Chapter 1: Holden Had a Point, Didn't He?

Dinosaurs. Fucking dinosaurs. Why did it seem like so many people found them so freaking interesting? Not cool, per se. Just interesting. The things lived millions of years ago, for God's sake. How could they possibly still be relevant? How could anything from history still be relevant? What's in the past should stay in the past, it really should be that simple. Get over it and move on.

Santana heaved a heavy sigh and turned around from the exhibit depicting a skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a roll of her eyes. Straight across from the display was another one; this one portrayed (you guessed it!) even more dinosaurs—a much smaller, seemingly more agile species than the monster Santana had just observed. Not any better, she thought to herself.

Why was she here, alone at the museum, again? Oh, that's right: because her long-time girlfriend had ditched Santana for some guy. Some guy who they had known since high school; meaning that Santana knew just how annoying and immature he was. So of course it made sense to Santana to torture herself by walking around Brittany's favorite place in the world. When they were dating, Santana and Brittany would visit the American Museum of Natural History three times a year, and no matter when they went Brittany always acted like it was her first experience with the place. When they were still in high school and living in Lima, Ohio, they would take a train to New York City simply for the purpose of visiting the museum, so once the girls moved to the city just a few months after graduation, it became much more convenient.

Santana loved to see how excited Brittany would get as soon as they walked into the building; Brittany's piercing blue eyes would light up and she'd grin from ear to ear before dragging Santana towards the dinosaur displays—her favorite part of the museum. Brittany went to the museum to look at all of the models and statues and lifelike replicas of history, even if she didn't fully comprehend them, whereas Santana only went to see how happy the place made her girlfriend.

Until now, that is. Now, Santana was left alone to wander around the halls and floors of the museum. It felt different without Brittany. Sure, Santana was able to take in a great deal more of the information because she was by herself; Brittany had always talked her ear off about one thing or another so Santana had never really had a good chance to actually read the little educational plaques and placards surrounding all of the exhibits. But Santana didn't exactly care about those. She had taken history all throughout high school; she knew everything she needed, or rather wanted, to know about the Civil War and the Great Depression.

Except, now that she was provided with the opportunity to read all of the information, Santana realized just how much she had missed out when she had come with Brittany. And yet, it still didn't change her mind on the matter: history was still irrelevant in the world, and people should just let it go. Focus on today, focus on tomorrow.

Santana narrowed her eyes as she tried to make out the display of the smaller dinosaurs in front of her. Their skeletons seemed to be depicting a fight between the two creatures. She glanced at the information placard: "Velociraptors" it read. It held no significance with Santana; she vaguely remembered Brittany always going on about how she thought they probably would have been cute animals had they still been around.

"You know," a gentle, husky voice from behind Santana began, and it pulled her out of her daydreams, "some people think those things had feathers when they were alive."

Santana turned around slowly to appraise whoever the voice belonged to and felt her breath catch in her throat almost instantaneously: a tall, slender girl stood staring at Santana with a trace of a smile on her lips. Her blonde hair was pin-straight and fell to just below her shoulders. She wore a simple white sun dress with a red, button-up sweater over it, and she looked to be around Santana's age. But Santana hardly even acknowledged those features of the girl. She was captivated by her eyes: they were an impossible shade of smoldering hazel, and Santana could see the golden specks in them even from a few feet away. They sparkled brightly, but they seemed to hold a depth in them, as if they contained a whole other world or universe.

The girl's intense gaze made Santana wriggle self-consciously and she then realized the blonde had made a comment about the dinosaurs. Stupid, fucking dinosaurs.

"Oh?" Santana managed to finally rasp. It was lame, and she knew it, but it was all Santana could get out of her mouth. The hazel eyes were doing some heavy damage to her thoughts.

The girl nodded and took a few steps forward so she was standing next to Santana. Her eyes drifted to the exhibit, and Santana turned her own head slightly to look at the blonde. Their shoulders were mere inches from each other and Santana kept her body facing in the opposite direction as the girl started again.

"Yes. Jurassic Park didn't exactly do them justice. Have you seen the movie?" she asked, her eyes flicking to Santana's face. When Santana nodded in response, the girl continued, "The Velociraptors were modeled after a much larger species of dinosaur in the film—that's why they were six feet tall. And they actually didn't even live in North America either. They inhabited what we now know as Mongolia."

"Are you some sort of dinosaur enthusiast?" Santana asked, and she was only half joking. The blonde seemed to really know her stuff.

A wide grin graced the girl's face. "No," she answered as she shook her head, "I just like to read."

"About dinosaurs?" Santana quipped. She pivoted on her heel to face the blonde with a small smile. Now that they were face to face, Santana got an up-close look at the girl: she was an inch or two taller than Santana and had a sharp jawline, and prominent cheekbones; her skin was pale and smooth, and Santana couldn't find an imperfection anywhere. Only one word floated through Santana's mind as she observed her: Gorgeous. She tried to push the thought away, but to no avail.

"About a lot of things," the blonde responded simply, eyes twinkling.

"That's kind of vague," Santana told the girl.

She gave a shrug of her shoulders. "It just leaves a lot up to the imagination."

Santana raised her eyebrows. "And do you make it a habit of yours to approach strangers walking around the museum?"

"Only ones who seem like they're lost." The girl quirked an eyebrow at Santana and abruptly began to stride off in the direction of the "Animals of the Rainforest" gallery.

Santana jumped into action a second later, quickly following after her while the irrational desire to set the girl straight surged through her. "Excuse me, I am not lost. I've been to this place hundreds of times."

The blonde twirled around so swiftly Santana almost ran into her, but stopped short just in time.

"I didn't mean lost in the museum," she said. "I was referring to being lost in life."

"Exactly what makes you so sure I'm lost in life?" Santana inquired.

"Oh, I'm not sure about anything," the blonde answered, "which is why I said I only approach people who seem to be lost."

"Fine, whatever," Santana dismissed quickly, "what made it seem like I'm lost?"

Was it that obvious?

"I passed you earlier today and you had this vacant look in your eyes," the girl responded. "Like you weren't one hundred percent certain why you decided to come here. Like this place holds a lot of memories for you and you weren't sure if you wanted to revisit them." She paused for a second. "Is that accurate in any way?"

Santana opened her mouth to reply, but the words got lost somewhere. Yes, that is accurate. It is spot-on accurate.

"You got all of that just from my eyes?" Santana asked eventually, disbelievingly.

"The eyes are the windows to the soul," the blonde told Santana with a smile.

"Very original," Santana said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

"So I was right?"

Santana shrugged noncommittally but gave no overt confirmation. The blonde seemed to pick up on her correctness, though, because she went on.

"Do you want to talk about?" she asked.

Santana tilted her head in confusion. "Why would I want to talk about it with you? I don't even know you."

The blonde nodded her head as if she had expected Santana's response. "When was the last time you had a conversation with a stranger?"

"Never."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"I'm not telling you my life story."

"I didn't ask for your life story, did I?" the girl countered. "I asked if you wanted to talk about why you're at the museum alone."

"That doesn't excuse the fact I don't even know-"

"Do you know what the best thing about talking to a stranger is?" the blonde cut Santana off. "They don't know enough about you to judge you. They are an unbiased party who will tell you like it is because they can't do anything else."

"Talking to strangers about random, trivial things is borderline weird. Talking to complete strangers about life problems? That's just plain absurd," Santana retorted. She crossed her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow directed at the blonde girl, who extended her hand towards Santana.

"I'm Quinn."

Santana considered her a second longer before shaking her hand, trying to ignore how soft the girl's skin felt against her own—something she greatly failed at. "Santana," she said with a nod.

"Okay, Santana, now that we are on a first-name basis, I don't think we can call ourselves 'complete strangers' anymore," Quinn replied happily, eliciting a small, humorless laugh from Santana.

"If you think that's going to prompt me to pour my heart and soul out to you, you're very much mistaken, Barbie," Santana sneered. She expected the girl, Quinn, to flinch or recoil at the use of a mocking nickname, but she didn't even acknowledge it.

"Alright, it was just an offer," Quinn said, putting her hands up in surrender. "I respect your reservations. It was nice meeting you Santana, and I hope you find your way back from wherever you're lost." She turned around again and began walking away from Santana.

"Wait, that's it?" The words tumbled out of Santana's mouth before she even realized it. She was leaving, you idiot, why didn't you just let her keep walking?

Quinn stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at Santana. "What are you talking about? Of course that's it. You explicitly just told me you don't want to talk. Like I said, I respect that, but I'm not going to wait around for you."

"My girlfriend of three years dumped me for some guy we've been sort of friends with since high school."

Again, Santana had no idea how the words found their way out of her mouth. She didn't want to talk to Quinn—some girl she didn't even know—about Brittany. About anything, really. Yet here she was, having just admitted to the blonde her heartbreak. There was something—something unidentifiable—about Quinn that prompted Santana to talk to her, not caring that it went against Santana's nature. It sent Santana's thoughts into a blur of haze and confusion, even after only a few minutes.

Quinn spun around slowly and walked back towards Santana, halting a few feet in front of her. "I'm sorry," she murmured quietly; it was simple, but Santana could tell the words were genuine.

"Yeah, well," Santana responded as she shrugged it off.

"Why does that bring you to the museum, though? Of all places?" Quinn inquired. "If you don't mind me asking."

Santana stared at her fixedly; the hazel eyes were blazing with something she couldn't quite distinguish, but they also sent a wave of calmness over Santana's body. She couldn't explain it, but Quinn seemed to be looking directly into Santana's mind.

"Umm," Santana began while she collected her thoughts, "I'm not sure, to be totally honest. This was her favorite place. I guess I just thought it would…" She let the rest hang in midair, not exactly knowing how to finish.

"Take you away from reality for a little bit?" Quinn suggested. "Like touching and looking at things she once touched and looked at would bring back an echo of her and make everything okay, even if it's just for a little while?"

"How did you even know that?" Santana demanded, aghast. It was like Quinn had a front row seat to Santana's thoughts. Yes, Santana said to herself, that's exactly what I thought would happen. I just couldn't put it into words like you.

"Lucky guess." A small, sad smile played on Quinn's lips.

"Is that why you're here all by yourself? Because you were just dumped by someone?" Santana challenged with, once again, raised eyebrows.

"Not exactly," Quinn replied somewhat hesitantly. Her eyes dipped down to stare at her hands in front of her.

"Then it's your turn to explain." Santana shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and waited for Quinn to say something. The blonde lifted her head to look at Santana.

"The world's a chaotic place."

Santana furrowed her brow in confusion. "How does that result in you coming to a museum by yourself?"

Quinn bit her lip as she thought about her response. "It all moves so quickly out there," she finally said with a sigh. "Everything and everyone, it's all going a million miles an hour. And most of the time I feel like I can't keep up with it. In here, though, nothing changes. Nothing moves. It's still. You don't get it anywhere else, that stillness."

"You do realize, don't you," Santana started, "you essentially just plagiarized The Catcher in the Rye?"

A surprised look flitted across Quinn's features before she smiled. "You know your classic American Literature, I'm impressed."

"I try," Santana boasted, smirking.

"Well," Quinn continued, "J.D. Salinger is my favorite. Holden had a point, didn't he? I had never looked at museums like he did until I read the book. And now that I have, I completely understand what he meant. It's nice. It's comforting."

"A stillness," Santana repeated Quinn's word quietly. She liked the concept: discovering a place that seemingly put the world on hold. A place that could remove you from reality for a short amount of time.

"Yeah, not such a bad thought once you really consider it, is it?" Quinn teased.

"Alright," Santana yielded, "I have to admit, you have a point. Holden has a point. I like the idea."

"Exactly," Quinn agreed. "And as I said, the museum is the only place I've been able to find the stillness, so I come often."

Santana nodded in understanding. "Do you think more places like it even exist?"

Quinn inclined her head to the side in thought. "I hope so. It would be kind of disappointing if the museum is the only place where true tranquility exists."

"Let me know if and when you find anything like it, will you?" Santana asked, smiling slightly.

"I can do that," Quinn said in affirmation.

A silence fell between the two girls, neither one knowing whether to continue the conversation or to say goodbye.

"So," Quinn eventually started again, drawing out the word.

"Yeah, so…" Santana replied with a nod.

"I guess I'll let you get back to your reminiscing and your alone time," Quinn said.

"What else can you tell me about dinosaurs?" Santana asked suddenly. She didn't know why, but Santana wasn't quite ready for Quinn to leave just yet. Maybe it had something to do with how easy it appeared to be to talk the girl; or maybe it had something to do with the blazing hazel eyes that made it difficult for Santana to think, while also making her heart ache a little bit less.

What the hell? Santana thought as she came across the realization. She had arrived at the museum with a gaping hole in her heart—something she didn't think would ever be repaired. Not for a long while, anyway. But now, after only a few minute conversation with a girl she didn't even know, the aching throb in Santana's chest had dulled a considerable amount. How the fuck did she do that?

"Not much, to be truthful," Quinn admitted in response to Santana's question. "I can, however," she went on with a small smile, "tell you a great deal about both World Wars and the land mammals of North America."

Santana grinned. "That's actually much more my speed. Show me what you got."

It was that simple; they fell in step with one another, aimlessly meandering through the museum and all of its displays and exhibits. Quinn provided Santana with random, fun trivia about whatever they were looking at, and Santana listened interestedly—at first, that is. After a little while, Santana found herself focusing not so much on what Quinn was saying as much as how she was saying it. Quinn's voice was deep, soft, and warm and it seemed like it caressed the words it formed. It sent ripples of calmness and tingles Santana, for what reason she had no clue.

Can you be attracted to someone's voice? Santana wondered internally. Because I think I'm headed down that road.

With Quinn at her side, Santana hadn't felt so peaceful and relaxed in the month that had passed since Brittany broke up with her. The conversation was amicable and flowing, and Santana didn't feel the need to be something she wasn't. Maybe Quinn was right; maybe talking to a stranger can be a good idea from time to time.

Two hours later, when the girls had seen every last display the museum had to offer, they found themselves back at the main lobby. Santana turned to face Quinn, fully intending to compliment her on the wide spectrum of knowledge she possessed—because, seriously, the girl had an impressive mind—when a tall man with a buzz cut, wearing a suit complete with prim and polished shoes, approached them. He inserted himself between Santana and Quinn, and bent over the say something to the blonde. If he was trying to be secretive, he didn't do such a hot job, as Santana heard every word he said.

"Miss Fabray, your father just called," the big guy murmured, "he requested that you be home within the next hour."

"Thank you, Rob, I'll be on my way shortly," Quinn returned after sighing heavily. Her voice had a sudden edge to it, as if she was irritated about something.

The well-dressed man—Rob—nodded in acknowledgement and left Santana and Quinn, the former gawking at the girl standing in front of her. At the mention of Quinn's last name, Santana felt like she had been shocked repeatedly.

"Is everything okay?" Quinn asked as she took in Santana's stunned and confused expression.

"Your last name is Fabray," Santana stated, somewhat in awe.

"That's correct," Quinn answered. She didn't seem to comprehend what Santana was so surprised about.

"Were you ever going to tell me that little tidbit about yourself?"

"I didn't really view it as necessary at the moment, so no," Quinn told Santana.

"Your dad is the governor of New York," Santana said matter-of-factly, and Quinn finally understood the girl's astonishment, but didn't seem to care very much.

"Yep," the blonde deadpanned in an indifferent tone. Santana's jaw dropped at the nonchalance in Quinn's voice.

"He's running for Congress," Santana continued. Everyone in the state knew who Russell Fabray was; his Republican and conservative views were nothing new to the people, and Santana had seen him countless times on the television, addressing one public issue or another. She was aware of Russell Fabray's claim that he was a family man, but Santana could only recall hearing about and seeing one daughter of his—a daughter who most certainly wasn't Quinn, because Santana was absolutely positive she would have remembered Quinn's intense eyes.

"Yep," Quinn repeated.

"And you didn't feel it was necessary to tell me this?" Santana inquired.

"Why would I? Look around," Quinn said, gesturing around the lobby, "do you see my father? No, you do not. Therefore, I didn't deem it necessary to tell you who my father is or what he does."

"But he's…I mean, you're…" Santana stammered, unable to string a comprehensible thought together.

"I am the daughter of the current governor of New York, who just so happens to be running for Congress in the upcoming election," Quinn supplied helpfully, grinning at Santana.

Santana tilted her head to the side, gazing steadily at Quinn. She didn't exactly know how to make what she was thinking sound polite. "I didn't know you…I've never seen…" she stumbled over her words again.

"You didn't know I exist?" Quinn interjected with her brilliant smile still in place.

"Yeah," Santana said lamely and Quinn nodded in understanding.

"That's because my wonderful father has done everything in his power to keep me out of the spotlight," Quinn informed her; Santana got the distinct impression Russell Fabray wasn't the ideal conversation topic for his daughter.

"But why would he do that?" Santana asked. "He's always going on about how he's a family man, and how family means more than anything to him."

Quinn scoffed before replying. "My father 'goes on' about a lot of things. Sure, he has a family; but that does not mean he values it above anything else."

"I'm getting the impression your dad isn't your favorite person," Santana told Quinn with a half-smile.

Quinn paused a moment and bit her lip. "Is this your attempt at getting me to pour my heart and soul out to you?"

"What? No!" Santana exclaimed through a laugh. "I don't know, I just would've guessed you had a really good life, what with your father being who he is and all." Something that resembled distress or pain flickered on Quinn's face, and Santana immediately regretting what she said. "Shit, I'm sorry, that didn't come out how I meant it to." You idiot, how did you mean it, then?

Quinn shook her head quickly. "No, it's okay. I totally get it. You're right, my dad isn't my favorite person. He's the farthest thing from my favorite person, actually."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Santana's smiled as she echoed Quinn's words from earlier.

"'Talking to strangers about random, trivial things is borderline weird. Talking to complete strangers about life problems? That's just plain absurd,'" Quinn also reiterated words already said.

"Hey, you can't keep everything bottled up forever, you know," Santana said to her seriously.

"Oh, is that so?" Quinn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's very so. 'I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind,'" Santana recited. "Do you want that happening to you?"

Quinn nodded her head, impressed. "Edgar Allan Poe—very nice touch."

"Ah, I see you can identify classic American authors just as well as you can quote them," Santana teased lightly.

"I do what I can," Quinn said, shrugging her shoulders and grinning.

"Seriously, though, do you want to talk about it? I wouldn't mind listening," Santana told her. And she wouldn't—mind listening, that is. It was easy talking to Quinn, and the two girls clearly shared a couple of similarities: a love for literature, viewing the museum as somewhat of a sanctuary of sorts. Maybe this particular stranger is worth getting to know, Santana thought to herself.

"I appreciate your offer, but I really don't want to dump all my problems on you," Quinn answered.

"I don't mind, really," Santana insisted.

"You're very persistent," Quinn observed with a giggle, and as she heard it Santana felt her heartrate speed up. It was a sweet sound—breathy, and melodic like wind chimes—and Santana's mind instantly fogged up.

She took a moment to form a coherent thought before responding. "Umm, yes, I am. But I also know what it's like to have a lot on your mind. Stuff kind of just builds up in there and you don't know what to do with it."

"Does talking help solve that problem?" Quinn asked.

"I'm not sure," Santana confessed. "I've heard it does, though. Weren't you the one who asked if I wanted to talk about my feelings first?"

"You seemed like you needed someone to listen to you," Quinn said softly, and Santana was way past wondering how the hell Quinn could pick up on such little, intricate details about someone she didn't even know.

"I guess I did. I do," Santana told her honestly.

"You didn't say very much on the matter."

Santana wanted to steer the conversation away from her own problems at the moment, so she went in another direction. "You've never discussed what's going on in your mind with someone else?"

"There's a lot going on in my mind," Quinn replied swiftly. She appeared to have been prepared for Santana's abrupt subject change.

"So?" Santana countered.

"So, how many people actually want to know what's going on in your head? Most people just ask because it's common courtesy to do so."

Santana had to admit Quinn had a point: not many people care to hear the truth about what's truly swimming through your thoughts. The standard answer to "How are you?" is "Fine" because no one expects you to say how you're really feeling.

"Okay, well, what if I told you I was genuinely interested in what's going on in your mind?" Santana asked.

A small smile formed on Quinn's lips. "I think I would probably tell you."

Okay, she's definitely flirting, right? This whole day she's been flirting…I mean, I think so at least. Oh God, what if she hasn't been flirting? What if I've completely misread everything we've said to each other? Pull yourself together, Lopez, goddamit. Even if she isn't flirting, who cares? She's not that great…is she?

"And why's that?" Santana smiled in return as she attempted to ignore the numerous questions racing through her mind.

"Because, clearly, you've never talked to someone about your thoughts and feelings either."

"So, what? Your thought is that we'd experience it for the first time together?"

"Exactly."

"I don't think discussing thoughts and feelings is exactly something people consider a momentous 'first-time' event," Santana reminded her, even though she was already completely on board with the idea.

"Do you follow everything other people do?" Quinn remarked, smiling broadly now.

"No, I was merely stating a fact," Santana defended.

"Alright, just checking," Quinn said with another chuckle.

"I am genuinely interested in what's going on in your mind," Santana stated suddenly. It was the truth, though; the one, mysterious quality in Quinn struck once again, making Santana want to talk for hours and hours with the girl. She was incredibly sweet, clearly very intelligent, and by no means hard on the eyes—these were the only thoughts moving through Santana's head as she waited for an answer.

Quinn stared back at Santana with eyes that made her feel like she was the only one in the area; like the only thing Quinn could see was Santana.

"The only thing wrong here is, you're assuming I want to tell you what's going on in my mind," Quinn responded.

"Oh," Santana said dejectedly, and she was slightly taken aback at Quinn's response; it wasn't what she had been expecting. "Well, I guess if you don't want to-" Santana stopped when she saw Quinn laughing. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

Quinn composed herself enough to give a reply. "What happened to being so persistent? I didn't peg you for someone who'd give up so easily."

"You don't know me," Santana muttered, looking down at her feet, but she had felt her heart jump excitedly at Quinn's words.

"No, I don't," Quinn agreed. "I'd like to, though."

Okay, definitely flirting. Thank God Almighty, because damn is this girl good looking and smart and funny.

"Really?"

"Really, really," Quinn said, nodding. "In case you couldn't have guessed, I don't normally approach strangers in the museum, but I just really felt the need to today."

"And how does that make you feel now?" Santana asked interestedly, smiling widely.

"Better than I could ever have imagined."

"Man, you're pretty smooth for the daughter of a governor," Santana joked.

"What can I say? It's a gift," Quinn answered.

Santana's confidence, which had wavered somewhat since she started talking with Quinn a couple hours ago, finally made its reappearance. "Well, smooth-talker, New York's a pretty big city, and I don't feel like waiting for God knows how long until we run into each other again, so why don't you do me the favor of putting your number in my phone?" She reached into her back pocket and produced it, offering the phone to the blonde.

Quinn grabbed it with a grin. "Aren't you quite the charmer?" She began tapping on the screen, adding her contact information.

"It's a gift," Santana used the girl's own words against her as she took the phone back from Quinn.

"Are you actually going to call?" Quinn asked, still smiling. "Or are you just going to pretend this entire day never happened?"

"We'll see how I feel in the next few days," Santana told her with a wink.

"Ah, if it's even possible you just got even more charming."

"It's definitely possible," Santana said as she nodded.

"Well, if there's even the slightest chance we're going to get to know each other better, don't you think it would be appropriate for me to know your last name?" Quinn inquired.

Santana narrowed her eyes as she thought about it. "Lopez."

"Santana Lopez," Quinn said, as if trying to see what it sounded like when said out loud, and Santana tried to ignore how much she liked hearing Quinn say her name. "I like it."

"Thanks, my mom gave it to me," Santana responded instinctively, but slapped herself on the forehead when she realized how lame and cliché it sounded. "Wow, I'm sorry. That was an awful joke."

"I thought it was cute," Quinn told her through a small fit of giggles, and Santana's pulse quickened again at Quinn's casual word choice.

"Thanks," she murmured sheepishly.

"Okay, I'm sorry to cut this whole thing short, but I do really have to go now. My dad will be pissed if I'm late. Actually, he's always pissed off about something. I just don't want to push him any farther," Quinn said with a smile.

"That's very understandable," Santana replied, nodding earnestly.

"So…I'll see you around?" Quinn asked, seemingly a bit hesitant.

Santana grinned. "I'd say that's likely."

Quinn's smile turned into a grin of her own before she nodded and turned around to leave the museum. She was just about to push through the revolving door when Santana stopped her by calling out her name; Quinn halted and looked over her shoulder at Santana, a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Thanks for taking a chance on a stranger."

Quinn's grin got impossibly bigger. "Trust me, the pleasure was all mine." And then she was gone.


To be honest, I'm not really sure how to feel about this story. This chapter has been circulating my mind for quite a while now, and I thought I'd just give it a try. Please let me know what you think/if I should continue, etc.!