14. HOLDEN
HOLDEN
Korie goes quiet the second we start packing up, and I’m not sure why.
A few minutes ago, everything had felt… easy. Light. Like we’d slipped into something that made sense without either of us trying. But now it’s like I’ve lost the thread, like one wrong move tipped us into something heavier.
I steal glances at them as I carry the basket and blanket back to the car. They’re walking a half step behind me, arms folded loosely, expression soft but unreadable. Not upset exactly. Just… somewhere else.
It shouldn’t make me nervous. I’ve known Korie my whole life. I know their moods, their silences, the difference between when they need space and when they need to be pulled back in.
This doesn’t feel like either of those.
This feels like standing on the edge of something and not knowing if the next step is solid ground or a straight drop.
I pop the trunk to put everything away, then turn back to them, leaning against the car like I’m not suddenly hyper-aware of everything.
“You good?” I’m trying for casual, but my voice comes out shaky.
Korie glances up, blinking like they’ve just come back from somewhere far away. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking.”
That doesn’t help. At all.
“About?” I press, softer this time.
Their lips twitch into the famous Korie almost-smile they do when they’re trying to be mysterious. “Tonight.”
My stomach flips. “Good thinking or bad thinking?”
A quiet laugh escapes them, and they step closer. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Well, at least that’s honest.
I force myself to nod. It’s difficult to act like their sudden silence hasn’t made my pulse climb into my throat. Reaching around them, I shut the trunk. My fingers brush their arm in the process, and it’s as if electricity snaps through me, sharp and immediate.
Jesus.
How is everything about this so… new? We’ve been friends for twenty-seven years, yet somehow it feels like we barely know each other.
We move around to the front of the car, and I hesitate before reaching for their hand. It’s either instinct or a gamble, I’m not sure.
Korie looks down at where our fingers touch, then up at me. There’s that small smile again, softer this time, a little shy around the edges.
They don’t pull away.
Instead, they lace their fingers through mine. Something in my chest loosens, and I feel like I can breathe.
Okay. Good, that’s… good.
I hold onto that as I open the passenger door for them, then quickly circle around to the driver’s side and start the engine. I’m tempted to reach for their hand again as I pull us back onto the road, but I don’t. I don’t want to push my luck.
For a few minutes, we just drive. Windows down, warm night air drifting through the car, carrying the distant sound of music and laughter from people we pass.
I glance at them again, unable to help myself.
Damn. They look unreal tonight.
The white dress catches every bit of moonlight, soft and glowing against their skin.
The pink shawl draped loosely over their shoulders slips just enough to show the curve of their collarbone.
And their nails—painted the same soft pink—rest against their thighs, catching my eye every time they move.
Korie put effort into this.
The realization hits harder than it should. I mean, Korie has always put effort into things. Into everything. They care in ways most people don’t even notice.
But this?
To do this for me?
Whether consciously or not, whether they trust where this is heading or not, Korie still leaned in. They chose me.
My eyes suddenly burn, and I turn away.
Please don’t let me screw this up.
Clearing my throat, I shift my attention back to the road. “So… onto the next stop.”
They turn their head, curiosity flickering across their face. “You’re being very mysterious about this.”
I grin. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”
I can feel more than see Korie narrowing their eyes at me, but there’s no real suspicion in it. Just the opposite. I can sense the trust radiating off them, even buried beneath the playful edge. “If this is another moonlit hike to a super secret cave, I’m leaving you.”
A laugh rips from me, loud and unhindered. “Relax. No hiking involved. I learned my lesson.”
“You sure about that?”
“No, no. I won’t do that again.”
Korie laughs fully, hand braced on their stomach.
There they are.
There’s my Korie.
“Good. Because I don’t want to have to show you that scar again.”
Unexpected heat coils through me when our eyes meet. I raise a brow, surprised they’d bring that up. It’s a four-inch scar on their left inner thigh, dangerously close to their crotch. Bad shoes plus bad lighting makes for some pretty bad wounds, apparently.
I still feel bad about it.
Korie blushes and looks away, but not before licking their lips.
Fuck, the things they’re doing to me…
I follow the road toward the boardwalk until finally, the glow of carnival lights comes into view. It’s not huge—just a dozen rides and a few questionable food stalls—but it’s enough.
I pull into the gravel parking lot and cut the engine.
Korie leans forward, peering out the windshield. “Is that—are you sure about this?”
I shrug, trying for nonchalant and failing spectacularly. “Hot summer night, full moon, a beautiful date… Figured some cotton candy and bad decisions would be a solid way to end it.”
They slowly turn to me, cheeks going a little pink at that word.
Beautiful.
I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Or maybe I had. Either way, it hangs there between us for a second too long.
Korie clears their throat, but they’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” I agree easily. “But you knew that already.”
They huff a quiet laugh, shaking their head as they open the door. “Doesn’t mean I’m prepared for it.”
I hop out and meet them at the front of the car, reaching for their hand again without thinking. This time, they take it immediately.
We walk toward the entrance together, hand in hand, the noise and light swallowing us up as soon as we step onto the boardwalk.
It’s… easy.
God, this feels so easy. So relaxed. Whatever nerves we were feeling moments ago seem to have faded into the distance.
We fall into step like we’ve done this a hundred times before—because we have. Just… not like this. Not with this undercurrent humming between us, not with every brush of skin sending sparks up my arm. Or with Korie’s eyes darting to my lips when they think I won’t notice.
I buy a stack of tickets, ignoring Korie’s half-hearted protests.
“You’re going to regret this,” they warn, eyeing the rides.
“Nah. I doubt it. Worst case scenario, I get to hear you scream.”
They grin. “Ha! You’ll be the one screaming. Remember the roller coaster when we went to Lagoon?”
“Hey, that was an old roller coaster,” I remind them. “Even my dad was scared.”
They laugh, bumping their shoulder into mine as we head toward the rides.
The Scrambler is the first thing we hit, mostly because the line is moving when we reach it.
We pile into the cart, the bar coming down across our laps, and the second it starts moving, they’re already laughing.
Not just laughing—full, unrestrained, head thrown back laughter that hits me straight in the chest. Korie is always like this, so full of life, enjoying everything. It pours into everyone who knows them.
The ride picks up speed, spinning us in tight circles, and Korie slams into my side with a surprised yelp.
“Okay, maybe I forgot how fast this goes,” they admit, gripping the bar and trying to pull themselves upright. Centrifugal force brings them right back.
“You think?”
Every time we swing wide, they crash into me, their grip tightening, their laughter getting louder. And I don’t even try to move away. I let them lean into me, let them hold on, let myself memorize the way they feel pressed against my side.
By the time the ride slows to a stop, we’re both a little breathless. Korie stumbles slightly when we stand, grabbing onto my arm again to steady themselves.
“Okay,” they say, still laughing. “That was—”
“Worth it?” I cut in, hopeful.
They grin up at me. “Absolutely worth it.”
We wander from there, grabbing an overpriced soda from a food vendor and sharing a bag of cotton candy. We argue over which games are rigged and which ones are just skill.
“I could easily win that one,” Korie says, pointing to the one with moving targets.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
They lift their brows, challenging me. I tug them away before the carnival worker can rob me of my hard-earned money.
When we pass the bathrooms, I slip away, and when I come back, Korie isn’t there. I look around in confusion before spotting them at the ticket booth, buying a fresh stack of tickets. They grin over at me, but I can’t read their expression. Biting their lip, they drag me after them.
We make our way over to the Ferris wheel, nearing the edge of the boardwalk.
Korie eyes me. “Want to go?”
It’s a loaded question, and my heart skips a beat. Are they thinking what I’m thinking?
I stand impossibly close to them in the queue, one hand on their hip. I can’t resist leaning in to smell their hair. Korie always smells good, like citrus and flowers and something uniquely them.
They turn, leaning back into me with a shy smile.
Finally, we climb into the cart, holding on tightly as it rocks slightly under our weight. The bar comes down, and then we’re moving—slow at first, pausing so more people can get on. The higher we get, the more my stomach swoops. Not because of the height—God, no. Something else.
How many times have we done this? As kids, as teenagers, and as adults. All those late nights when we didn’t want to go home yet. This beats any of those by a long shot.
I keep my arm around them as we rise, and we talk the entire time, laughing about old memories, pointing out things along the boardwalk, enjoying the view of the ocean. But there’s a soft, quiet layer to it all now, made heavy with something I’ve never felt before—not from them.
Anticipation.
I feel it the higher we go.
And I know Korie does too, because they keep glancing at me. Quick looks, like they can’t help themselves. I memorize all of it, the soft color to their cheeks, the shimmer of their eyelids. The nervous, almost shy twist of their pink lips.
My pulse pounds hard.
When the wheel slows, stopping at the top, the world stretches out around us. There are a thousand lights below, millions of stars above, yet there’s only one thing I want to focus on. One person.
The moment is perfect. Too perfect.
But do they want it?
My chest tightens when Korie turns in my direction, and there’s something in their expression that makes my breath catch—a little bit hopeful and a whole lot terrified, but refusing to back down. Not like before.
I can sense it in them, the uncertainty. The desire. Like they’re standing on that same edge I’ve been standing on all night and they’re ready to jump now.
Korie’s gaze drops to my lips again, and this time, I don’t think.
If I think, I’ll ruin it.
I reach for them, my hand coming up to cup their cheek, my thumb brushing lightly over their smooth skin.
Their breath hitches. I expect them to pull away, like they had back at the play, but they don’t. They want this just as much as I do.
I lean in.
Korie does too.
The kiss is soft at first. Careful. Like we’re both testing it, afraid it might break if we push too hard.
Korie exhales against my mouth, their hand tightening on my thigh, and the restraint in me snaps, just a little.
I press closer, deepening it just enough to feel the shift in them as they kiss me back.
They open for me, the barest of brushes with their tongue along my lips, and I take it. I take all of it.
It’s… god, it’s everything.
It’s every almost and what-if and buried thought I’ve ever had about them, crashing into reality all at once.
It only lasts a few seconds. The cart jolts before moving again, and we break apart, both of us a little breathless.
My head spins. I’ve kissed people before, plenty of people. But none of them—none—have ever felt like that.
Korie looks at me through their lashes, wide-eyed and uncertain, like they’re trying to read me and bracing themselves for… what exactly, I don’t know.
I don’t have words. I don’t think I could form a coherent sentence even if my life depended on it. So I do the only thing that makes sense. I lean in and kiss them again, quick this time, just a soft peck on the corner of their mouth.
But it’s enough to make their breath catch all over again.
We say absolutely nothing as the ride carries us a few rounds. Korie finds my hand and threads our fingers together, leaning into me.
When we finally reach the ground, the world feels slightly off-kilter. Like everything has tilted and hasn’t quite settled back into place yet.
Korie slides their arm around my waist as we step off, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I wrap mine around their shoulders without thinking. We walk like that for a minute, neither of us saying anything.
“There’s only one thing left to do,” Korie says.
“Let me guess. Food?”
They pinch my side.
I yelp. “Hey!”
“Actually, no,” they say, already tugging me in a different direction.
They lead me down the same row of loud, chaotic game stalls we passed before, each one flashing lights and shouting for attention.
Korie stops in front of one, handing over the last remaining tickets.
I belt out a laugh. “Oh, I see.”
They grin over at me. “You said I couldn’t win.”
“I said it was rigged,” I correct, not caring that the attendant is right there.
“Same thing.”
They sit down in front of the squirt gun, aiming at the tiny moving target. I grin, folding my arms. This is going to be fun.
The game starts, and within seconds, Korie is locked in, tracking the target with a precision that’s almost unfair, even when it gains speed.
Because of course they do.
A loud chime echoes around us as Korie’s target reaches the opposite end, and the attendant barely looks surprised as he hands over a prize—a giant pink and purple stuffed panda.
Korie turns, holding it out to me with a satisfied little smile. “For you.”
I stare at it, then at them. “You just hustled a carnival game for me.”
“Never doubt what I’ll do for those I care about.”
I laugh.
Korie steps closer, their voice soft. “Now, we can go home.”
My stomach swoops.
It isn’t a suggestion. It’s an invitation.
I swallow hard, my grip tightening slightly on the stuffed panda. “Yeah?”
Korie closes the space between us, their arms sliding around my waist.
“Take me home, Holden, before I can overthink this.”
Everything in me goes very, very still, and then my heart kicks back into motion, fast and unsteady.
Before I can overthink this. Why does that sound like a warning?
We both know what this is, what it could be. Are they really saying they want that? Do I? We’ve not only stepped off a ledge tonight, but we’ve basically nosedived into new territory. Should we really go there too?
Korie kisses me. “Please?”
“Okay,” I manage, my voice rougher than I expect. “Yeah. I can do that.”