Chapter 19
Ethan is drivingus today to an unknown destination. The drive is pleasant, and I really appreciate that he hasn’t pressured me to talk about the kiss.
What is there to say? Do I want more?
Probably.
Okay, that’s probably a big fat lie. The answer is a resounding fuck yes.
I’m very attracted to him on a scale from wanting him to hold my hand to wanting to rip off his clothes . . . let’s just say this trip would quickly become for mature audiences only. Which would be fun, but I don’t think I want to deal with the consequences.
The guy is going to be somehow part of the family, and how weird would it be if we got together at Christmas or some other holiday? The first thing I’ll think would be . . . What will I think?
Not sure, but I’ll definitely be embarrassed because the guy had seen me naked. My cheeks flush at the thought, and I shift in my seat, trying to push the tantalizing images from my mind. I steal a glance at Ethan, admiring his strong profile and the way his hands grip the steering wheel with confidence. I quickly look away before he catches me staring, my heart racing in my chest.
The scenery changes as we get closer to Willowridge, a small town in Colorado. This place seems preserved by its isolation. The town is south of Colorado Springs, with buildings set against the mountains and peaks that reach into the sky.
“Are you now going to tell me what’s here?” I ask.
“Nope.”
The “Welcome to the County Fair” sign looms up ahead. Ethan glances at me, one eyebrow arched in question, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel of the RV. “Ready for the detour?” His mouth quirks into that half-smile that makes my stomach flip.
I can’t help but grin back, feeling a bubble of spontaneity rise within me. “I was probably born ready,” I reply, excitement coursing through my veins at the prospect of an unexpected adventure with Ethan by my side.
The air fills with the buzz of anticipation and the warm glow of carnival lights. Rows of game booths line the walkways, their vibrant signs and the sound of laughter drawing us in. The clatter of balls against bottles, the digital jingles of electronic games, and the occasional cheer of a winner blend into a lively symphony of carnival joy.
Ethan and I wander through the maze of attractions, our steps slow and deliberate, soaking in the atmosphere. His hand finds mine, our fingers linking as we navigate the crowded fairgrounds. The warmth of his touch sends a pleasant tingle up my arm, and I can’t help but smile at the simple intimacy of the gesture. I wonder if he feels the same spark between us, the same magnetic pull that draws me closer to him with each passing moment.
The air is thick with the aroma of food being prepared in little carts scattered throughout the fairgrounds. The scent of fried dough, sweet and inviting, tugs at our senses, leading us to a stand where golden brown funnel cakes are dusted with powdered sugar right before our eyes. We share one, the sugar melting on our tongues, a perfect mix of crispy and soft with every bite. I watch as Ethan takes a bite, a dusting of powdered sugar clinging to his upper lip.
Without thinking, I reach out and gently brush it away with my thumb, my heart skipping a beat as his eyes meet mine. His gaze intense, Ethan’s lips part slightly, and I feel a sudden urge to lean in and taste the sweetness lingering there. But I hesitate, my thumb still resting on his lip, frozen in a moment of indecision.
What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I’m misreading the signals? The thought of rejection sends a chill down my spine, and I reluctantly pull my hand away, trying to ignore the tingling sensation in my fingertips.
As we finish the funnel cake, the sounds and sights of the carnival invite us to explore further. Ethan takes my hand, grasping mine, and leads me through the bustling crowd. The warmth of his touch activates a spark, and I can’t help but wonder if he feels the same electric connection between us.
We weave our way past families with excited children, couples lost in their own world, and groups of friends laughing and joking. The energy of the carnival is contagious, and I find myself getting caught up in the moment, the earlier tension between Ethan and me slowly dissipating as we immerse ourselves in the festive atmosphere.
“First game’s on me,” Ethan declares, pulling out his wallet as we approach a ball toss booth. His confidence is infectious, but I’m not about to let him win without a fight.
“Prepare to be amazed by my epic aim,” I tease, accepting the softball he hands me.
“Amazed or amused?” Ethan counters, chuckling as he watches me line up my first shot.
“Definitely amazed.” The words tumble from my lips just as I release the ball. It flies through the air, bounces and—miraculously—lands in the basket. I throw my hands up triumphantly, a giddy laugh escaping me. “See? What did I tell you?”
“Beginner’s luck,” Ethan says, but there’s an appreciative sparkle in his eyes that tells me he’s genuinely impressed.
He moves subtly closer, our shoulders briefly touching, sparking a quiet warmth that surprises me. Ethan’s presence is both comforting and exhilarating, and I find myself drawn to his easygoing nature and quick wit. As we walk around the carnival, our banter flows effortlessly, punctuated by moments of shared laughter and knowing glances.
We move on to the balloon darts, and Ethan takes his stance with an ease that speaks of quiet confidence. His arm arcs forward, the dart flying true and piercing a balloon with a sharp ‘pop.’ He glances back at me, a playful spark in his eyes, the kind that always seems to draw people to him.
“Blah, that’s not impressive. You were trained for that,” I tease him.
“I can promise you that we weren’t trained with water balloons,” Ethan shoots back with a grin.
“Your turn, Lily. Show me what you’ve got,” he challenges, stepping aside to give me room.
I take a dart, its weight surprisingly light in my hand. I focus, the world narrowing to the dart, the balloon, and the distance between. With a small flick, the dart whistles through the air. The balloon bursts and I can’t help but lift my arms and yell, “Yes.”
“Look at you, popping balloons and shit.” He nudges my arm with his. “Do you want us to stay here until we win the big teddy bear?”
“Nah, let’s keep going around,” I say.
Ethan and I meander toward the ring toss.
“Alright, sharpshooter,” Ethan teases. “Let’s see if your aim holds up when it’s all about finesse.”
I can’t help but smile, picking up a neon ring. “Maybe we should place a little wager.”
“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you propose?”
“If I win,” I start, my mind racing with possibilities, “you have to try the scariest ride here with me. No chickening out.”
“And if I win?” Ethan counters, already picking up a ring with a confident smirk.
“You get to pick the next three games, and I can’t complain, no matter how ridiculous they are.”
“Deal,” he agrees, and we shake on it, the casual touch sending an unexpected spark through me.
Ethan goes first, his rings looping through the air with grace. One, two, three rings land snugly around the target bottles.
“Not bad,” I concede, impressed despite myself. “But I’m not beaten yet.”
I take my turn, the rings feeling flimsy in my hands, but I’m determined. The first one misses, a fact Ethan doesn’t let go unnoticed.
“Seems like all that sharpshooting doesn’t translate here,” he quips, unable to hide his amusement.
But then, my next ring lands perfectly, followed by another, but of course he beat me. Which takes us to one of the most annoying and ridiculous games.
“Ready to get schooled in the noble art of mole-whacking?” Ethan smirks.
The game starts, and we’re a flurry of motion, mallets thudding against the machine as we aim for the high score. Ethan’s quick, his reflexes sharp, but I’m right there with him, each hit punctuated by our laughter and the occasional mock taunt.
“If we played the same game, is there really a winner here?” I pant, as the game winds down, both of us breathless from the exertion and exhilaration.
Ethan looks over, sweat beading his brow, but his eyes shine with excitement. “What matters is that we’re having fun,” he says, his voice warm and genuine.
He’s right, but not only now. Ever since we started this trip I’ve been having fun. It’s been not only surprising but maybe one of the best road trips I’ve taken in my entire life.
“Watch this,” I chirp, my eyes fixed on the pyramid of cans at the far end of the booth. The game operator smirks as if he’s seen a hundred hopefuls like me, confident until the clang of failure. But not today.
With a flick of my wrist, the beanbag launches through the air, landing with a thud against metal. One by one, the cans topple in a metallic waterfall, and I let out a victorious cheer. “Did you see that?” I beam, turning to Ethan with wide, expectant eyes.
“Remind me never to challenge you to an arm wrestle,” Ethan chuckles, clapping his hands in mock surrender.
The game operator grudgingly hands me the prize—a stuffed bear with a red bow tie. I hug it tight, its softness pressing against my chest, and then thrust it toward Ethan. “For you, kind sir, a token of my undeniable skill.”
“Ah, Lady Harper, your generosity knows no bounds,” Ethan teases, giving the bear a faux gracious bow before taking it from my arms. For a moment, we’re just two kids again, caught up in fairground fantasy.
“Come on, let’s grab some snacks. I’m starving,” I say, tugging at Ethan’s sleeve as we leave the clatter of the booths behind.
We make our way to a nearby stand where the aroma of kettle corn hangs thick in the warm evening air. As the vendor scoops the golden popcorn into a striped bag, I can’t help but salivate, my mouth watering at the sight of the glistening kernels. Ethan orders two oversized cups of lemonade, and once our hands are full, we find a worn wooden bench to take a load off.
I sink onto the bench, feeling the rough wood beneath my thighs. “Here’s to us, conquering the carnival games,” I toast, raising my cup before taking a long sip of the tart, sweet lemonade. The cool liquid slides down my throat, quenching my thirst and leaving a pleasant aftertaste on my tongue.
Ethan’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he grins, his dimples making a brief appearance. “Here’s to your freakish aim,” he retorts, clinking his cup against mine. We munch on the kettle corn, the sugary crunch mingling with bursts of salt. The combination of flavors is heavenly, and I can’t resist reaching for another handful.
The fluffy kernels melt in my mouth, coating my tongue with a delightful sweetness that’s perfectly balanced by the subtle saltiness. It’s the ultimate carnival treat, and I find myself savoring each bite, letting the flavors linger before swallowing.
As we sit there, enjoying our snacks and each other’s company, I can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through my chest. It’s moments like this that make me realize how much I cherish our friendship. But there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind, reminding me that friendship might not be enough.
I glance at Ethan, taking in his strong jawline and the way his hair falls over his forehead. My heart skips a beat, and I quickly look away, afraid he might see the longing in my eyes. I can’t risk ruining what we have, but the desire to be more than just friends grows stronger with each passing day.