Page 77 of Parker

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 justareoraren’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 reallycontroltheir 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 sinceI 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 metime 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.

---