In less than two hours they reached the south entrance. It was August, and the park was hot and crowded. It took another hour to get through the entrance and twenty minutes more to find parking. By the time Joy tucked her Bug between an Escalade and a Prius, Dylan was ready to bail and hitch a ride back to Flagstaff, that or grab the wheel and drive them to Albuquerque. He didn’t have a gig that night, but he hadn’t expected to spend a better part of the day on a side trip.

He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly.

Repeat.

“You okay?” Joy eased the windows up.

“All good, why?”

“No reason other than the death grip on the door handle.”

He released his grip and flexed his fingers. Fucking crowds. He hated them.

The convertible top cranked up and dropped into place. Joy flipped the latch. Dylan did the same on his side, locking the top into place. She cut the engine. “I only want to check out a lookout or two; then we can go.”

Thank fuck.

Dylan caught himself before he victory punched the air. He didn’t want to be that guy: the dick passenger Joy couldn’t wait to unload at the next stop.

“Sounds great,” he said with forced cheeriness. He pasted on a smile.

“Have you been here before?”

“Three times.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

He frowned. “Explains what?”

“Why your face looks like someone sucked the fun out of you.”

Dylan sheepishly grinned. “You caught me.”

“I’ll make this quick, promise.” She opened her door.

He laid a hand on hers to stop her. “Don’t rush, not on my account. You won’t see views like these anywhere else in the world. Take the time you want. I won’t complain.” He winked.

He’d just winked, like Matthew McConaughey in a rom-com. Who did that? Him, apparently.

But Joy didn’t seem to notice. She was looking at their hands.

Dylan’s gaze followed. Her skin was warm, soft under his calloused fingertips.

Too warm and too soft and too tempting.

It made him want to touch other parts of her. Was her cheek just as soft? Those delicate lips as smooth as they looked?

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get a grip.

She was nothing more than a means of transportation to get him to New York, and his muse for a new song. He’d best remember that.

Dylan removed his hand, his look apologetic. He shouldn’t have touched her like that. They had a great conversation at the bar after his performance last night, but he’d met her less than twenty-four hours ago.

Joy rubbed her hand where Dylan’s had been. She didn’t seem to be aware she was doing it as she said, “I don’t want to stay that long, really. We’ll walk around a bit, get some lunch, then go.”