Chapter 12
Doug held the tiny envelope with the tips of his fingers, trying to convince himself he didn’t smell his grandmother’s perfume, or the last batch of cookies or loaf of fresh bread she made.
Not nearly as hard as he was trying not to cry in front of Quinn.
So strange that a series of looping, backward-slanted blue ink marks forming his name could yank him out of his middle-aged life and push him back to being a kid again.
He turned it over and slipped the envelope flap loose, thankful his Grandma hadn’t sealed it. Ripping a gift like this would have broken his already aching heart.
He glanced at Quinn, wondering for a quick second whether she’d read the folded cream-colored paper inside before giving it to him. Her soft smile reminded him who he was dealing with.
Of course
