Page 54 of Just One Moment

Chuckling, he nods against the top of my head. “Yeah, honey, forever.Atleast, until we run out of food.”Iwant to protest when he pulls away, but it dies on my lips whenIspot the small picnic laid out to our left.Forsuch a “last minute” change of plans, he sure is prepared.Welower onto the dark red plaid blanket, sitting among containers of food and a thermos.

Thegifts and surprises he keeps on treating me with are just the cherry on top, but even without them, this would be one of the best days of my life.

“Hey,Graham?”

“Yeah,Quinn?”

Isettle on my knees in front of him, and he pauses what he’s doing, hands hovering above the two plastic mugs he’s setting out. “Thisday is one for the record books.Itmight just be one of my favorites.”

Hisshoulders relax, like he was waiting for me to say something negative, andIhate that he’s always anticipating the worst.He’sclearly planned out this entire day—despite having a few hours to prepare for it—yet, he still thinks so low of himself.

“I’mgladIcould be here for it,” he replies and gets back to his task.Whenhe unscrews the lid of the thermos, the smell of apple, cinnamon, cloves, and citrus blows with the wind.

“Ohboy, you’ve pulled out the big guns here.Changingleavesandapple cider, you spoil me.”

Weget comfortable, sharing sandwiches, a slice of apple pie, and hot cider as we look out at the horizon.It’sa little chilly, but the late afternoon sun and spiced drinks warm us up.Oncewe finish eating, we prop ourselves back on our hands, side by side, and enjoy the view.

Aftera while,Ihave an itching to break the silence, if only to get to knowGrahama little more. “Youand your family came out here a lot?”

“Yeah; camping, hiking, fishing, you name it.Ourdad loved the outdoors, and wanted to make sure we all knew how lucky we were to have this,” he gestures in front of him, “on our doorstep.Dadwas born and raised inSuttonBay, and it’s kind of hard to imagine myself living anywhere else.”

“Hesounds like a really great man.”

“Hewas.”Grahamswallows but doesn’t stop talking, and although his expression is tainted with sadness, there’s no mistaking the love and adoration in his tone when he talks about his late father. “Hewas a really smart guy, always listened to us, and made sure we felt valued and loved.Allof us kids are very different, but he seemed to know exactly what we needed.Iwas, um, a quiet kid, to say the least.”

“There’snothing wrong with that.Wedon’t all need to be the same.”

“Hmm.Itmade making friends hard andIstruggled a little with how to navigate and communicate my emotions, butDadhelped me.”Hepauses and contemplates what to say next. “Whatare your parents like?”

Whenhe asked about whereIwas raised a couple of weeks ago,Ishut down, hating that my years inSanDiegowere ever part of my timeline.Notall childhoods are happy, and it doesn’t make me jealous ofGraham—it makes me grateful for the lifeIhave now.

Myhead falls back, andIfollow the path of an airplane. “Idon’t know if you could call them parents.Orparent.”Helooks at me in question. “Ididn’t know my dad.I’mnot really sure my mom knew him either.Ifhe was one of the lowlifes she associated herself with, it’s probably for the best thatIdidn’t.Youalready knowIgrew up inSanDiego, butIleft the momentIcould; the dayIturned eighteen, actually.”

Hedoesn’t ask why.Ithink he wants to…or maybeIwant to tell him?Ihaven’t told many people this story, andIusually fill in the gap of my childhood with stories about my travels in myvan.Itfeels safer, but something aboutGrahammakes me feel protected, andIknow he won’t pass judgment on my history.

“Mymom wasn’t a nice woman.Probablystill isn’t, butIwouldn’t know.Wehaven’t spoken sinceIleft.I’mnot sure she ever wanted to have children, though, if she did, she made it very clear she pulled the short straw in having me.Regretwas a common theme in our relationship.”Igive him a forced smile. “Idon’t share this for pity, by the way.Itrust you andIwant you to know.Nosecrets.”

“Iwould never pity you,Quinn.I’msorry you were dealt that hand of cards.”Heturns his torso to face me and shakes his head slowly. “Idon’t know how anyone could have regrets when you’re involved.Mayberegret in not knowing you, but not regret in having you in their lives.”

Myhand inches closer to his, our fingers a hair’s breadth apart, butIworry ifItake his hand, the tears stinging behind my eyes will be set free. “Igrew up dirt poor, sharing a one-bedroom trailer with a woman who despised me.Simplethings like food, clean clothes, and running water weren’t just a necessity, but a privilege.Kidswere unkind because my clothes were dirty, and my shoes were two sizes too small.Allof that would have been okay ifI’dhad a mother who loved and cared for me.AsIgot older, my mom found more ways to poison my mind with her insults.Commentsabout my weight, having no friends, calling me out on my failures.Icould have survived the poverty, butIknewIwouldn’t survive her.Theplan was to finish high school, get my diploma, and leave town at the beginning of the summer.Plansfall through, though, and the day before my eighteenth birthday, her slaps turned to punches.”

Grahamsucks in a sharp breath, and his limbs go rigid at my admission, but he remains quiet.

“She’dslap me around now and again, but she preferred to use words.I’mnot even sure she knew my birthday was comingup, thanks to the liquor.I’dforgotten to clean the dishes or something—whatever it was apparently warranted her fist to the side of my face.”Grahamlaces our fingers together, the point of contact helping me find the courage to continue.Myvoice trembles asIretell the worst day of my life out loud for the first time in years. “Sheknocked me unconscious.Idon’t know how longIwas out for, but she left me on the dirty kitchen floor and must have wasted half a bottle of gin pouring it over me.Myribs were bruised and there were scratches on my face whenIwoke up.Afterthat,IknewIhad to leave.Ididn’t want her to have any power over me anymore.SoIleft.ThemoneyIhad been saving got me as far asSalem—whereIstayed for a couple of years, before buyingNellyand hitting the open road.”

Hisfingers run over my knuckles, silently comforting me.

Mostpeople look at me differently whenIshare that side of my life.Butwithout those pages to my story,Iwouldn’t be the womanIam today.AndmaybeIwouldn’t be here, upon this rock, withGraham.

“Quinn,” he says softly.

Iturn my head, and despite my painful retelling, the smileIgive him is genuine. “Mm-hm?”

Graham’spresence is like a balm to my soul.Withoutspeaking, he soothes and settles, though his next words warm me from the inside out, starting deep in my chest. “Ican’t begin to imagine how hard that would have been for you, andI’mso sorry you had to go through that.Thefact you’ve come out the other side as this beautiful, incredible, vibrant woman, never letting those memories tear you down, is…I’min awe of you,QuinnJackson.Ihope you know that.”

“Ido now.”Isqueeze his hand.

Witha squeeze in return, he smiles.Thegolden hour paints him like the ember leaves below.Nicedoesn’t begin to cover what this day means to me.Inever would have guessedthat a simple arrangement like ours could bring us together like this.

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