I meet his gaze, my stomach doing somersaults.
“It’s going to be fun.”
I nod. “What are we going to do?”
“I was thinking we could do an off-roading Jeep tour, and possibly go to the—”
“Oh my God, no. No Jeep tour.” I hold out my arms, which are chalky from all the calamine lotion. “Have we learned nothing about your ideas for adventure? You practically broke your ribs scaling my wall, now we’re covered in rashes because you wanted to hunt down a creature that doesn’t exist.”
He goes quiet, deflating like a sad balloon.
I nudge him gently. “I mean, you have a knack for chaos.”
He thinks several seconds. “What if we take a hot-air balloon ride?”
Uh. No. “Do you have any idea how many balloonscrash?” The statistics are mind boggling! Seriously! Google it!
“Oh!” He perks up again. “Indoor skydiving! You wear a jumpsuit. There’s a giant wind tunnel, and they have instructors. What could possibly go wrong?”
I give him a warning look. “Harris.”
“Fine,” he says, dejected. “We’ll go swimming in my pool.” He sounds so deflated that I laugh. “Mini golf?”
I grin. “I don’t hate that.”
He puffs out a breath of relief. “And maybe after golf, we eat tacos the size of our faces?”
“Sold!” I shout to the ceiling because who doesn’t love tacos the size of their faces?
“Margaritas that come in buckets?”
I kiss his jawline. “You are redeeming yourself so, so quickly.”
“I wanted this trip to be amazing for you,” he murmurs.
I smile against his chest. “It will be because you’ll be with me.”
He kisses the top of my head, his breath warm against my scalp, lips lingering. “You’re kind of my favorite person, you know that?”
I look up at him, eyes sparkling. “Kind of?”
I can feel him grinning as he says, “Okay, definitely.”
My shoulder itches, but I resist the temptation to scratch it, content to be in his arms. I love that he’s holding me, this moment is so—
“What about riding a mechanical bull?” he interrupts.
I groan. “Stop.”
Epilogue
Lucy
I’ve been in Arizona for exactly forty-eight hours, and here are the important things I’ve learned:
The sun here is not messing around. It will burn you to a crisp faster than Harris can demolish a plate of nachos.
