Chapter 20 #2
“What do you think?” I asked, stacking the crates up. “You keen?”
Quinn nodded. “Yeah, definitely.” She tilted her head and gave me a wry look. “I could really do with the extra money.”
“Yeah, don’t we all,” I said. “Hey, thanks for helping with all this.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, adding more crates to the pile. She hesitated, cleared her throat and whispered my name, “Miller?”
My body reacted with an involuntary shiver, delicious and thrilling.
“Thanks for being there for me today,” she said, her voice soft and a little shaky. “For standing up for me. And for taking charge. It...it means a lot.”
The unsteadiness in her voice jolted me and I worried I was about to witness a flood of tears.
That was something I didn’t know how to deal with.
Because it occurred to me that Quinn had been going through a lot—not only leaving her prep school but losing her friends in the process of keeping her mother’s secret.
And there had been so much more—the bullying on the bus that I did nothing to stop, being left out of the girls soccer team, hey, even the failed date with Ronan King. That had to be tough on her—and yet, in all that, she’d managed to stand up for my little brother.
“Well, it means a lot that you saved Mason. You were there for him when I wasn’t. That means the world to me.”
She shrugged timidly, like she didn’t deserve the praise. And it struck me that Quinn was a good person. She was humble and kind and the complete opposite of a snob. And I needed to apologize.
“Hey, I should’ve stood up for you when those kids bullied you on the bus. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” I said, my words rough with regret. “Forgive me. Please?”
Quinn peered at me from under her long eyelashes, her nod and sweet smile causing a flutter in my stomach. It was impossible not to like her. In fact, I was liking her more and more by the second.
But she was vulnerable, and even though Dad’s stance on her had changed, in Annabelle Devereaux’s eyes, I guessed I was still the enemy. Which meant I had a mountain to climb before I could ask Quinn on a date.
“Ah, I’ll ask Mrs. Hamlin if I can take you home in the truck,” I said as we finished tidying away everything.
“Wh...did you—?”
“I rode my motorbike here,” I said, guessing she’d forgotten I didn’t have a car.
“Oh—duh,” she said, touching her palm to her forehead. “I didn’t think. My bad. Sorry, I don’t wanna put you out.”
“It’s fine,” I said, grinning as I suggested, “Unless you wanna ride on the back of my bike?”
Quinn’s eyes glinted, maybe at the absurdity of the proposition. And it was absurd. She didn’t have proper motorcycle gear.
“It sounds kinda fun.”
“Serious?”
“Well, I’ve never been on a motorbike before,” she said, her face lighting up.
A tornado whirled in my head with all the reasons I shouldn’t take Quinn home on my motorbike: I only had one helmet, I’d only taken Brayden as a passenger before and that was for a short ride, and Dad was a stickler for safety when it came to bikes.
I risked his wrath if I broke the rules.
Plus, her mom would probably hate me even more.
But there was also the thought of Quinn being close to me, of being very close to me.
“I shouldn’t,” I said, “you don’t have proper gear.”
Quinn glanced down at her jeans and white sneakers as if to show we were dressed exactly the same. “Yeah, of course. I’ll call Mom,” she said, squeezing the little toy on her purse. And that glint in her eyes dulled. Like it had when her friend confronted her.
I didn’t want to be the one who muted Quinn’s glow. I wanted to see her shine.
“Wait,” I said, causing her to look up from her phone, “I’ll see if I can borrow a helmet. Pretty sure the Hamlins have one.”
We laughed as we packed the food into my backpack, carefully wrapping the eggs and placing them on top to minimize the chance of them getting scrambled on the ride home.
She put it on her back and I gave her my helmet to wear, while I took one from the farm.
I adjusted her chin strap, nervous at the proximity, of being that close to her startling blue eyes.
Even more nervous that she’d be sitting right behind me, able to smell me.
But there was nothing I could do about that now.
Only hoping that my deodorant was doing what it claimed.
I jumped onto my bike, braced myself and directed her to put her left leg on the foot peg and climb on behind me.
“Hold onto my shoulder,” I said. “You can hold the handles or...me. Whatever feels most comfortable.”
I felt her wiggle on the seat and rejoiced when her hands rested on my hips—and stayed there.
“I won’t go fast, but just follow my body?” I shouted to make myself heard. “Keep your shoulders in line with mine.” It was advice Dad had taught me. “Okay?”
“Yep,” she called back.
I rode my bike the most careful I ever had, like a Grandpa, Brayden would say. But it was like I had precious cargo on the back and I didn’t mean the eggs.
Only when I entered Ambrose Lane did I accelerate a little, yeah some might say showing off, but I was confident being almost home.
I swerved into the Devereaux’s driveway, feeling Quinn’s hands tighten around my waist, and though it wasn’t my brightest move, zoomed toward her house.
However, I didn’t anticipate the driveway to be quite so short, nor did I expect her mother’s car to be parked there and I had to make a sharp u-turn to avoid hitting it. Quinn squealed as we skidded to a halt.
I would have felt bad if she hadn’t leaned against me.
I stopped the engine and turned around to check, expecting her to be annoyed or scared, but she was smiling, eyes lit up. And she hadn’t moved, still holding onto me.
I didn’t mind one bit.
But Mrs. Devereux did. She stood at the front door, a scowl so deep and wide that I flinched in fear. Hands moved to her hips in a fierce stance as she strode out toward us. Quinn slid off the back, her touch leaving a void like no other. That ride had been everything.
But I was afraid there was a reason I’d never get to go on a date with Quinn—and she was standing right in front of me.