“I told Quinn about Dad,” I say to Grace as we sit in the Screaming Beans Coffeehouse the next morning.

My sister puts down her decaf next to the cherry muffin she’s having for breakfast. It takes her some time to absorb what I just said, so I stir my own coffee as the country music plays on the speakers and the crowd bustles around the rustic shop with its low-beamed ceilings and wide windows that look out onto Main Street.

She Who Rarely Lacks Speech finally says something. “You never talk about Dad, Gwen. You really like this guy, don’t you? You’re not just hot for him—”

A few heads turn our way because of Grace’s indiscreet, always-an-open-book voice. But you know what? I’m not going to care today.

“—you like him.”

I blush and shrug while Grace does a little happy dance in her seat. The tourists around us go back to their phones as my sister leans toward me.

“So how did Quinn react to what you told him?”

I lower my voice and lean toward her, blushing harder. “He held me and kissed me until everything felt better.”

“He made you feel better all night, huh?”

Sometimes I think Grace has blocked out things with Dad so thoroughly that she has no gravity about him. But I know my twin better than anyone. She’s only bound and determined to forget he ever existed, and if that’s what makes her happy, so be it.

“No, Quinn and I didn’t sleep together after that,” I whisper. “I mean, we slept in the same bed after we ate dinner, and he cheered me up with stories about his goofy nieces and nephew. Then we watched a couple movies on the couch. But nothing happened after that except …”

Honestly, more kissing. Cuddling. And the sense that Quinn was profoundly disturbed. I’m sure it was the story about my father that did that to him.

Grace’s blue eyes are dreamy. “You found the peace and comfort you needed in his arms. Oh, Gwen, he’s definitely not like dad. He’s the opposite. And I think Mom’s come around to that notion, but wait till she hears this. Someday, I want her to find true love, too.”

True love? Grace sees my surprise and then grins, especially when I don’t pooh-pooh her assumption.

Wow. Hell. But now that she’s put the idea out there, who’s to say that, someday, it won’t be love? I’m feeling like it could be possible.

Oh my God, it could be possible.

We laugh together because my sister knows exactly what I’m thinking, but then we quickly sober up. It’s telling that we don’t say anything more about Mom and love. Like I told Quinn, it’s complicated. There’s a spot in me — and I know in Grace, too — that still yearns for the best parts of my father, even though his worst parts are what defined him. More than any of us, Mom somehow clung to the good stuff, and she’s never gotten over the disappointment of him.

Grace reaches across the table, and I take her hand. Deep down, where Dad did the most damage, neither of us really believes we deserve love. My dad told us so sometimes. But it could happen for me and for her. If I have a chance, she does too.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says. “Something has really changed in you since Quinn came along. I catch you smiling a lot now. And your mind is more open than usual.”

“I’m ready for some changes. And speaking of that, in a half hour, I need to Skype with Linus Inouye. He’s taking time out from overseeing one of his Bay Area restaurants to talk about how we can run things as efficiently as someplace like Hana Sushi does.”

Grace bounces in her seat. “Let me do it! We can pull a twin switch. Please, Gwen? You never let me take responsibility for anything in the diner. I can do this!”

I assess her. She’s been really excited about the new Milton’s, and maybe she’s right. Who’s the twin who came up with the idea of contacting other businesspeople to give us advice, anyway? Besides, maybe it’s time for me to be less of a control freak.

“Okay, Gracie.”

She bounces again.

“But,” I add, “you can’t pretend to be me.”

She raises a finger and lifts her chin. “I got this.” Then she grabs her muffin and coffee as she gets out of her seat. “I’d better head home to jot down some questions before we start.”

Then she’s out the door. I laugh and text her Linus’s information, then sigh and sit back in my chair, drinking my decaf and watching the world go by. Miss Carney and Mr. Doughte, the town’s hottest silver-age couple, are sitting at the counter rubbing shoulders. Cleo Atwood is lingering at a table in the corner with her straw cowgirl hat pulled over her brow as she reads her latest romance; she tips her brim at me, because I recommended that Maggie Osborne novel to her. Oh, and what do you know — there’s the hinge-heeled mixologist from the Acentric Alchemist at the bar flirting with Tommy, the barista who’s got a girlfriend; I’m sure she’s about to add him to her ever-growing list of wicked.

Rolling my eyes — the skank did sleep with most of Penny Burnett’s boyfriends except for Barry — I switch my view to the blooming cherry trees outside. They remind me of the first cherry festival this town is going to have this summer. They remind me of Climax Vineyards. They remind me of Zach and Mandy’s wedding at Climax.

On impulse, I text Quinn.

So in recognition of how you’ve been such a hero for Milton’s and Cherry Valley, how would you like to be my date for the Hamilton-Burnett wedding? The whole town would love to see you there.

It doesn’t take but two minutes for him to text back with a thumbs-up. It’s the first time I’ve ever asked a guy out, and look at me! I’m a win-win-winner.

I’m still smiling to myself when someone comes to stand in front of me. I look up from my screen to see a pair of fashionable creamy leather boots, then I move up to a stylish bohemian dress, then settle on a friendly face surrounded by a halo of curly blondish-brown hair.

Mattie Hollister is smiling down at me. “I just wanted to say hi before I order a cafe mocha. I’ve got a chocolate jones like you wouldn’t believe.”

All of us have a jones for something, don’t we? I put my own addiction to the side of my mind, but my heart is still skipping at the thought of Quinn in a suit for the wedding. Yum. “Actually, I was going to call you. What would you think about the idea of Milton’s serving Climax wines when it reopens?” Now that I’m not doing the slutty shuffle out of her guesthouse, I’m free to ask.

“That’s wonderful, Gwen!”

I grin. “I’m sure you have something that’ll pair well with Rocky Mountain oysters.”

She laughs. “Sauvignon blanc. Actually, if you’d like me to review your menu and make suggestions, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Done.” This day just gets more awesome. “And thanks again for letting us steal Quinn. He’s done a bang-up job.” Bang up. Hah. Oh, how I make myself laugh.

Mattie nods. “Quinn’s a great guy who does great work.”

He sure as ladyfuck does.

Then she lowers her voice. “I was nervous about his criminal record at first, but his reputation speaks for itself.”

I blink slowly, my brain trying to catch up. What did she just say?

I’m about to ask her when someone calls her name from the doorway. It’s a tall, stoic man who looks a little bit like her, and he’s waving her outside.

“My brother wants me to get moving,” she says, already on her way. “We’ll talk later!”

She strands me as I sit there with my brain cells falling like snow inside my head and leaving me numb. Criminal record. Maybe she’s confused and she’s talking about someone else. I was talking about Quinn.

Criminal record.

I slowly get out of my seat and leave my coffee on the table. Every step I take makes my heart jerk a little harder in my chest.

Criminal …

I run out the door and rush down the sidewalk, dodging a group of tourists from an early wine tour. My gaze is on my truck parked at the curb. Before I can really think about what I’m doing and where I’m going, I realize I’m headed for the sheriff’s station.

I’m out of breath as I arrive at the receptionist’s window. Olive Whitefeather looks up at me with her thick glasses and asks in a dry tone, “Urgent situation, Gwen?”

“Is Jesse in?” Jesse Herrera. Of course, my subconscious brought me here for Deputy Herrera’s help.

“Break room.” Olive points her pen to the hallway where Cherry Valley’s official seal sign waits.

I run to it, then turn down the corridor, passing by other deputies and not really paying attention to who they are. Grace would kill me for coming here to talk to Jesse. Things didn’t go so well with them when they got together one night, but big deal. Jesse’s a cop. Jesse can sort this out, because Mattie has to be wrong about Quinn. There’s no way he has a criminal record …

Then I think of his tattoos. Dad had some homemade tattoos from jail.

I reach a door with a Break Room sign on it, and I bust in, probably looking like I’ve got an emergency. Jesse stands up from the sandwich he’s eating at the table.

“Gwen, is everything—?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Especially not with Grace, because I know that’s the first thing that entered his mind, even if they supposedly didn’t get on well together.

He relaxes, his skin un-paling and regaining its rosy-tan complexion, his light brown eyes going from alert back to the typical devilish shade he’s known for. He’s once again the arrogant, flirty ex-football star this town still adores.

“Jesse, I could really use your help.”

I explain everything to him about Quinn and how he’s working on Milton’s refurbishment and how I’ve heard he’s got a criminal record and could Jesse please check to see if that could be true?

He’s got that lawman’s look on him that tells me he’s reading more than just my words, and he finally nods, then leaves me in the break room while he does a little investigating. I can’t stomach any of the cookies that’ve been left on the tables in the room. I can’t even read a book on my phone, because my mind is racing too fast and hard. Mattie had to be talking about someone else. Not Quinn. Not the man who listened to me tell him all about my bastard criminal father last night and how he used to slap us around.

When Jesse returns, he doesn’t look happy. He only sits across from me and takes off his deputy’s cap. “A criminal record is right, Gwen. Quinn Maxwell’s got felony convictions for drug trafficking that eventually put him in prison. Ecstasy, as a matter of fact.”

I’m going to throw up. I’m going to curl up in this chair and never come out of it.

“That’s not all,” Jesse says softly.

I’m holding myself so tightly together that, if I start to cry, I’m going to shatter. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.

“There was a case against him that was dismissed.” Jesse exhales as if he doesn’t want to tell me. “It was for domestic violence.”

Everything seems to fall out from under me. Domestic violence. Hitting. Slapping. Screaming.

My father all over again.

“Gwen …”

I hold up my hand, because I don’t want to hear the details. I want to keep shutting myself off from all of this, because I couldn’t have been fooled this easily. This can’t be Quinn he’s talking about, but the empty silence right in the center of me tells me it is.

Before I lose it, I stand and shake Jesse’s hand. He looks at me as if he’s worried about how cool I am, as if he’s never seen a person’s skin turn to steel before.

I’m not going to cry. I won’t.

“Do me a favor?” I ask.

“Anything, even if it includes paying him a visit.”

“I’d just appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone until Milton’s reopens. We need Quinn Maxwell to finish the job there.” My family comes first, not me. I’m not even going to say anything to Quinn yet.

After all, he was only supposed to be temporary, right?

Jesse agrees to stay quiet, and I turn around, walking stiffly out of the room, still curling up into a protective ball inside.

Still as numb as cold steel.