Epilogue
Parker
I lean against the bar at the Purple Parsnip, which is hosting a Christmas Eve party that’s doubling as a cast party for the folks who were in Wuthering Heights .
Tanner sits with McKenna, Dad, Gran, and Paw-Paw at one of the many tables set up on the edge of the dance floor. I watch as McKenna says something that makes Tanner throw back his head and laugh.
Scanning the room, I find Sawyer pulling Ivy out the door. I heard she just signed a lease for an apartment in town, and I’m sure that’s where they’re headed. They can’t keep their hands off of each other now that they’re officially a couple.
Harper told me that she and Joe got Jenny Caswell to babysit for Wren tonight, so they’re swaying to “White Christmas” on the dance floor. The way they’re looking at each other, I have a feeling Wren’s going to have a little brother or sister sooner rather than later.
At the end of the bar, Reeve appears to be quarreling with Aaron Adams. I watch as Aaron throws up his hands and stalks out of the bar. With a deep frown on her face, Reeve watches him leave, then beelines for the bathroom. No doubt I’ll hear all about that later.
“So…Tanner has McKenna, Harper has Joe, Sawyer has Ivy, and I heard Hunter’s down in Seattle with Isabella. Hell, it even looks like Reeve’s tangling with someone.”
I look to my left and scowl at Quinn Morgan.
Oooo. I hate him. I truly do.
Oafish, huge and approximately the size of a grizzly at six foot four and at least two hundred and fifty pounds, he’s got long dark hair that he wears in a scraggly ponytail and a beard that could use some serious grooming. And his fucking cologne. Pee-ew. He’s always worn way too much.
Quinn Morgan has been the fly in my ointment for as long as I can remember, and that’s pretty much forever.
“What’s your point?”
“Well…here’s Parker, all alone, holding up the bar.”
“And here’s you, standing next to me, with no other women in sight,” I parry back. I finish my beer and place the empty bottle on the bar. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
“Aw. I like bothering you the best.”
“Lucky me,” I say, gesturing to the bartender for another beer. “Get lost, Quinn.”
“Why do you think that is?” he asks, leaning back on the bar. “All of your siblings have found someone special except for you.”
“How do you know I’m not dating someone on the sly? Someone I met online?” His eyes narrow. “Are you?”
I shrug, placing a dollar in the tip jar and bringing the cold bottle to my lips. “None of your fucking business.”
“You kiss your father with that mouth?”
“Anyone but you, Quinn.”
“Would that you were ever so lucky, Parker.”
“I’d pass out from the tobacco stink of your breath,” I say, pinching my nose.
“I don’t chew anymore.”
“Good for you. Want a sticker?”
“Sure. Do you have one that reads: My best friend’s sister is a pain in the ass .?”
“They don’t make those anymore. They got replaced by: My brother’s best friend is a dickhead .”
His lips quiver like he’s trying not to smile. I roll my eyes at him.
“Can you just go away? There’s a buffet over there with your name on it. Those love handles won’t thicken up on their own.”
“Some women like a little meat on the bone.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Or better yet, go find one of them. Your cologne’s giving me a headache.”
“Uncle!” he cries. His face splits into a full-blown grin as a chortle escapes his throat. “Damn, Parker, you’re such a ball buster.”
“I just tell it like I see it.”
“Truce.” He makes his hands into the T sign for “time out.”
“Why?”
“I heard a rumor.”
“Oh, yeah? Find someone who gives a shit and go share it with them.”
He ignores my suggestion and says: “I heard you’re going to Vegas in January for the Annual Adventure-Seekers Travel Convention.”
“That’s not a rumor. That’s just a fact. I’m the Stewart that gets to go to the travel conventions, and you know it.”
“I know someone else who’s going.”
“A friend of yours? Fantastic. Tell me their name so I can be sure to avoid them while I’m in Sin—”
“Quinn Morgan,” he says with a smirk.
My mouth drops open. What? Why? The last person I want to bump into in Las Vegas is Quinn Morgan.
“ You? What-the fuck-for?”
“My dad’s cycling business. He got us a booth. I’m bringing brochures and—”
“Oh my god, shut up. I don’t care.” I sigh loudly. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”
“Nope.”
“Well,” I say, pushing away from the bar, “it’s a pretty big place. I’m sure you can get lost in it.”
“Is it big enough for both of us?” he asks. “If Alaska’s not, Vegas won’t be either.”
“How about this? If you avoid me,” I tell him, holding out my hand, “I’ll avoid you. Deal?”
He stares at my hand for a second before taking it. When he does, it’s like shaking hands with the Beast from Beauty and the Beast , right down to the veritable thatch of fur on the back of his hairy fucking paw.
“Deal.”
***