Page 142 of Beneath the Surface

Quinn laughed and pushed him away gently. “Go shower. You smell like the precinct. I’ll start on the appetizers.”

But Dax didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her closer, his expression turning serious. “Have I told you today that I love you?”

“Only twice. You’re slacking.”

“I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love our house.” A kiss on her nose. “I love our life.” A kiss on her lips, soft and lingering. “I love that we survived all the hell we went through and came out stronger.”

Quinn felt tears prick her eyes—the good kind, the kind that came from being so happy it overflowed. “I love you too. Now go shower before I get all emotional and we’re both useless for the next hour.”

Dax grinned and headed upstairs. Quinn heard the water start running, heard him singing off-key in the shower—some country song about trucks and beer that he’d never admit to liking—and felt her heart swell with simple contentment.

This. This was what her father had wanted for her. Not just justice, but joy. Not just survival, but actually living.

Quinn turned to the kitchen and started pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. The dinner party had been her idea—a celebration of everything they had to be grateful for. Their found family, gathered around one table, sharing food and stories and the comfortable intimacy of people who’d been through war together and come out the other side.

She’d invited Carson and his wife Nora, whom she connected with because they’d both experienced foster care, and she adored how Carson still looked at her like she hung the moon. They’d bring their preschooler along. Harper and Silas, who had their own experiences with being locked away in a cabin, were coming with their toddler, along with Nathan who was visiting from Seattle where he’d transferred after recovering from his concussion. And Clara Mendez with her kids—who’d probably all end up in the living room together while the adults visited. Clara looked more relaxed than Quinn had ever seen her, finally able to use her real name again, finally free.

Twelve people total. Quinn had set the table with her grandmother’s good china—pieces she’d saved when they’d cleared out Gran’s house, too precious to part with—had polished the silverware until it gleamed, had bought fresh flowers for the table—sunflowers and dahlias in deep oranges and reds that matched the season.

The menu was ambitious but manageable: herb-roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted Brussels sprouts with bacon, a fall salad with apples and candied pecans, and for dessert, the apple pie currently cooling on the counter that filled the kitchen with the scent of cinnamon and butter.

Quinn started on the appetizers—a cheese board with three different varieties, crackers, grapes, fig jam. Simple but elegant. The kind of thing her grandmother used to make for special occasions.

God, she missed Gran. Missed her so much it was a physical ache sometimes. But it was a different kind of missing now—not the raw, bleeding grief of those first months, but something softer. Bittersweet. The knowledge that Gran had lived a full life, had been loved and had loved in return, and had died knowing Quinn would be okay.

The doorbell rang at 6:45—fifteen minutes early, which meant it was Nathan. He’d always been chronically early to everything.

Quinn wiped her hands on a dish towel and went to answer it, pulling open the door to find Nathan standing there with a bottle of wine and a slightly sheepish expression.

“I know I’m early. I can wait in the car if—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come in.” Quinn pulled him into a hug, breathing in his familiar scent of laundry detergent and the spearmint gum he constantly chewed. “How was the drive from Seattle?”

“Long. But worth it.” Nathan stepped inside, looking around at the house with open appreciation. “This place is great, Quinn. Really great.”

“Thanks. We just finished unpacking last week.” Quinn gestured to a few remaining boxes stacked in the corner of the living room. “Mostly finished, anyway.”

The house was a 1920s craftsman with original hardwood floors and built-in bookshelves and a fireplace with hand-laid tile. It needed work—the upstairs bathroom was a nightmare of pink porcelain, and the kitchen appliances were older than Quinn, but it was theirs. Their first real home together.

They’d closed on it in early August, had spent weekends painting and fixing small things, had slowly filled it with furniture and books and the accumulated debris of two lives merging into one.

Dax came downstairs then, his hair still damp from the shower, wearing dark jeans and a blue button-down that made his eyes look almost navy. He shook Nathan’s hand with genuine warmth.

“Good to see you, man. How’s Seattle treating you?”

“Can’t complain. The field office is good. Different pace than here, but good.” Nathan glanced between them. “You two look happy. Really happy.”

“We are,” Quinn said simply.

The doorbell rang again—Carson and Nora this time, their daughter immediately making a beeline for the toy basket Quinn had set out in the living room. Harper and Silas arrived shortly after with their son on Silas’s hip, the little boy’s dark curls and Harper’s eyes making it clear whose child he was. Clara came last with her kids in tow, and within minutes the living room had transformed into controlled chaos—children’s laughter mixing with adult conversation, toys scattered across the carpet.

“Sorry about the invasion,” Harper said, but she was smiling as she watched her son toddle over to inspect Carson’s daughter’s building blocks.

“Don’t apologize. This is perfect.” And Quinn meant it. This was what family looked like—messy and loud and full of life.

Quinn moved through the gathering with a glass of wine in hand, listening to conversations overlap—Carson telling Nathan about a case they’d just closed, Nora asking Harper about her work as a forensic psychologist, Silas showing Dax something on his phone that made both men laugh.

This was her family now. Not blood, but chosen. People who’d helped her through the darkest time of her life and stayed to celebrate the light on the other side.