Chapter 10
Parker
Talking to Harper at the hotel made it easier to go home, but not easy .
The only thing my family takes more seriously than looking out for one another is how seriously we take our commitment to Stewart Travel. The reputation of our family business means everything.
Well, I fucked up in Vegas, and it got splashed all over social media. So, a reckoning was waiting for me in Skagway, and I was dreading it.
Because I got in after midnight, I’d driven myself home from the airport and gone straight to bed in the cabin I used to share with Reeve. She’d recently moved into the cabin vacated by Sawyer, who was now living in town with Ivy, which meant I had my own place for the first time in my life. And frankly, getting home in the dark of night, to peace and quiet and solitude, felt calming. I didn’t see anyone. I wasn’t confronted by anyone. I could almost believe that Vegas had been just another successful, run-of-the-mill convention.
But the next day, bright and early, I had to face the music.
As I walked into the lodge on Sunday morning, my family was waiting for me. Sitting around the dining room table, dour-faced and tight-lipped, they watched me enter the lodge, stomp my snowy feet on a welcome mat, and cross the room. I stood behind the one available seat at the table, my hands clenching the back of it.
“Morning, everyone.”
No one said a word in response. I caught Harper’s eyes first.
“Morning, Harp.”
“Hey, Park,” she said, not unkindly. “How was the flight home?”
“Uneventful.”
“…unlike the rest of the week,” muttered my father under his breath.
I’d registered his words, but kept my eyes on Harper. Because she and I had been talking regularly while I was in Vegas, she wasn’t as shocked as the rest of my family about the recent romantic developments between me and Quinn.
“How’d you leave things with Quinn?” she’d asked.
“Over,” I’d mumbled.
She’d winced, her face taking on an expression of surprise and then compassion. “Sorry to hear that.”
I don’t want to talk about Quinn. Ever again.
“Go first,” I told her. “Let me have it. I want to get this over with.”
Harper had taken a deep breath and sighed before speaking: “What you do or don’t do with Quinn Morgan is none of my business, and I think it’s disgusting that you were being filmed without your knowledge or permission.”
My heart lifts, and I could almost cry with gratitude for my older sister’s kindness.
“Thanks, Harp—”
“But the punching part of the video? You left that part out when we talked, Park. And I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it. I know he got out of line with you. But Joe told me that Rick could press assault charges against you, and that really scares me. If you’re going to hit someone in the future,” she’d said, “for the love of God, don’t get caught doing it on camera!”
“I didn’t know I was being filmed.”
“Then it’s probably best not to hit people!”
“I won’t,” I’d promised her in a small voice, pulling out my chair and taking a seat between Gran and Sawyer. “I’ll never do it again.”
My father was sitting next to Harper, and as I shifted my eyes to his, I felt the full measure of his disappointment in me. I could read it easily on his face—he was mortified by my behavior.
“Dad?” I’d whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re obviously too immature to be attending any more conferences or conventions in the immediate future, so I will be taking over from here on out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The Quinn stuff? I always thought you hated him, but if you don’t, you don’t. Not my circus, not my monkeys. For my part, I always liked him. Cheeky kid. Funny man. Skip’s one of my closest friends.” He’d shrugged. “I know you youngsters can get caught up in the moment. Hormones and all that. Neckin’ on your own time isn’t a crime in my book.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“But you weren’t on your own time, were you?”
“No, sir.”
“No, miss. You were on our time. Business time. And I don’t know about you, but walking around in a wet bra at a convention? Slugging people for cutting you in line?” His blue eyes were piercing as he slapped his palms on the table for emphasis, making the coffee mugs splash and rattle. “The jury’s still out, but you may have put all of our livelihoods in jeopardy. According to Reeve, that video has been viewed forty-thousand times. FORTY THOUSAND TIMES, Parker Katharine. How many of those people were potential customers? My god, I’m so worried, so angry at you, I can’t…I just can’t…”
He’d dropped his gaze then, shaking his head back and forth as he stared down at the table, clearly at a loss for words.
“I’m so sorry,” I’d whimpered, feeling like total shit. “Dad…everyone…all of you…I’m so, so sorry.”
My father had taken a deep breath and nodded, but he didn’t look up at me, like maybe he couldn’t bear to look me in the eye for now. And man, that hurt. That hurt bad.
Blinking my burning eyes but forcing them not to fall, I’d shifted my eyes to Tanner.
“Tan?”
“I echo the sentiments about Quinn. If you were in any way coerced, I’d kill him, but Harp and Sawyer say you were into him, so it’s none of my business, though—between you and me and everyone else here?—I’m confused as hell because you always said you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him, but it doesn’t matter,” I’d told my older brother. “It’s over now.”
“Be that as it may,” he’d continued, “the stuff Dad just said about losing bookings is my biggest worry, too. I’ve got a wife. I’ve got a…a…” He’d shaken his head, his brows furrowed, and lips pursed. “Park, I can’t afford to lose my income.”
“I know,” I’d murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see what happens,” he’d said. Then suddenly, his face had brightened. “I also want to say that I disagree with Harp. If Rick Jones got fresh with you, I’m thrilled you slugged him. I heard you gave him a sweet shiner. Way to go, Park.”
Through a blur of tears, I’d chuckled softly as Tanner nodded at me in solidarity.
“Thanks, Tan.” Then, I’d turned to Reeve, who sat on the other side of Sawyer. “Reeve? You’re up.”
Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she stared at her coffee mug, refusing to look at me. “I don’t care about the business stuff. Social media is dumb, and by the time people start booking their tours and excursions in April and May, no one will even remember that video.”
“Thanks, Reeve.”
Shifting her gaze, her blue eyes had flashed with anger and hurt when she finally looked up at me. “But I don’t get the Quinn stuff. He’s a jerk. He’s always been a jerk. He made middle school miserable for you. I’ve heard the stories, and I always had your back So, no. I don’t understand that part. Were you lying about hating him? Did you like him all this time? Did you change your mind over a span of five or six days? It doesn’t make any sense to me!”
“I don’t know how to explain it to you, babycakes—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a baby.”
Her words were like a slap. They’d hurt badly.
“Reeve,” I’d started again. “I don’t know how to explain it except that there’s a very thin line between love and hate. My feelings for Quinn were always strong, you know?”
“Yeah. Strong like… hate . The opposite of love.”
“Love isn’t the opposite of hate,” Harper had piped up. “The opposite of hate or love is the same—it’s indifference. And Park was never, ever indifferent to Quinn. You’re young, Reeve, so maybe you haven’t learned this yet…but, you can think that you’ll hate someone forever, and some folks do, I guess. But if you stop hating someone, you don’t shift automatically from hate to indifference. It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes a strong, intense feeling like hate morphs very quickly into love.”
“So she’s in love with Quinn?” Reeve had demanded, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Quinn’s in love with her,” Sawyer had offered. “I talked to him yesterday, and I believe him. He told me that over the years, having Parker’s attention—even if it was because he was teasing or pestering her—was better than no attention at all. But when they got out of Skagway…got to Vegas…he could show her a different side of himself. He could show her the side that loved her, that’s loved her for a long time.”
“Horseshit!” Reeve had yelled.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Sawyer had agreed. “But talk to him. Hear him out sometime. You’ll believe him, Reeve. I promise.”
I’d sighed, looking to my right, at my little brother. “Anything else you want to say, Sawyer? I was sure you’d have a mouthful for me.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn, and I teased you so much. We shouldn’t have done that. As your brother, I shouldn’t have encouraged it.”
“Thanks for that, Sawyer.”
“And, for the record, I believe that he loves you.”
Me, too.
“You have to figure out what you want, Parker, but if it’s Quinn? Go for it.”
“What about the video?”
“I’m with Reeve. I think it’ll blow over…” His eyes had sparkled with sudden amusement. “But I’m a little surprised. An old-fashioned phone booth? Is that your fetish, Park?”
Grateful for a little levity, I’d grinned at him. “Shut up, Sawyer.”
“Seriously, Park,” Tanner had added, winking at me. “Pick a better make-out spot next time.”
“Preferably one with dimmer lighting and less people,” Harper had suggested with a little chuckle.
I’d looked at my dad then, hoping he could get in on the joke, but he’d met my eyes, shaken his head again, then stood up and left the room. A second later, Reeve had followed him.
Okay, then , I’d thought, my heart aching, Dad and Reeve need time.
“Gran?” I’d asked, looking to my left. “And Paw-Paw? Anything you two want to say?”
My grandfather’s smile was wide and loving. “Glad you’re home, granddaughter. I don’t know about this Takky-Tik nonsense, but I do know that airplanes crash. I’d just as soon have you on the ground.”
“Thanks, Paw-Paw.”
“I’m gonna make more coffee,” Gran had said, patting my hand on the way to the kitchen. “Make better choices when it comes to business, Parker. But when it comes to love, follow your heart.”
Inquisition blessedly over, I was left alone with Harper, Tanner, and Sawyer.
“You really done with Quinn?” my sister had asked.
I’d shrugged, getting up from my seat. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do at that point was go back to my cabin, get under the covers, and sleep for hours.
“I don’t know,” I’d answered honestly.
“He loves you, Park,” Sawyer had added.
“I know,” I’d told him. “I know he does.”
Then I’d pushed in my chair, turned around, and left the lodge.
***
Today marks a week since I left Vegas.
The campground’s been quiet since Tuesday. Not only is mid-January off-season for tourists, but my dad, Tanner, and Sawyer are on their annual weeklong snowmobiling/cross-country skiing trip, and McKenna’s down in Seattle helping Hunter and Isabella plan their wedding.
That only leaves my grandparents, Harper, who lives in town and has her hands full with Wren, and Reeve, who’s still mad at me and avoiding me like a contagious virus. On Tuesday and Wednesday nights, I went up to the lodge for dinner with Reeve, Gran, and Paw-Paw, but with Reeve still refusing to speak to me, those suppers were super tense and awkward. I told Gran to count me out for the rest of the week.
Since then, I’ve been laying low, spending a lot of time in my cabin, on my own, taking stock of my life and my choices—what I did in Vegas, what I learned in Vegas, and what I will change as a result of that behavior. Those reflections were pretty easy, actually. I will do anything I can to recuperate my image and—from here on out—to protect the reputation of Stewart Travel. I will also be more mindful of my surroundings and remind myself that cell phones (and therefore, cameras) are everywhere. A social media post can go viral in a hot minute, and that what ends up on social media lingers there indefinitely.
Aside from learning from my mistakes and pledging not to make them again, however, there’s not a whole lot I can do, but hope that my regrettable behavior doesn’t affect our upcoming bookings. So far, it doesn’t appear to be hurting us; we’re already getting bookings for the spring, and every day I desperately hope they continue.
The quiet time—the down time—has also given me time to reflect on Quinn.
I want to understand what happened—how we evolved so quickly from lifelong enemies to passionate lovers and how long-standing feelings of hatred shifted lightning-fast into feelings of…or at least similar to, gulp , love.
The problem with trying to make sense of this, however, is that feelings aren’t rational. Sometimes they can’t be reasoned with or understood in a linear way that “makes sense.” They just are or aren’t . They exist or they don’t—you can neither force them to happen nor banish them once they do. You have the choice to accept them or reject them, of course, but you can’t really control their existence.
What I’ve learned this week is that the feelings I developed for Quinn in Vegas—that I’ve wished away a hundred times since I got home—don’t appear to be going anywhere. They’re strong, and they’re fighting for survival, and—against all odds—they’re winning.
I go to sleep thinking about him—about his smile and his words and his body moving tenderly against mine—and dream about him all night long. And when I wake up, he pops into my mind, my consciousness, so frequently, I’m never without him. Not really. I can force myself to think of something else, but Quinn invariably returns to tease me gently, to make love to me, to beg me to come out of the bathroom and talk to him.
When I think of what I said to him—telling him that he was the worst mistake I ever made—it hurts. Physically and emotionally, it’s almost unbearable to remember. And no matter what Sawyer says, it makes me wonder how Quinn can continue to love me, how he can possibly hold onto hope when I said such brutally mean things to him after he shared his love for me with such trust and vulnerability.
That video wasn’t his fault.
I know that. And I know I owe him an apology for my fury and spitefulness. I just don’t know how to offer it. I’m ashamed of how I treated him. I’m sorry. Of course I am. But do I just drive into town, knock on his door, and blurt out, I’m sorry I was so mean to you! I didn’t mean it! You weren’t a mistake! It was the most beautiful morning of my entire life, and I don’t hate you…if anything, my feelings are way closer to love!
I can’t imagine doing that.
I don’t have the strength or the courage such a grand gesture would require.
Because, frankly, after knowing that he loved me, finding out that he doesn’t anymore would utterly and completely break me.
Not to mention, he hasn’t texted or called me since we got home. On one hand, I respect the fact that he’s giving me time and space, and leaving the ball in my court—after all, I was the one who kicked him out of my room and threatened to call security. But on the other hand, I sure could use a little encouragement if there’s still a chance, however small, that he still wants to be with me.
Buzz. Buzz, buzz.
I grab my phone.
HARPER:
Hey, Park. I need a babysitter for Wren on Sat night. You free? 6:30-9pm?
I’ve got nothing better to do . I may as well spend an evening with my niece.
PARKER:
Sure. I’ll be there at 6:30pm.
HARPER:
Thanks, sis. The door’ll be unlocked. Just let yourself in.
PARKER:
Sounds good. Love you.
HARPER:
Love you too. Always. No matter what.
PARKER:
I know.
HARPER:
Remember that if you ever get mad at me, okay? I love you so much and only have your best interests at heart.
Harper’s being super emo and weird , I think, staring at the text . I wonder if she’s pregnant again…
PARKER:
Harp, I know you love me. I love you too. See you Saturday.
***
Quinn
“Just heat up the bottle at six thirty, give it to her in the nursery rocking chair, and put her in the crib after burping her, okay? She may fuss for a few minutes, but I promise she’ll nod off by seven. She’s had a long day… haven’t you, baby girl ?”
Harper’s giving me babysitting instructions as Joe holds Wren in his beefy arms, staring at me like I’m there to take her out on her first date. Woe to the kid who actually does take Wren out on her first date. That kid will have a lot to answer for!
“No problem,” I say. “Stop worrying. I’ve got this.”
True story. I was a very popular local babysitter when I was in high school. Moms in Skagway knew that I was great with rowdy little boys and delicate baby girls alike. I’ve always had a way with kids. I can’t wait to have one of my own someday…which reminds me of the little girl who grabbed Parker’s legs in the aquarium. Parker was so sweet to her, so understanding and gentle.
My stomach twists with despair.
It’s been two weeks since we left Vegas and I haven’t heard a word— not a single word —from her, despite sending her numerous texts asking to meet up and talk. Sawyer insists she’ll come around, but I’m not so sure. Without the benefit of talking to her, it feels like she still blames me for the Jones’ video. As the days between Vegas and forever disappear one by one, I feel more and more certain that she doesn’t trust me and doesn’t want to be with me.
And yet…I hope.
It hurts to hold on to hope. Most days it’s a rare kind of torture. But I’m trying to be strong. I won’t give up on her. Not yet, anyway. I’ve loved her for too long. And what we had in Vegas, however briefly, was too good.
“Any questions?” asks Harper.
“Nope,” I say, opening my arms to take nine-month-old Wren from Joe.
“You drop her, you die,” says her father under his breath.
“I’m not gonna drop her,” I promise. I lift her from Joe’s arms, grinning down at her as she stares up at me. “Hey, cutie.”
“Coo-ee,” she repeats with a sweet baby giggle that melts my heart.
“Looks like love at first sight to me,” says Harper, slinging a purse over her shoulder. She takes Joe’s hand and pulls him toward the door. “Come on. You owe me a date night, Sheriff.”
“Our cellphones will be on,” says Joe. “Call us anytime. I mean it. Anytime .”
“Will do,” I say. “But we’ll be fine.”
“We’re headed to dinner and line dancing at the Parsnip,” says Harper. “Should be back by nine.”
“No rush! Enjoy yourselves,” I tell them, sitting down on the couch and putting on the Disney Channel for Wren. She giggles when Mickey Mouse fills up the screen. “We’re good! Now, go!”
Wren sits in the crook of my side, with my arm around her small body as we watch the Disney Channel together. Half an hour goes by in the blink of an eye.
“Uncle Sawyer’s best buddy, Quinn, is gonna start your bottle now,” I tell her, plopping her in the activity-center seat as I head to the kitchen to heat up her milk. I pop the pre-made bottle into the warmer, and switch it on.
Meanwhile, Wren bangs on the colorful plastic piano keys, while shoving a rubber cactus into her mouth with glee.
“Who’s gonna be the next Taylor Swift?” I ask her.
Bang, bang, bang. Clang, clang, clang.
More cheerful, dissonant music follows.
“You are!” I say. “That’s right!”
Suddenly, I get the shock of my life when the front door opens, without a knock or the sound of the doorbell. I’m about to grab a knife to defend me and Wren from the intruder when I hear Parker’s voice call out.
“Harp? Where you at? I’m here!”
She steps into her sister’s house, shaking snow from her parka.
“Parker? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Quinn? Oh my god!” She jumps a foot, then places her hand over her heart. “What the—What the heck are you doing here?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Babysitting! At Harper’s request! What are you doing here?”
“Babysitting,” she says, blinking at me, as her cheeks flush a deep rose. “Also at Harper’s request.”
“An Pow-koo!”
Wren calls to her aunt from her busy-seat, clapping her tiny hands in glee.
“Hey, babycakes!” says Parker, shifting her attention from me to her niece. She lifts Wren from her activity-seat, holding her over her head and kissing her all over her face. “Oh, you just had a bath, and you smell so good! I missed you!”
Niece and aunt grin at one another for a long moment, the love between them so strong and so real, something inside of me swells with longing. I go back to the bottle warmer, which dings softly to let me know it’s ready. I wrap it in a dishcloth, then join Parker and Wren in the living room.
“I think we were set up,” I say, drinking in the sight of her after two long weeks apart.
“Looks like it,” she says, focusing all of her attention on Wren, though her cheeks are still pink, and I can tell that she’s nervous.
“Want to do the bottle?” I ask her.
“Absolutely. It’s my favorite part of the day.”
“Let’s go.”
As Parker settles herself in the rocking chair with baby Wren, I dim the nursery lights and put on the sound machine as instructed. Then I stand in the doorway and watch as the love of my life gives her niece milk before bed. And no matter what happens between me and Parker, I know, in my soul, that this will be one of my most favorite memories of all time. The tenderness of what I’m seeing almost hurts, in fact, because it parallels so closely what I want so terribly with Parker someday…and may never have.
Wren falls asleep on Parker’s shoulder after a loud and lusty belch.
“Can you take her?” Parker whispers, looking up at me.
I nod, gently easing sleeping Wren from her aunt’s lap and placing her on her stomach in her crib. She sighs softly, lifting her little butt and putting her cheek on the mattress. Parker stands over her, stroking her back once or twice before backing away.
I snag the empty bottle and burp cloth from the arm of the rocking chair, switch the monitor on, then follow Parker out of the room.
She’s standing in the living room, arms crossed over her chest, when I join her.
“Hey,” I say, standing in the hallway that connects the living room to the bedrooms.
“Hi,” she says, her voice shy.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“You, too,” she says, still standing awkwardly in her sister’s living room.
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Then why…” I pause, realizing that I’m gesturing to her with a soiled burp cloth, dish towel, and empty bottle. “Let me take care of these.”
I walk through the living room to the kitchen, place the bottle in the sink, then open the laundry room door and put the cloths in the hamper. When I return to the living room, Parker’s sitting on the couch, looking at me over her shoulder.
“Why…what?” she asks. “You were about to ask me something.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I was just wondering…if it’s so good to see me, why haven’t you responded to any of my texts?”
Now this is interesting. Her eyebrows immediately furrow, and she leans away from me in confusion before shaking her head. “I didn’t get any texts.”
“Come on,” I say, taking a seat in a chair catty-corner to her. “I’ve texted you half a dozen times since we left Vegas.”
“No!” she says. “You haven’t.”
She stands up, goes to the coat tree beside the front door, and takes her phone from her parka pocket. Signing into her phone as sits back down, she taps on my name and shows the screen to me. Sure enough, she’s not lying. There are no new texts from me. The last one is from two weeks ago, telling her I was leaving my room and would be arriving at hers any minute.
“I don’t understand…” she says, playing with her phone. Suddenly her mouth drops open, and after a flurry of taps, she looks up at me. Her expression is sheepish. Embarrassed.
“What?” I ask.
“I…it looks like I blocked you.”
“You blocked me?”
Wow. That hurts. A lot .
But in a weird way, it’s also comforting, because it means she wasn’t ignoring me over the last two weeks. She had no idea I was reaching out.
“I must have blocked you that—that morning…and—and forgotten.” She cringes at her phone, on it again before showing it to me. “Unblocked now. Sorry.”
I sit back in the easy chair, hating that things are so awkward between us.
“What did…um, what did your texts say?” she asks.
I lean forward, fish my phone out of my back pocket, and pull up the texts I’ve been sending to her.
“You want to hear them all?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, there are a bunch of truly pathetic ones begging you to talk to me after you kicked me out of your room and threatened to call security.”
Her cheeks blaze red as she nods, staring down at her lap.
“And then there are some more pathetic ones, pleading ones…mostly sent on, like, Tuesday and Wednesday, the week before last. ‘Can I come to Dyea and talk to you?’ That sort of thing.”
“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” she whispers.
“Would you have said yes?” I ask her. “If you’d gotten the texts, I mean?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
Two letters. N. O. They’re a punch to the gut.
“No? Wow. Okay.” I take a strangled breath and look back down at my phone. “Let’s see…here’s another. On Saturday night. Drunk, after seeing Sawyer for beers. More pleading. More promises. ‘I love you. I’ll love you forever. Give us a chance…’ Blah, blah, blah. Pathetic.”
“Not pathetic,” she murmurs, reaching up to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. “Not pathetic at all.”
Are tears a good sign or bad sign? At this point, I can’t tell.
“Um…let’s see…here’s an apology on Sunday for drunk-texting, but telling you that the feelings I shared the night before were ‘real’ and wishing you’d talk to me.”
She clears her throat, looking up at me with watery eyes. “Any more?”
“They get sparser after that. There’s one from Wednesday of last week, saying I’ll stop texting and respect your space. And on Friday, yesterday, a broken heart emoji.”
She clenches her jaw and winces, then gulps in a way that looks painful.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it. Why do you care? Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.”
“Really?” I shove my phone back into my pocket and lean forward in my chair, clasping my hands between my knees. “Because two weeks ago, you threw me out of your room and told me I was the worst mistake you ever made. Then you blocked me, refused to talk to me, and just told me that even if you’d received my texts, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet or talk.” I throw up my hands. “So why does it matter, Parker?”
“Because I’m ready now ,” she says, her voice so soft, I’m not sure I hear her correctly. “I’m ready to talk to you now.”
“You are?”
She nods. “I needed some time. Honestly, Quinn, it was probably the best thing.”
“Not for me. It was torture.”
“I’m sorry for that,” she says. “I don’t remember blocking you. I must have done it that morning when I was so angry. I-I was genuinely shocked just now when you told me you’d been in touch.”
“So, how did having time help?” I ask, sitting back in my chair and watching her.
“That video that the Joneses made was embarrassing. Really embarrassing.”
“I know, but it wasn’t my fault, Par—”
“I know it wasn’t! I know that!” She wrings her hands together. “I was so angry, and since you were the only person around, I knew I was going to blow my top and say things to you that I’d regret. I asked you to leave, Quinn. Three or four times. I begged you to leave me alone. And you just…you wouldn’t go. And finally, I just exploded.”
“Do you regret what you said?”
“Oh my god, Quinn.” She tilts her head to the side, her expression intensely sorry. “Of course!”
“Which things…specifically?”
“You weren’t a mistake. We aren’t bullshit.” She stares at me long and hard. “And I hope there’s a place in this universe where we can… maybe, if you’ll give me another chance…be together.”
I could cry. I could literally bawl like a baby, I’m so fucking relieved. When I walked into Harper Raven’s house tonight, I had no idea what the evening had in store, but Harper did. She’s been my guardian angel more than once, helping me to win over her sister against all odds. I’ll be forever grateful to her.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Quinn. I’ve regretted those words every day since I said them.”
“I wish I’d known that sooner.”
“I needed to cool down.”
I scan her face, looking into her eyes. “Do you mean it? About wanting to be together?”
Her expression brightens a little. Her eyes shine with the sort of tenderness I didn’t know I’d ever see in them again.
“Yeah. I mean it. I can’t stop thinking about you, Quinn. My feelings—I can’t lie to you. I’m not where you are. Not yet,” she says. “But I’m getting there. I care about you. So much.”
My heart, which has been shriveling for two weeks, bursts with love for her. Butterflies beat their tiny wings against the sides of my stomach. I feel… hope . Real hope . More hope than I’ve ever felt before. Because we’re not in Vegas anymore. We’re home . We’re living our real lives now, and she’s saying that she wants to be a part of mine.
“We have things we need to work on if we’re going to give this a chance,” she says, her face turning serious. “That video was triggering for me. Really triggering. And I don’t want to make you feel bad by saying this, but for years and years, you and Sawyer pranked me…and when I saw that video, all of those old feelings came back fast. I believe you love me, Quinn, I do. But I don’t think I trust you yet. I saw that video, and my old mistrust reared its head, hot and ready to fight. It overwhelmed my new feelings completely.” She sighs. “I…I want to believe that time will help me learn how to trust you, will solidify my trust in you, but—”
“It will!” I cry, hopping up from my seat and sitting beside her on the couch. “Time will help. And I’ll keep reminding you of how much I love you. I never— never ever —want to hurt you again, Parker. Someday you’ll believe that, not just in your heart, but in your head, too. I promise. I won’t give up until you trust me just as much as I love you.”
She smiles at me, reaching up to cup my cheek. “It’s a deal.”
I lean into her touch, rotating my face a millimeter so my lips caress her palm. “I love you so much, Park. I thought I had lost my chance with you.”
“Not yet,” she says.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she says.
“How do you feel about dating me? Like, exclusively?”
“Pretty good,” she answers right away.
“Is that right?”
“Yes, it is. I feel pretty, pretty, pretty good about dating you exclusively, Quinn.”
Joy bubbles up within me, and I feel myself smiling at her.
“Umm…and—just so I know—how do you feel about sleepovers?”
“Your place or mine?” she asks, grinning at me.
I have an apartment in town, over the detached garage in the back of my parents’ house. And from what I can gather, she’s now living in her own cabin now that Sawyer’s spending all of his time in town. We have our pick of love nests.
“Either. Both.”
“Yeah,” she says, her smile in full bloom. “I feel pretty good about sleepovers, too. Dating exclusively, check. Frequent sleepovers at your place or mine, check.”
“You know,” I say, cupping her beloved face in my hands, “Joe and Harper won’t be back for hours.”
“I’m not having sex with you in my sister’s living room!” she cries, giving me a disgusted look. “My baby niece is right down the hall!”
“Who said anything about sex?”
“Well, what did you have in mind?” she asks, licking her lips.
“How do you feel about making out with your boyfriend until your sister gets back?”
She taps her lips with her finger, pretending to think for a moment. Finally, she nods her head. “Yep. You’re three for three! I feel pretty good about that, too.”
Then, she presses her lips to mine, and it’s the best feeling in the world to pull my girlfriend onto my lap, holding her tightly and knowing that we’ve got plenty of time ahead.