Page 21 of Parker

“You good?”

I look to my left and muster a small smile, surprised to find I’m grateful to be sitting next to Quinn and not hiking alone. “Yep. Ready.”

He pulls out of the Visitor’s Center driveway and past a sign that welcomes us to Red Rock Canyon, a National Conservation Area.

“You’ve done this drive before?” he asks me.

“Yep,” I say. “A couple times.”

“Think we’ll make it to the end before dark?”

“It’s possible,” I tell him. “It’s only thirteen miles, so you can do it in forty-five minutes.”

“You mind music?”

“Not at all. I like it.”

He flicks on the radio, which is tuned to a bluegrass station. Surrounded by peaceful desert, with cool, fresh air halving the smell of Clorox in the car, we’re quiet for the first mile or so…until Quinn nudges my elbow with his.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it disgusting?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Or inappropriate?”

He side-eyes me. “You always think the worst of me, Parker.”

“And you rarely disappoint me, Quinn.”

Huffing softly, he slides his elbow from the console we were sharing. “I was just gonna ask why you’re spending your first night in Vegas like this?”

“Like what?”

“Wandering around a park all by yourself.”

“I could ask you the same.”

“And I’d tell you that as excited as I was to come to Vegas, it’s a little overwhelming once you get here.”

“Same,” I say, my voice unusually contemplative for a conversation with Quinn Morgan. “You know, Imostlylike being the Stewart who goes to the conventions, but I’ll never get used to them. We come from a town that has under two thousand people, you know? There are over 650,000 souls in Las Vegas, and most of them baffle me, quite frankly. On the first night of these things, especially…I don’t know…I guess I feel a little homesick. A fish out of water or something.” I pause for asecond, realizing what I’ve shared, and stop myself from saying more. I’m giving him great fodder for future teasing. “Go ahead, Quinn. Make fun of me.”

“Nope. I get it. I agree. I felt the same way. I looked out my window, over the city, with all its concrete and metal, and all I wanted—”

“Was to run away to the red mountains in the distance?”

“Yeah.” He looks over at me and grins. “Exactly.”

Deep dimples and sparkling emeralds.

We go around a sharp, sudden curve, and my stomach flip flops.

I convince myself, in the quiet that follows, that those flutters were just a reaction to the drive, but something deep inside of me, that I really don’t want to acknowledge, whispers that I’m lying.

***

Quinn

I can’t remember a time when Parker Stewart and I sat side by side, in peace, all alone, without exchanging smart-ass comments, and I like it way more than I should. It gives me hope, and as every man who loves a willful woman knows, hope can be a dangerous thing.

So dangerous, in fact, I’m scared to say anything. Scared to do anything. Scared to shatter the moment. I’m scared that one misplaced word or misunderstood inflection could ruin everything, and I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted anything more, in fact, than for this 13-mile loop to go on in companionable silence forever.

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