Accidentally on Purpose (Heartbreaker Bay #3)(91)

But she knew she was lucky. She had a job she loved, parents who cared, and a best friend slash fall-back husband if it ever came to that. Yes, she was turning thirty soon and that surprise party still lay in wait regardless of the fact that she didn’t want it. And while she’d like to pretend that wasn’t happening, it wouldn’t derail her because compared to what she’d been through, there was nothing scary ahead of her.

Famous last words.



A week later, Quinn was in line for her usual afternoon before-work latte when she felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her. Turning, she found a guy around her age with black tousled hair and black rimmed glasses, who looked a lot like a grown-up Harry Potter.

He was staring at her with an intensity that had her blinking and then craning her neck to peek behind her. No one, which meant he was staring at her. She turned away and did her best to ignore him. The women in line in front of her were chatting . . .

“Orgasms after the age of fifty suck,” one said to the other. “No one tells you that but they do.”

Her friend agreed with an emphatic head bob. “I know. It’s like sand paper down there in Lady Town. Takes an entire tube of lube and a bottle of gin.”

The first woman snorted. “Don’t get me started. Alan can’t give me ten minutes to find the G-spot but he’ll spend thirty minutes looking for a golf ball . . .”

Quinn must have made some sound because they both turned to her with apologetic laughs. “Sorry,” Dry Vagina said. “But it’s just one of the many, many things coming your way, along with hot flashes and murderous urges.”

Yay. Something to look forward to.

“Excuse me,” someone said behind her.

Harry Potter, her stalker.

“I need to speak to you,” he said.

Oh boy. “Sorry,” she said but before she could finish her polite excuse, one of her new friends spoke up.

“No need to make a hasty decision, honey. He might be suitably employed with no baggage.”

“Impossible,” Dry Vagina said. “That’d be like finding a unicorn.”

“Are you a unicorn?” the first woman asked him.

Harry Potter blinked at her and then looked at Quinn with more than a little desperation. “Can I please talk to you . . . alone?”

“Not alone,” the first woman said. “That sounds like stranger danger. You can do your pickup line magic right here in the crowd, or better yet do it online like the rest of the world.”

The guy never took his gaze off Quinn. “You’re Quinn Weller, right?”

How did he know her name? “You’re going to need to go first,” Quinn said.

“I’m Cliff Porter. I’m an attorney and I really need a word with you. Privately.”

She stared at him, trying to come up with a reason why an attorney would be looking for her.

“Porter or Potter?” Dry Vagina asked. “Because Potter would make more sense.”

He looked pained. “I get that a lot but it’s Porter.”

“How do you know my name?” Quinn asked.

“Look, can we just . . .” He gestured to a small table off to the side of the line.

Torn between curiosity and a healthy sense of survival, Quinn hesitated. “I’m late for work.”

“This will only take a minute.”

Reluctantly, she stepped out of line and moved to the table. “You’ve got one minute.”

He took a deep breath. “As I said, I’m an attorney. I’m from Wildstone, a small town about two hundred miles north. I’m here to give you news of an inheritance.”

Quinn blinked. “Okay first, I’ve never heard of Wildstone. And second, I certainly don’t know anyone from there.”

“We’re a small ranching town that sits in a bowl between the Pacific Coast and wine country,” he said. “Would you like to sit?” he asked quietly, and also very kindly she had to admit. “Because the rest of this is going to be a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” she said, “and you have thirty seconds left.”

It was clear from his expression that he wasn’t happy about having to go into the details in public, but as he was a stranger and maybe also a crackpot, too damn bad.

He drew a deep breath. “The person who left you some property was your birth mother.”

She stared at him and then slowly sank into the before-offered chair without looking, grateful it was right behind her. “You’re mistaken,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I wasn’t adopted.”

He gave her a wan smile. “I’m really sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but you were.”

“I have parents. Lucinda and James Weller.”

“They adopted you when you were two days old.”

The shock of that reverberated through her body. “No,” she whispered. Heart suddenly racing, palms clammy, she shook her head. “They would’ve told me. There’s absolutely no way . . .”

“I’m very sorry,” Cliff said quietly. “But it’s true. They adopted you from Carolyn Adams.” He pulled a picture from his briefcase and pushed it across the table toward her.

And Quinn’s heart stopped. Because it was Carolyn, the woman who she’d met here in this very coffee shop.