn says, smiling at him while shooting me an unreadable glance. “Percy, right?”

He doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at the ground.

I frown at him. There’s no need for him to be rude to Quinn because ofourunresolved issues. “You’re blocking the door, Wentworth.”

Percy mumbles something unintelligible and shoves past, retreating down the sidewalk.

I watch him go, shaking my head. “What the hell is his problem?”

I glance at Quinn, but she’s looking at me, not Percy. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure he’s the only one with a problem. Is he why you’ve been in an even worse mood than usual?”

“Percy’s got nothing to do with how I feel.”

“Uh-huh. So, it’s a coincidence that you’ve been avoiding him all afternoon?”

I clench my jaw, refusing to answer.

After an awkward silence, Quinn holds open the door to the fudge shop for me. “Okay, then. Forget I asked. Your chocolate awaits.”

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I mutter, shoving my hands in my leather jacket.

She sighs. “Of course you have. Fine, no fudge for you.” The door clangs shut, and she resumes her original heading. “Good to go?”

I consider begging off. We still have a couple of hours until Oshkoff’s mandatory group dinner—enough time for me to head back to the Royal Lilac, lock myself in my room, and do some writing. I’ve got no shortage of thoughts waiting to be released onto the page.

But somehow, that feels like giving up. Like letting Percy win.

So instead, I say, “Lead the way.”

We duck down a side street another block over and cut north to Market Street. It looks much the same as the area we’d just left on Main Street, only less crowded. It’s also, I realize, filledwith a long stretch of art galleries. No wonder Quinn called this the main attraction—she could shop for hours without getting bored, but she could literally spend her entire life inside an art gallery, studying each piece until she’d memorized every palette choice and contour.

I spend the next few hours with her doing exactly that. While I’m nowhere near the art connoisseur she is, I think I get what she sees in it. Like my writing, the paintings and sculptures are an attempt to impose order onto a disordered world. Plus, it’s kind of fun listening to her try to explain the merits of a piece so my plebeian eye can understand. We peruse our way through one gallery after another full of expensive pieces neither of us can afford.

By the time we decide to head back to freshen up before dinner—and give Quinn a chance to deposit her loot from earlier—my mood’s considerably improved. The high doesn’t last long. As we start up the stairs to the Royal Lilac’s wraparound porch, Devon and his group shove through the door. His eyes narrow when he spots me. I ignore him and try to slip past, but he slides in front of me.

“Move,” I snarl, balling my hands into fists.

Devon smirks. “Are you really that eager to finish what we started?”

Before I can respond, Quinn’s voice rings out loudly from behind me. “Is this sort of macho posturing supposed to be sexy? Because, speaking as a woman, itdefinitelyisn’t.”

One of Devon’s friends snickers, and Devon glares at him. “Whatever,” he growls, shoving past us. “You’re not worth it anyway.”

Even though I know Devon is a jerk, his offhanded comment still stings, coming uncomfortably close to the tangle of anger and rejection I feel every time I see Percy. My feet remain glued to the wooden steps.

Quinn sets a hand on my arm, tugging lightly. “Let’s go freshen up, yeah? We want to look our best for Professor Oshkoff.”