Quinn

There have been a lot of new marketing ideas for Honeywood Fun Park since our park sold to a larger company. New rides, refurbishments of old ones, even adding waffles to the existing breakfast menu. But this idea—the one where I’m standing beside a parade float—was not one I was prepared for.

The giant platform on wheels is covered in steel and chicken wire. It’s loaded down with smelly roses and moss made to resemble Honeywood Forest. And smack dab in the center is a raised platform with a latticed archway, waiting for Queen Bee and Ranger Randy.

“I’ve gone eleven years without standing on a moving vehicle at this park,” I say, shaking my head at Honey. “Why are we trying to kill me now?”

My boss and mentor, Honey Pleasure, pats down the big fluffs of moss and gives me a low, wicked cackle.

“All successful parks have Opening Day parades,” she says.

“We’re already a successful park,” I respond.

“And we’re gonna be skyrocketing to fame after this,” Honey says.

“Where’s Landon?” I ask, turning on the spot. She catches me with her arm.

“Nah ah ah, Queenie. You’re getting on this parade float whether you like it or not.”

“Am I not allowed to be concerned? We don’t know where Ranger Randy is.”

“He’s just doing security stuff. Stop trying to cause havoc.”

“Me?” I ask with wide eyes. “What about you?” I point at the loose moss now hanging over the side. “Stop messing with the float.”

She purses her red lips at me. “I just want it to be perfect.”

“So do I, but it’s just moss.”

“And was the crown yesterday was just a crown, was it? Miss ‘it’s too crooked’?”

I huff out air. “Whatever.”

I cross my arms, but immediately lower them so I don’t wrinkle my gown’s bodice.

Honey and I are a mess together, but surprisingly a functional one. We’re both perfectionists in different ways and unhinged in others. We balance each other as co-producers for Honeywood’s theater department and, as much as she grinds my gears, she’s also my old woman fairy godmother that I wouldn’t exchange for the world.

I gesture to the float. “This is all your fault, by the way.”

“Bah, it made the shareholders happy, and you know it.”

I grumble something under my breath just to have a grumble come out.

Another voice, a much more comforting one, booms a few yards away.

“Alright, we’re ready to go!”

There’s my ranger.

I turn on the spot to see Landon coming around the corner on the trail where our floats are parked. He’s decked out in his Ranger Randy gear, head to toe gorgeous with his shirt stretched across his broad chest and short shorts that show off his massive thighs.

He tosses me a quick wink before leaning down to his walkie talkie strapped to his chest.

“Fire breathing dragon is here,” he announces over the line.

“And Quinn?” Fred’s scratches back through the walkie.

Landon’s eyes rove over me, pausing at his favorite areas on my chest and waist, before pressing the walkie’s button again.

“Her Majesty is ready and looks impeccable,” he says.

Landon walks over to me with a cheeky smile. I desperately want to touch him and, thankfully, now as his girlfriend and fictional Queen, I get to do whatever I like.

I reach out to grab his hand as it trails to my waist, but before we can step closer Honey pushes herself between us.

“Nope, up you go!” Honey says, patting my dress and corralling me toward the float.

It’s probably for the best. We have a hard time keeping our hands off each other lately. The butterflies—or flesh-eating moths, however you like to see them—haven’t disappeared in the last seven months.

Landon follows me to the back of the float, holding out his palm to help me up the ladder partially concealed by roses. But before I can take his hand, he trails a thumb along my cheek.

“Oh, you’ve got…”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” I say. I rub my own thumb over what is most likely unblended blush.

I was in a rush this morning. I spend most nights at Landon’s house. After he cleared out a section of his closet for me, I haven’t really left. But my Queen Bee items, including the costume makeup, was still at my house with Lorelei. Landon and I had to hurry and retrieve it this morning. The detour almost made us late. It also meant I rushed putting on my makeup in the truck, and I probably look like a five-year-old playing with their mother’s Sephora stash for the first time. Thank God I’m only being seen by guests at a distance today.

Landon holds out his palm again and I’m lifted onto the platform. He climbs up after me.

“Last parade,” he says with his dimpled grin.

“Landon, this is our only parade.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sentimental about it, alright?”

I twist my lips to the side, and he laughs.

“I won’t tell anyone you are too,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“Sure, you’re not, Barb.”

He knows me too well. I am a little sentimental.

This will be the first season I am longer performing as Queen Bee. Since last fall, I’ve been on staff as a stage manager, writer, and really whatever else Honey needs me to be. So, in a meeting where we were deciding the logistics of our very first park parade, my boyfriend, kindest soul alive, and general meddler in life, raised his hand and said, “I think Quinn should be in the first parade. Almost like saying her farewells to Queen Bee.”

Fred immediately teared up at the suggestion.

“No, let’s not,” I said with a laugh. “Come on.”

“Oh, you’re definitely doing it,” Lorelei said. “That’s adorable.” If I recall, she was patting at her eyes too.

I waited until I was out of the conference room before letting myself smile about it. I’ve played this character for years, and I love the Queen. She’s like extension of me—a less irritated one—but a person I see in the mirror regardless. Farewells might be a bit cheesy but, somehow, I’m okay with that. Not that anyone else needs to know, though.

Landon wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me in. I instinctually sink against him like an old habit.

“I promise I’ll make this day magical for you,” he whispers.

I snort. “You really don’t have to.”

“But I will.”

He’s already been trying to make it special. I woke up to roses. He made me his personal recipe for pancakes. He rushed me home to get my Queen Bee stuff (okay, that part was less than magical). And he kisses me in my favorite spot—in the dip of my neck—every time we walk into the same room, like a welcome mat to the center of his soul.

“You’re being too sweet,” I say with my lips shifted to the side.

Landon grins.

“I’m being just the appropriate amount of sweet, thank you,” he responds.

Lorelei’s voice comes through the walkie on Landon’s chest. “The bear is leaving the station!”

My eyes meet Landon’s, and we exchange smiles. His is more gorgeous than mine by a long shot.

“Ready?” he asks.

A sound of cranking blasts from up ahead.

We both laugh.

“If Buzzy’s ready, I’m ready,” I say.

The first float is a giant animatronic Buzzy the Bear, complete with a moving arm dipping into a honey pot. Honestly, it’s kind of delightful.

Delightful? Who even am I?

After a few moments, our own float jolts to life. Landon reaches out for my arm as I try to find my footing in heels. We roll forward, and I stumble to the edge of the platform.

“Good lord, don’t you dare let me fall,” I say.

“Never again,” Landon says with a dimpled grin, leaning down to brush his lips over the column of my neck, nuzzling into the crook of it.

I roll my eyes with a smile.

We turn the corner onto the main parade route, and the show starts. An orchestral arrangement from the Honeywood movie echoes through the park speakers. I cup my palm in Landon’s, and we wave to the crowd in our elegant, royal fashion.

The parade exits the forest, wrapping around Bumblebee’s Flight and down past Little Pecker’s Joyride. At one point, Landon dances with me, twirling me out then back in, and dipping me low to the ground. It initiates what I think are claps from the guests, but I can barely hear them over the music.

Our float turns the corner onto the midway. It’s the home stretch of the parade route, right in the center of the park. Landon looks over at me and I can’t help but smile back. It’s impossible to not be entranced by those eyes. The heart-stealing jerk.

“Your make-up really is messy today,” Landon says with a chuckle.

Okay, more like heart-crushing jerk.

I bark out a laugh and point a playful finger. “Watch it, mister.”

“It’d be better if you had your makeup bag with you in the first place.”

“No need to make me feel worse.”

He laughs, grabbing my hand, twirling me out then back in again.

“I’m not making you feel worse,” he says. “Just stating how easy it would be if you had all your stuff at my place.”

Then it hits me what he’s implying. My stomach drops.

“Wait, what—”

He places a hand on my waist before dipping me low.

“I’m asking you to move in with me,” he whispers.

My eyes flutter shut, but only to steady my beating heart.

I breathe in Landon’s glorious vanilla cologne with its mix of other scents. Seven months ago, it was cedar. Even a couple months ago, it had the wintery scent of gingerbread and cinnamon. But now he smells like fresh pine—like spring. It’s as if his natural scent changes with the seasons, like no matter what time of year it is, he will always fit. He will always smell like home.

“Quinn?”

“Yes,” I say, opening my eyes as I reach up to cup his jaw in my hands. “Yes, I want to move in with you.”

He smiles back and presses his lips against mine. He tastes like all the comforts of Cedar Cliff and Honeywood and happiness. And when we pull apart, I let out a small hmm.

“I was tired of driving back and forth anyway,” I say. “I really wanted convenience.”

He laughs.

“Well, I really wanted you.”

“Okay well now I just sound like a jerk.”

“No, my queen, you sound practical,” he says. “And it’s one of my favorite parts about you.”

“Oh, you.”

Landon pulls me back to my feet, and we continue waving to the audience. We occasionally steal glances. A slow smile spreads over his face when we do, and I find my own smile growing with his.

“Does today pass as magical enough?” he asks.

My heart feels like it can’t get fuller, as if having any more warmth might set me aflame. But I’d burn for Landon Arden any day.

“Yeah, I think it passes,” I say.

And when our lips meet under the latticed archway, it is exactly that.

Magical.