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“Thank you for today,” I say, meaning it more than she knows. “I needed this.”
“Me too.”
We stand there, neither moving to leave. Justine fidgets with her key card, turning it over in her fingers.
“I’d invite you in, but the girls are probably in there and . . .”
“It’s okay, I’m gonna go catch up on the sleep someone roused me from earlier.” I wink, letting her know it’s all good.
“I had fun today,” she says, her voice soft in the hallway.
“Me too. You’re a pretty great tour guide.”
“I have hidden talents.”
“Not so hidden anymore.”
She smiles, removes her beanie and works her fingers through her hair. “I like this version of you. Relaxed. Happy.”
“I am happy,” I realize, saying it aloud for the first time in months. “I didn’t think I would be again, not so soon.”
“Happiness isn’t linear,” she says. “It comes and goes, sometimes when you least expect it.”
“Pretty wise for someone your age.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not that much younger than you.”
“A decade isn’t nothing.”
“Nine years,” she corrects. “And age is just a number.”
“Is that what you tell yourself when you hang out with this old man?”
Justine laughs, then grows serious. “I’ve never thought of you that way. As old, I mean.”
“No?”
“No.” She meets my gaze directly. “I think of you as Quinn. Just Quinn.”
The air between us charges with unspoken words. I notice how close we’ve drifted, the distance between us now halved. Her hand still fiddles with her keycard and without thinking, I reach for it and study the intricate henna design.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, voice low.
She shakes her head. “It just feels . . . warm.”
“These words,” I murmur. “I think I wrote them about you.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You did?”
I nod, unable to deny it any longer, even to myself. “At some point, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t see . . .” I can’t bring myself to say Nola. It’s like my mind has shut that chapter of my life and sealed it tightly.
Justine leans closer, her hand turning to catch mine. Our fingers intertwine, the henna pressing between our palms like a secret we’re both keeping.
“Quinn,” she whispers, and my name has never sounded so right.
I lean forward, drawn by something I can’t fight anymore. Her eyes flutter closed, and I can feel her breath on my lips.
The sound of Justine’s name pulls us apart. I turn to see Wynonna and Priscilla coming down the hall, arms full of bags.