Side Trip(21)

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.”

“Let’s do this.” Dylan thrust open the door with the sudden urge for fresh air and to put some distance between them.

Wisely, Joy swapped her blindingly white sneakers for running shoes. They purchased waters and snacks, then backtracked to the Travelview Overlook. From there they walked along the Rim Trail.

Every twenty steps or so, Joy paused to take photos. She snapped pictures of the view, of the birds pecking at trash, and of the people walking around them.

“They’re interesting.” She shrugged when he pulled a face. Taking pictures of strangers was weird.

She also took selfies. Lots and lots of fucking selfies.

How many photos did she need of herself?

“I delete most of them,” she said when she caught him watching her.

Dylan showed her his palms and shot a whatever-floats-your-boat look.

She handed him her phone once and asked him to take her picture. She never offered to take his, or for them to take one together, and that bothered him. It shouldn’t, but it did.

They reached Mather Point. The view was impressive, but Joy didn’t seem impressed. She didn’t even look down. She leaned on the rail and swiped her palm up her forehead and into her hair, which she’d wrenched into a high ponytail. It had lost its swishiness and looked limper than a wet noodle. She still looked cute to him.

“It’s hot,” she muttered.

Like a mother, Dylan wanted to add.

“Gorgeous view, though.” He leaned on the rail beside her and caught a whiff of her perspiration and a hint of perfume. Something light and floral. It suited her.

“Judy would have loved it.”

He frowned, surprised at the mention of Joy’s sister. What prompted that? He wanted to ask about her, but Joy looked bored. He thought about telling her that the colors were amazing. Yes, it was hazy. But those colors were going to pop at sunset and blow her mind. He almost suggested that they hang around, but he held his tongue. Crowds irritated him, and she was set on getting to Albuquerque at a reasonable hour. Something about having to call the fiancé before dark. Like a freaking check-in curfew.

Dylan angled his body so that he faced her more than the view that she wasn’t even looking at. She also didn’t look bored—he’d been wrong. Her face was drawn, a pronounced pucker between sculpted brows his finger itched to trace. Her mind was far from the canyon yawning below them. He had a pretty good idea where it was.

“Tell me about her,” he dared asking, his tone gentle.

Joy’s head snapped up. “Who?”

“Your sister. What was she like?”

A flicker of fear skittered across her blue eyes, chased by something else. Guilt? He wasn’t sure. It was gone in an instant, but not before it tugged something inside of him.

Engagement ring be damned. He tucked a wisp of hair undulating like an inflatable tube man behind her ear.

“You miss her.”

“Every single day. She wanted to see this view. I wish she could have.” She gave him her phone. “Will you take my picture again? Last one.”