24. Quinn
24
QUINN
T he smell of coffee drifts through the tour bus as I pour myself a second cup. Lyle appears in the kitchenette doorway, his band tee wrinkled from sleep.
"Got enough for your favorite drummer?"
"Depends. Is Ringo Starr coming by?" I pass him a steaming mug.
"Ouch. That hurts, Quinn." He clutches his chest dramatically. "Speaking of hurt feelings, want to help me with a mission today?"
I lean against the counter. "What kind of mission are we talking about?"
"The kind that involves sneaking a Christmas tree onto this metal tube we call home without the grinches noticing."
"A tree?" My eyebrows shoot up. "Where would we even put it?"
"Corner by the TV. Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, this place needs some holiday spirit that isn't just Jarron's whiskey collection."
"I don't know..." I glance around the bus. "Won't they be pissed?"
"Nah, they'll pretend to be for about five minutes. Then Austen will start hanging his underwear on it as ornaments or something." Lyle grins. "There's this little tree farm just outside town. We can grab something small."
"And by small you mean...?"
"Charlie Brown-esque. Nothing too fancy." He takes a sip of coffee.
"I'm down, as long as you promise me hot chocolate."
"That's my girl." He bumps my shoulder with his. "Grab your coat. Operation Christmas Cheer is a go."
The rental truck bounces over another pothole, and Lyle curses under his breath. Snow dusts the windshield as we climb higher into the mountains, the heater barely keeping up with the December chill.
"You know what this reminds me of?" Lyle drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "That time Beau tried to convince us all to go camping."
"How'd that work out?"
"Jarron lasted exactly forty-three minutes before he started complaining about no cell service."
I pull my jacket tighter. "Sounds about right."
The tree farm appears around the bend, rows of evergreens dusted with fresh powder. A wooden sign creaks in the wind: "Miller's Mountain Christmas Trees."
"This is perfect." Lyle parks next to an old red pickup. "Small enough selection that we won't be here all day, but big enough that we're not stuck with whatever reject is left."
We crunch through the snow, weaving between trees. The scent of pine fills my nose, bringing back memories of childhood Christmases.
"How about this one?" I point to a scraggly spruce.
"Quinn, that thing looks like it's been through rehab twice."
"Fine, tree expert. You pick."
He leads me down another row, stopping at a modest fir about two feet tall. "Now this - this is our tree. Full enough to hold ornaments, small enough to fit through the bus door."
"It's actually kind of perfect."
"Well, get to sawing lumberjack." I say with a smile.
The tree farm's firepit crackles as Lyle stabs another marshmallow onto his stick. Smoke curls around us, carrying the sweet scent of burning sugar and pine.
"So," he says, rotating his marshmallow with surgical precision. "You and Beau, huh?"
I poke at the flames with my stick. "What about me and Beau? We're just friends." I hope "I slept with your bandmate" isn't secretly tattooed on my forehead.
"Come on, Quinn. I've known that giant teddy bear for years. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."
"And how's that?"
"Like you're his favorite song." He pulls his perfectly golden marshmallow from the fire. "The kind you never get tired of hearing."
Heat floods my cheeks, and it's not from the fire. "That's... surprisingly poetic coming from you."
"I have my moments." He sandwiches the marshmallow between graham crackers. "Just don't tell the others. I've got a reputation to maintain."
A couple walks past our fire pit, their voices carrying on the wind. "We should head out soon, honey. Weather report says there's freezing rain coming."
"How long till it hits?"
"Couple hours, maybe less."
Lyle's eyes meet mine over the flames. "Well, shit. That complicates things."
"What do you mean?"
"Getting that tree back to the bus without turning into human popsicles." He dusts graham cracker crumbs from his hands. "Plus, if the roads ice over, we might have trouble with tomorrow's show."
I glance at our newly purchased tree, lying wrapped in netting nearby. "Should we call the others?"
"Nah, let's just get moving. Last thing we need is Jarron calling his fancy lawyer about liability insurance or whatever rich boy nonsense he'd come up with."
"You really think he'd do that?"
"Have you met him?" Lyle stands, offering me a hand up. "Man once threatened to sue a cloud for raining on his new boots."
With the tree strapped down in the back, we pull out of the tree farm just as the sleet starts. It isn't long before the truck lurches sideways, and my heart leaps into my throat. Lyle wrestles with the wheel as we slide across black ice, the Christmas tree shifting ominously in the bed behind us.
"Shit, shit, shit!" He pumps the brakes, but we're dancing across the road like a drunk at last call.
My knuckles turn white on the dashboard. "Lyle..."
"I got it, I got it." He guides us toward the shoulder, where we finally skid to a stop. The engine idles, headlights cutting through swirling snow.
"You okay?" His breath comes out in white puffs.
"Yeah." My hands are shaking. "Just... give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need." He kills the engine. "We should wait this out anyway."
Silence settles over us, broken only by the tick of the cooling engine and our breathing. The windows slowly fog up, creating a cocoon of warmth against the storm outside.
"Some adventure, huh?" Lyle's voice is soft, closer than before.
I turn to find him watching me, his brown eyes intense in the dim light. Something electric crackles in the space between us.
"Lyle..."
I shouldn't let him kiss me, but his lips find mine anyway. The heat from his mouth contrasts with the cold seeping through the truck windows. His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my jaw as he deepens the kiss. My fingers curl into his t-shirt, pulling him closer across the center console.
"Quinn," he breathes against my mouth. "I've wanted to do that since the first time I heard you sing."
The windshield's completely fogged now, creating our own private world. His hand slides into my hair, and I let out a small gasp as he tugs gently, tilting my head back.
"Lyle..." My voice comes out breathier than intended.
He trails kisses down my neck, each one sending sparks through my body. "Just say the word and I'll stop."
But I don't want him to stop. And that terrifies me more than any icy road.
His other hand finds my waist, fingers slipping under the hem of my sweater to brush bare skin. The touch burns like whiskey, warming me from the inside out.
"This is a terrible idea," I whisper, even as I arch into his touch.
"The best ones usually are." His teeth graze my collarbone. "We can blame it on the weather if you want."
I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, intense. "And what happens tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's a problem for tomorrow's us." He captures my mouth again, and for a moment, I let myself forget about everything else.