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“We’re not done yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re going to stay here for a couple of days.”
“Yeah?” I ask, unable to contain the excitement in my voice.
“Yeah,” he replies, returning my smile, but looking a lot more mischievous than I.
“What are you up to?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile.
“What makes you think I’m up to something?”
“That shit-eating grin is a dead giveaway,” I reply, shaking my head and elbowing him in the ribs.
He clutches his side dramatically, laughing. “Vicious, Red. You need to come with a warning.”
I laugh because it’s kind of ironic, as that’s exactly how I feel about him.
Quinn stops in front of a huge building while I continue walking on in my own little world. However, when he doesn’t follow and his hand snags in mine, I turn at the waist to look at him.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, watching him tip his head to the side as if examining the mammoth white hotel in front of him.
“Just checking out our hotel,” he replies, not looking at me as he lets go of my hand and crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“What?” I ask, stunned, mimicking him and gazing up at the beautiful building before us. “We’re stayinghere?”
“Yes, we are.”
“But we can’t stay here,” I say, looking at the snobbish people pulling up to the sidewalk in their expensive cars.
“Why not?”
Pondering his question, I know the answer lies in Hank being placed into the ground tomorrow. A hole six feet under that could not provide him warmth or comfort like our ritzy hotel. So why doIdeserve something as extravagant as this?
I don’t.
“I don’t des—” I begin, but Quinn cuts me off by placing his finger over my lips.
“Do I need to gag you? Or carry you over my shoulder again?”
I know he’s not kidding as I vividly recall the memory of being carried, kicking and screaming, over his shoulder in South Carolina. However, I open my mouth, but Quinn shakes his head, his finger still poised on my lips, warning me not to speak.
“You’re so bossy,” I muffle from under his finger, and he cocks an eyebrow.
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Flushing a bright scarlet at his admission, I feel he is speaking about something entirely different.
“C’mon, Red.” I take his outstretched hand, realizing my nickname has just taken on another meaning.
As we stroll up the covered walkway to the foyer, we get the worst sideway looks from patrons walking toward us. One lady with a peacock feather in her big floppy hat curls her lip up at me in disgust, leaning into her husband’s arm to prevent any accidental touching.
I look down at my tattered blue jeans, which have a small hole in the knee, and my sloppy striped sweater, which hangs off one shoulder, and suddenly, I feel inadequate.
“Don’t change who you are for people who don’t even know who they are. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”
“You know, you can be really sweet when you want to be.” I was touched, looking over at him as the kind concierge holds the glass door open for us.
