It reminds me of my flat in London. Quinn stands at the French doors with this look of wonder on her face, taking it all in. And that’s the look I’ve been waiting for from her. “This is it, eh?” I ask, smiling. She forces her mouth into a straight line. “How do you know that?” she asks. “I haven’t said a word.” I twine my fingers through hers. “How do I know anything?” “Yes,” she replies with a small laugh. “This is it.”
