“You’re such a dork.” I lean into him, shoving him with my shoulder. “Fine, I’ll give.”
“Good, because I think you’re going to love it.”
I look up at his wide smile and shining dark brown eyes and can’t help but agree. “I’m sure I will.”
He unlocks the doors to his fancy-ass BMW as soon as we approach. The dark blue paint glitters beneath the sun and I’m pretty sure he just got it washed, a mistake only a person new to Colorado would make. A native understands that you just give up hope of having a clean car until at least May. Especially when the forecast is calling for snow soon.
“So,” he says as he pulls out of my complex. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot with the holidays coming up. I know Halloween had you nervous. How are you feeling about Thanksgiving?”
Usually this is the kind of topic I try to avoid, but after how amazing he was on Halloween, I’m glad he brought it up. It’s like he somehow understands what I’m going through. I don’t feel like a buzzkill when I talk to him about it like I do when Liv and Marie check in.
“Not great, but not terrible.” I tell him the truth. “Brynn invited me over to her dad’s house for dinner. I guess he goes big for the holidays. And Maxwell’s mom is helping him cook. She said it would be a ‘dinner for all tastes,’ whatever that means. Plus, she told me I could bring Mrs. Rafter and whoever else I wanted to bring, which I’m pretty sure means you.” I laugh thinking about how she didn’t even try to play it cool. “So, if you want to come, I think it might be fun. Unless you already have plans or something.”
“That sounds like fun.” He reaches across the console and squeezes my thigh. “There was one thing I have planned earlier in the day, but I was going to ask you if you’d want to come with me. We could do that in the morning and then go pick up Mrs. Rafter and ride to Brynn’s dad’s together?” His fingers tense on my leg and even though he’s staring at the road in front of him, I can still tell he looks anxious for some reason.
“I’d love that.” I put my hand on top of his, enjoying that we’re in a place where we welcome the other person’s touch. I hope mine can comfort him as much as his seems to comfort me. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“I’m pretty much always thinking about you these days,” he says. “Even when I’m trying not to.”
I couldn’t hide my smile even if I wanted to; his words make me happier than I can remember being in a long time. That undercurrent of guilt I’ve been feeling ever since my meeting with Mahler gets a little bit stronger before I shove it back down. I’m not doing anything wrong. What would be wrong is me making a permanent decision based on temporary emotions. If anyone would understand that, it’s Quinton.
The cold must be keeping people inside today, because the drive downtown goes by in a flash. There wasn’t even any traffic between Broadway and Sixth, which never happens anymore. When we arrive in the heart of downtown, Quinton opens his phone and clicks on a few things before deciding to park in a partially empty parking lot on Twentieth.
“Where are we going?” I ask as Quinton guides us through the people on the sidewalks. I figure since we are downtown, the chances of us staying outside are slim to none, thank goodness, but now I’m even more curious about how his outdoorsy look was a clue.
“We’re almost there.” We round the corner and he points to a door. “What do you think?”
It takes a second for the words on the door to register. “Axe throwing?” I shout, startling the poor woman walking her dog as she passes us. “What if I kill you?”
I know I can be dramatic quite often, but seriously. What if I kill him? This seems like a terrible idea.
“You won’t kill me.” He opens the door and walks me inside. “I’m pretty sure they’ve taken the necessary steps to avoid that. It’s going to be fun.”
“I’m not convinced,” I say as we walk up the stairs. “But I’ll give it a go.”
As soon as we reach the top of the stairs, I change my mind. The huge open space is a mix between industrial, artsy, and rustic. The brick walls and exposed air ducts on the ceilings somehow meld perfectly with the long wood tables going down the center of the room and framed art throughout the space. Six cages compiled of wood and metal wire house the bull’s-eyes where people are throwing axes. The outside of each cage has a different mural painted on the wood base, and there is a huge bar boasting local beers at the end of the room.
Other than HERS, it’s one of the coolest places I’ve ever been to.
“Hey, can I help you two?” A man approaches us and his eyes widen just a fraction when he recognizes Quinton, but to his immense credit, he doesn’t say anything.
“Yeah,” Quinton says. “I have a reservation under Quinton for two hours.”
Now it’s my eyes going wide. Throwing axes for two hours? But also, spending time with Quinton for two hours? Yeah, I’m alright with that.
The man, also sporting a plaid flannel shirt and a beard, opens up an iPad and swipes around for a moment. “Quinton for two,” he says. “Right this way.”
He walks across the room to an empty cage in the back, but closer to the bar. “Alright, before we get going, we just need you to sign some waivers and then we have some rules and tips to go over. As I’m sure you can guess, we want to make sure everyone has a fun time and you can’t
