Chapter Thirty-Eight
Keeley
I’m fine.
I’m totally, completely, utterly fine.
The last moments of lingering twilight fade just as the fairground lights up the night with a million glowing, flashing bulbs that twinkle through the darkness.
The sounds of canned music and the delighted squeals of children high on sugar and adrenaline mingle with the scent of fried dough and cotton candy as Beckett and I go through the motions of a great final date night together.
An excellent date night, in fact.
Beckett pulls me from food stand to food stand, exclaiming over offerings that are strange and wonderful in his eyes, but regular fair food in mine: Funnel cakes, Dole Whip, giant corn dogs on sticks, giant soft serves with jimmies, and of course, deep-fried Oreos.
“Come on.” Becks tugs my hand and pulls us into the lengthy Oreo line-up, wrapping his arm around me and pulling my back against his chest while we wait. His chin comes to rest on my head, and I smile.
“Are you using me as a headrest?”
“I can’t help it that you’re the perfect tiny height to do so.” He chuckles, and I feel the sound reverberate through his chest. “In fact, are they even going to allow you to ride the tilt-a-whirl?”
“Since I was twelve, I’ll have you know,” I squawk indignantly. He kisses the top of my head, and I soak in the sensation of his lips brushing my hair, his body heat warming mine.
I’m fine.
When we finally get the prized Oreo in hand, Becks takes one bite and proclaims it “an atrocity” and “a crime against mankind.”
I laugh and declare him “tastebud challenged” as I eat the rest.
He watches me, wiping a smudge of sugar from the edge of my lip with his thumb.
We play carnival games—Beckett proves to have an excellent arm despite his claims earlier tonight that he’d make for a terrible baseball player—and he wins me a giant stuffed elephant by knocking down a stack of cans. I name him Ernie and declare he’s to be best friends with Bert the capybara.
Beckett threads his fingers through mine. “Wanna ride the Ferris wheel?” He grins at me. “I hear it’s very romantic and cozy and hardly anyone has thrown up on it this year.”
“Dream date, right here,” I tell him, but my heart clenches a little behind my smile.
I’m totally fine.
We board the ride, and as Beckett’s arm tightens around me and the wheel begins to move, the soundtrack in my head switches. I’m fine dissolves into I love him.
I love him I love him I love him I love him.
Those three little words are on a loop, playing on repeat in my mind as we go around.
When the wheel stops at the top, Beckett kisses me softly. So sweetly and tenderly and carefully that, for some mortifying reason, I start to cry.
And, like, not a pretty, dainty cry. This is floodgates opening.
“I never cry,” I tell Beckett, furiously swiping away the tears. “Not even when I have terrible PMS.”
“It’s okay to cry,” he replies, gently placing his thumbs under my eyes to swipe away my mascara stains. He smiles. “Even when you’re PMSing.”
“I’m kind of a more wanting to burn the world down PMSer,” I confess.
Beckett smiles at me like I’m the center of the entire universe. “Why doesn’t that surprise me for a second?”
“Because you know me,” I say with a snort-hiccup-cry-laugh, and he draws me close.
He doesn’t ask me whether I’m okay, or what’s wrong, like he can somehow sense what I need in this moment—not to talk, to just feel what I’m feeling. He lets me snuggle into his chest and cover him in snot and tears and mascara for the rest of the rotation of the wheel.
I feel a mixture of mortification and absolutely not caring what people think when we exit the ride, me with red eyes and black tracks all down my face, him holding Ernie. Which earns us a very strange look from the ride operator.
“Everything okay there, Miss?” he asks me, frowning at Beckett.
No.
I sniffle. “Yes.”
The guy leans forward, dropping his voice. “You need me to call someone for you?”
“Huh?” I stare at him blankly. “Who? And why?”
Beckett, beside me, balks.
“Keels,” he says gently. “I think this guy thinks I’m the reason you’re crying.”
“But you are the rea… oh my gosh no, he didn’t make me cry by being mean to me or something!” I exclaim as the penny finally drops. “I’m crying because tonight is our last date, not because he’s a man-jerk.”
“Oh!” The ride operator looks beyond relieved. “Good. Good.”
“But thank you for being so concerned and willing to help a woman out if she needs it.” Beckett shakes the guy’s hand, then winks at him. “Luckily, in this case, Keeley here is a bit of a… how do you say it… riot grrrl who could probably take me in a fight.”
“Hey!” I swat Becks’s arm, laughing in spite of myself.
“Ah, I see,” the guy says, looking bemused as Beckett waggles his eyebrows at me, eyes glinting.
I know what he’s doing.
He’s trying to make me smile. Make me laugh. Balm my tears with stupid humor and inside jokes.
It’s working, somewhat.
I slip my hand into his as we walk away. “Shall we get another fair snack?” My tone is forced in its brightness.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks gently in response.
In such a short time, he knows me so well. “I do. Do you?”
That lopsided dimpled grin moves slowly over his face. “I do. Frankly, I’ve had enough of sharing you with other people, and I’m thinking it’s high time for the fire escape.”
Last time for the fire escape, I correct mentally.
Tears prick my eyes for the second time tonight. I’m a mess. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”