Page 87 of Between the Lines

I pull into the scenic overlook and turn off the engine.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh.”

She’s already out of the car, leaving the door open. I chuckle and exit, too. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous.” She’s looking at the glittering expanse of Los Angeles. It spreads as far as the eye can see, disappearing to the west into a solid blackness of the ocean. “We’re higher in elevation than your house.”

“Yes. Much higher.”

She leans back against the hood of my Jeep. Her eyes are trained on the city far below us.

“This all feels like a fever dream,” she says. “This place. That restaurant. Your house. All of it.”

“Is it a good dream?”

She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. “Yes. I never saw LA like this the last time I was here. There’s so many things I never did.”

“What have you not done?”

“I haven’t surfed. I never hiked up these mountains. Um… that observatory? I’ve never gone over to check it out.”

I open the trunk and find the bag of spare hiking clothes I keep in here. “Griffith,” I call.

“Yes. That’s it. I haven’t been there yet.”

“We’ll go,” I promise her and pull out a blue hoodie. “We’ll hit the Getty, too. And I’ll take you surfing.”

I hand her the sweater. She looks at it for a moment before smiling. “Thanks.”

“It’s cool at this time of night.”

“Yup.” She pulls it over her head and slides her arms into the sleeves. They’re too long, falling to cover her hands completely. Fabric pools around her, and she sighs a little. Like she’s content.

The sight is too fucking cute.

“And the ocean. I haven’t been out on it,” she says softly.

“Well, Chaos, we’ll have to solve that, too.” The family house in Malibu is mostly empty these days. Mom is there sometimes, but, mostly, she stays up in Sonoma. She’s found a new group of friends there. A slower life. I think it’s been good for her. “It wouldn’t be hard at all.”

Her lips curve a little. There’s an expression on her face like she doesn’t believe me, but is indulging me nonetheless.

I mean every word.

I lean beside her on the Jeep. She looks at me, and then she jumps up onto the hood. She justbarelymakes it, and I’m there immediately, hands on her thighs to push her back up.

“Whoops,” she says.

“You good?”

“Yes. It was higher than I thought.” She leans back, resting her hands behind her on the windshield. She’s now as tall as me. Her face is only an inch or two higher. “Do you come up here a lot?”

“Some months more often than others,” I say. There had been days—when my father’s court trial was imminent—after spending fifteen hours at the office and with lawyers and accountants, I would buy food and drive up here around midnight. It felt like the only time I could breathe.

The only time I could relax.

“It’s a beautiful place,” she says. Her voice turns teasing. “You probably take all your girls up here.”

“I’ve never taken anyone up here.”

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