Page 143 of Beneath the Surface

Before long, they moved to the dining room. Everyone filled their plates and settled around the table, the conversation flowing easily, punctuated by laughter and the clink of silverware against china.

“This chicken is incredible,” Nora said, taking another bite. “What did you season it with?”

“Rosemary, thyme, garlic, lemon.” Quinn had followed one of her grandmother’s old recipes, had felt Gran’s presence in the kitchen as she’d rubbed the herbs under the skin, as she’d trussed the bird the way Gran had taught her years ago. “Family recipe.”

“Your grandmother would be proud,” Clara said softly. “Of all of this. The book, the trial, this life you’ve built.”

Quinn felt her throat tighten. “I hope so.”

“She would be,” Dax said, his hand finding Quinn’s under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’d be incredibly proud.”

Carson raised his wine glass. “A toast. To Quinn and Dax—for surviving hell and coming out stronger. For getting justice. For building something beautiful from tragedy.”

Everyone raised their glasses, the crystal catching the candlelight.

“To Quinn and Dax,” they chorused.

Quinn took a sip of wine, the taste sharp and rich on her tongue, and felt gratitude wash over her in waves. This moment. These people. This life.

It was more than she’d ever thought she’d have.

The conversation turned to lighter topics as dinner progressed. Nora shared stories about her kindergartners that had everyone laughing. Nathan talked about a hiking trip he’d taken to Mount Rainier. Harper mentioned a conference she was attending in November.

“Actually,” Harper said, setting down her fork, “I wanted to mention someone who’ll be at the conference in November. Cole Maddox—he’s an FBI agent who specializes in trafficking investigations. Really brilliant guy.” She glanced at Quinn. “I told him about your investigative work and that you were writing these days, and he said if you ever want to pick his brain for some inspiration, he has a ton of stories.”

“Trafficking?” Quinn’s journalist instincts perked up immediately.

“Yeah. He’s worked some really complex cases. Seen a lot.” Harper paused, her expression thoughtful. “The kind of stories you tell, Quinn—the ones about justice and survival—I think he’d have some perspectives that might interest you. Not for anything specific, just...if you’re ever looking for material.”

Quinn pulled out her phone and made a note. “Send me his contact info? I’d love to talk to him sometime.”

“Will do.” Harper smiled. “No pressure. Just thought you two might have an interesting conversation.”

The conversation moved on to lighter topics, but Quinn’s mind lingered on the possibility. Trafficking investigations. Stories of survival and justice. That was exactly the kind of workshe wanted to pursue—honoring not just her father’s fight, but the ongoing battles against exploitation and violence.

Maybe her next book. Something that continued the legacy her father had started.

After dinner, they moved to the living room with coffee and slices of apple pie that Nora proclaimed were “better than my grandmother’s, and that’s saying something.”

Quinn curled up on the couch next to Dax, her head on his shoulder, watching their friends talk and laugh. The fireplace crackled softly, filling the room with warmth and the scent of burning oak. Outside, the sun had fully set, and through the window, Quinn could see the first stars appearing in the darkening sky.

“What are you thinking about?” Dax asked quietly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder.

“How lucky we are. How this almost didn’t happen.” Quinn’s voice was soft enough that only he could hear. “If things had gone differently that night at the warehouse...”

“But they didn’t.” Dax’s arm tightened around her. “We’re here. We’re alive. We’re together. That’s what matters.”

“I know. I just—sometimes I can’t believe this is real. That we actually got our happy ending.”

“It’s real.” Dax kissed the top of her head. “And this isn’t the ending, Quinn. This is just the beginning. We have our whole lives ahead of us. Years of dinners like this. Years of waking up next to each other. Years of building something good.”

Quinn looked up at him, this man who’d risked everything to save her, who’d believed her when no one else would, who’d stood beside her through the darkest moments and stayed for the light.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.” Dax’s smile was soft and real and full of promise. “Always.”

Around them, their friends’ laughter filled the house—Harper telling some story that had Nathan nearly choking on his coffee, Carson and Silas arguing good-naturedly about football, Nora and Clara comparing notes on a restaurant they’d both been to.