Quinn closed her eyes, utterly relaxed, her head pillowed on Sam's chest. Between the heat of his body against hers and the gentle caress of the sun on her face, she felt like she was floating in a pool of warm water, more serene and content than she had ever been in her life.

She and Sam lay on a blue gingham blanket, in a grassy corner of the park that was deserted except for a little boy and his father, who were throwing a Frisbee for their dog. Sam was absently stroking her arm, turning his head every now and then to kiss her hair.

"Hey, Quinn?" he said, and she opened her eyes, looking up at the sky.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really, really happy right now."

She smiled and sat up, leaning over him so that she was the only thing he could see, which appeared to suit him just fine. When Quinn bent her neck just enough, her lips hovered right above his. "Me too," she said.

The way Sam was looking at her sent a pleasantly tingly sensation through the pit of her stomach. Sam reached up and gathered the curtain of Quinn's hair in one hand, lightly pushing it behind her shoulder, leaving his palm against her cheek.

A little hum of pleasure slipped out of Quinn's mouth, and Sam grinned, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. Quinn's eyelids fluttered shut again.

Kiss me, she begged silently. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

Sam's hand moved to the back of her neck, exerting a gentle pressure. She responded to it unthinkingly, every fiber of her body raw with this electric sensation.

"Ken and Barbie kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—!"

They broke apart, Quinn balancing on her knees and Sam propping himself up on an elbow. The boy, who had previously been a safe distance away with his father and their Labrador, was now less than five feet away from them, clutching the errant Frisbee that had been blown off course.

Quinn's first instinct was to snap at the kid—she had been so close to kissing Sam that they had been practically breathing the same air—but Sam just smiled at him.

"Hey," he said. "Great dog."

The boy beamed, as if the animal had been entirely of his own making. "Thanks. Her name is Sasha."

"Oh, Sasha," Sam said seriously, nodding. "Yeah, that's a perfect name for her."

This time, the boy positively wriggled with happiness. "I picked it out!"

"Wow!" Sam exclaimed, matching the child's enthusiasm. "Quinn, did you hear that? This kid picked Sasha's name."

"Th-that's awesome," Quinn managed, now so enamored with Sam Evans that she had devoted one part of her mind to spinning fantasies of churches and wedding bands and flowers.

From the path that lead to the rest of the park, the boy's father called out to him. "Lucas! Come on, hon, it's time to go home."

Waving, the boy threw the Frisbee toward his father, right on Sasha's heels as she chased after it.

A breeze sprung up, stirring the detritus of the picnic that had been scattered around them—the plastic wrap that had covered the potato salad, the paper plates and plastic cutlery, the baggies that'd held grapes and Doritos and PB&J sandwiches. One flew directly into Sam's face, plastered over his mouth like a surgical mask.

Laughing, Quinn got it for him, gathering up the trash and stuffing it into a paper grocery bag. She was about to get up to toss it in the waste basket, when Sam grabbed her wrist.

"I think we were in the middle of something," he said, and he leaned forward, kissing her.

Quinn dropped the bag and framed Sam's face with both hands, her lips parting eagerly. Sam, she thought, his name streaming through her mind, erasing all other thought except for the taste of him and the feeling of his arms winding around her waist.

By the time they stopped, clouds had rolled over the sun, thick and gray, and the air smelled of rain. They barely made it back to Sam's truck before the deluge started.

"You know," Quinn said, "I've always thought it looked really romantic in movies when the couple kissed in the rain."

In response, Sam pinned her against the driver's side door and kissed her again.