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“It’s so nice to meet you,” Quinn says, shaking both of their hands.
“You too!” Lottie says, and I can tell by her smile that she likes Quinn already. “I love your outfit. That top is so cute.”
“Oh, thanks,” Quinn says and seems caught off guard by the compliment.
I wonder why? She’s beautiful. She has to know that.
“Are we ready to go on some rides?” Anson asks with a huge grin, and he grabs Lottie’s hand, pulling her along beside him.
“You look beautiful,” I whisper down to Quinn, and she smiles.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what to wear. I think I tried on ten different outfits,” she admits, and I smile.
It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who was a little nervous and anxious for our date tonight.
I’m dressed similarly to Quinn in jeans and a sweater, but my sweatshirt is black, and hers is a pale pink. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail that swishes between her shoulder blades with each step.
Her cheeks are a little flushed from the cool evening breeze, and her pretty green eyes are bright and filled with happiness as she looks around.
“I’ve never been here before,” she tells me, and I’m surprised.
“Didn’t you grow up here in Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, but my parents didn’t really take me on trips down to the pier… or the beach,” she says, looking over the side of the pier at the waves crashing down on the shore.
“Where did you go instead?”
“Paris or London. Anywhere that was deemed the next It spot. Though they stopped taking me with them when I was about eight, so I don’t really remember the trips.”
“What happened after you turned eight?” I ask.
“I was sent to boarding school.”
“Oh, right. Did you like boarding school?”
“It was fine. It was kind of a lot like being home,” she admits.
“How so?”
“I was alone,” she says quietly, and I tense, my hand reaching for hers to try to offer comfort.
“I’m sorry, Quinn.”
“It’s fine,” she says, waving me off.
I still want to talk about it, but Lottie and Anson turn back to us then. I can see that Quinn is grateful for the interruption, so I decide to let it go. I should be keeping things light between us anyway.
“What should we go on first?” Lottie asks.
“What are you allowed to go on?” I ask her, and Quinn frowns.
“What?” Quinn asks, and Lottie smiles at her.
“I’m pregnant, and these two are determined to keep me from having fun. I can go on the Ferris wheel and play the games,” she insists, pulling her black hair over one shoulder.
“Okay, Ferris wheel it is then,” Anson says, leading us that way.
We join the end of the line, and I turn to face Quinn.
