QUINN

The door swung open, the little bell above it ringing, letting a sweet, light chime float through the warm morning air. I slowly raised my eyes to the figure who walked in, looking ridiculously good in his usual black jean and fitted top. His messy, dark curls hung lazily across his face, framing the sharp contour of his defined jawline.

My fingers tightened so hard around the serving tray I was holding that my knuckles turned stark white.

Jack.

Memories of last night instantly came flooding back—the way he had stepped in to save me, the way he had offered help I didn't even ask for.

His gaze landed...