BAILEY

Moments later, we were in Chase’s truck, pulling out from where he’d illegally parked on the street. My brain was still scrambled from the kiss, but I was trying to keep it together for appearance’s sake. He probably kissed girls like that all the time. I doubted it meant anything to him.

I wished I could say the same.

“For the record,” I said, “I’m not clumsy.”

He stole a glance at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Is that why you nearly fell off the curb outside XS?”

“I did a lot of things that were out of character that night.” Apparently, I was still doing them. But I couldn’t blame the alcohol anymore.

“Okay, where to?” Chase signaled left and shoulder-checked, pulling out onto the main thoroughfare.

Momentarily distracted by his large hands gripping the steering wheel and the memory of how they’d felt on my body, I scrambled for an idea, coming up woefully empty-handed.

“I think it’s your turn to decide.”

“Pretty sure I decided last time,” he said. “I was trying to be nice, but now I’m dragging you around wherever I want. Prepare for a wild night of adventure and crime.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to see.”

* * *

After another fifteen minutes, we pulled into the entrance for a natural park area tucked away not far from downtown.

Trees lined the parking lot, stretching out for miles in each direction, their leaves in their full autumn splendor, painting the landscape with burnt orange, umber, and gold. It was breathtaking.

Chase parked and killed the ignition, then grabbed a gray Carhartt from the back seat before getting out and locking the truck. I climbed out and took in the scenery, enjoying the soothing effect the fresh air was having on my frazzled brain. Small talk and physical distance between us on the drive had helped somewhat, but I still hadn’t fully processed that kiss.

I wasn’t sure I ever would. It was the sort of kiss that I’d likely always remember.

Even if it wasn’t real.

“This way.” Chase nodded to the right. We started down a paved pathway into a dense patch of trees painted in rich fall shades, walking close but not touching.

“What is this place, anyway?” I asked, zipping my coat as we walked. It had cooled off significantly since the week before. There was a nip in the air that promised of winter coming.

“The real name is Hammond Park, but people call it End of the World,” he said. “Sometimes I come here to think.”

“Ah, so not often then.”

He grinned, bumping me with his elbow. “Hey, now.”