Chapter 7 #2
Evie clutched her oversized plush turtle, its ridiculous size making her laugh every time she glanced down at it. James walked beside her, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his usual composed demeanor contrasting sharply with the chaos of the carnival.
“This place is a lot,” he remarked, eyeing a particularly loud game booth where someone was enthusiastically failing to knock over a pyramid of bottles.
Evie chuckled. “Yeah, it is. Honestly, I didn’t come to many of these when I was a kid.”
James turned his head, his brow lifting slightly. “No? Why not?”
“My mom was always busy,” she said, her tone light but reflective. “She worked long hours as a chef at this little Korean restaurant. She’d let me tag along sometimes on the weekends when she needed to prep for the next day.”
James slowed his pace slightly, his interest piqued. “A chef? That’s impressive.”
Evie smiled, her eyes distant with memory.
“She was good at it too. Second chef, actually. She used to let me sit at one of the empty tables with crayons and paper while she worked. Sometimes, if I behaved, she’d teach me how to fold dumplings or sneak me little bites of the dishes she was prepping. ”
“So, you grew up around food,” James said, his tone thoughtful.
“Yes, but I have no idea how to cook an egg, let alone the dishes my mom tried to teach me how to make.”
They both laughed.
“Is she still working?” James asked, glancing over at her.
Evie snorted softly, the plush turtle wobbling in her arms as she shifted it. “Oh no, she’s retired now. Living her best life. Knitting, gardening, occasionally scolding me for not visiting enough. She’s earned it.”
James smirked. “Sounds like she keeps busy.”
“She does,” Evie said with a grin. “But every now and then, she’ll whip up something and remind me why her food was everyone’s favorite. Even retired, she’s still better than most chefs I’ve ever met.”
James nodded, his gaze lingering on her as she spoke, watching the way her face lit up with warmth and humor. “She sounds like quite the woman.”
“She is,” Evie said, her smile softening. “I got lucky with her.”
As the conversation settled, Evie’s eyes caught on something ahead—a photo booth nestled between two brightly lit stalls.
Its chipped red paint and glowing Take Your Memories Here sign stood out against the carnival’s chaos, and her steps slowed.
A slow, mischievous grin spread across her face as the idea formed.
Without warning, she grabbed James’s arm, her fingers curling firmly around his sleeve. “Come on,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.
James arched a brow, clearly amused but wary. “What now?”
“Photo booth,” she declared, already tugging him toward it.
“You’re kidding,” he said, a touch of exasperation in his tone as he let her pull him along. “A photo booth?”
“Yes!” she said, her voice rising with glee. “We have to. It’s practically a rule.”
“A rule?” he repeated, letting himself be pulled forward a step, though his tone was dry. “I think you’re making that up.”
“It’s a carnival,” she said over her shoulder, flashing him a wide grin. “It’s the law of fun. Don’t argue.”
As they approached the booth, her gaze darted to a nearby stand cluttered with props—oversized sunglasses, feather boas, and a chaotic assortment of silly hats.
She gasped softly, her grip tightening on his arm as he absentmindedly reached for a hat—a garish, glittery top hat in neon green—and then prompted it on his head.
Perched crookedly on his head, it only highlighted the slight disarray of his hair, which had started to fall out of its usual slicked-back style. A few strands hung boyishly over his forehead, softening his sharp features in a way that was almost unfairly charming.
Her stomach did something strange then, a twist that was as disorienting as it was undeniable. Was it—no, it couldn’t be. Butterflies?
She wasn’t supposed to feel this lightheaded over someone like him, someone who looked both utterly ridiculous and effortlessly magnetic all at once.
The faint smirk playing on his lips as he adjusted the hat didn’t help either, making him seem completely unbothered by how absurd he looked. And yet, she couldn’t stop staring.
“You know you look insane, right?” she teased, hoping her voice didn’t betray the flutter of nerves beneath her steady tone.
He tilted his head, the neon green hat sliding dangerously to one side.
“Insane? I prefer bold,” he replied with a mock air of sophistication, straightening his spine like a caricature of a regal figure. The feather boa he draped around his shoulders only added to the absurdity, its vibrant pink clashing wildly with the hat.
She laughed, a sound that came out before she could stop it, warm and genuine. “Bold isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, biting back a grin. “You look like a Vegas magician who lost his way.”
“Oh, I don’t do magic,” he quipped, his voice low enough to send a shiver down her spine. “I make memories.” He punctuated the line with a theatrical wiggle of his eyebrows, and despite herself, she doubled over with laughter.
Her stomach twisted again, and this time, there was no denying it. The butterflies were back, flitting uncontrollably. The way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he seemed completely at ease with himself, and the way he made her laugh—it was disarming.
Dangerous.
He reached for a bright red feather boa and, before she could react, draped it around her neck with an exaggerated flourish.
“There,” he said, stepping back and giving her a once-over, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Perfect. You look like you’re about to headline a cabaret show.”
She sputtered, half laughing and half mortified. “Oh, you are so wrong for this.”
“Wrong?” He tilted his head, feigning deep contemplation. “No, I think I nailed it. Red suits you. Though…” His fingers brushed against the boa as he adjusted it, his touch light but enough to make her shiver. “You might want to work on the attitude. Cabaret stars have a bit more… flair.”
She crossed her arms, trying to suppress the flush that she knew was spreading across her face. “Flair? Coming from the guy who looks like he got dressed in a glitter factory explosion?”
He laughed, the sound rich and utterly unapologetic. “Touché.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he leaned in again, his voice a soft tease. “But for the record, you pull off ridiculous way better than I do.”
They finally stepped into the booth, still laughing as the curtain swished closed behind them. The tiny space was barely big enough for both of them, forcing Evie to squeeze against James as he fumbled with the touchscreen.
The first photo snapped, catching them mid-laugh. Then another, where Evie had leaned in to adjust the crooked hat still balanced on James’s head, her mock-serious expression ruined by the way her lips twitched.
As the countdown for the final shot began, James grabbed the boa from around her neck and wrapped it playfully around his shoulders, striking a dramatic pose. Evie burst out laughing again, and the flash captured her doubled over, one hand on his arm for balance.
James stood, brushing feathers off his shoulder as the booth started spitting out the photos. “Alright, that’s my cue. I think we’ve officially maxed out the ridiculousness quota.”
But as he turned to pull back the curtain, Evie’s voice stopped him. “Wait—one more.”
He looked over his shoulder, brow raised, but didn’t have time to argue. She grabbed the boa from him, wrapping it snugly around his neck before giving it a gentle tug. He stumbled back toward her, his movement stopping only inches away.
Time seemed to stall as James straightened, their faces now so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. Her hand was still gripping the boa, her fingers brushing his chest. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she swore the butterflies in her stomach were in full-blown flight now.
“Evie…” he murmured, her name a soft warning and a question all at once.
She didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her heart was pounding too loud, her thoughts racing too fast. And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, their lips met.
James's lips were warm and firm, yet achingly gentle as they molded perfectly against hers. The faint, surprising taste of something sweet lingered on him—maybe the cotton candy he’d grabbed earlier—and it mixed with the faint, woodsy scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating.
Evie’s breath hitched as the kiss deepened, her free hand instinctively rising to his chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his shirt. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch steady but electrifying.
Her mind was spinning, unable to focus on anything but the feel of him—the press of his body, the way his lips moved with a confidence that sent shivers cascading down her spine.
Then his tongue traced the seam of her lips, a slow, deliberate invitation that made her pulse spike. She parted her lips without thinking, and his tongue slid into her mouth with a smoothness that left her weak.
The sensation was warm and dizzying, his movements unhurried yet full of intent. He explored her with a precision that felt both careful and consuming, every stroke of his tongue against hers sending sparks of heat racing through her.
Evie’s knees threatened to give way as his teeth grazed her bottom lip, a teasing, fleeting touch that left her breathless. It was enough to make her gasp softly against his mouth, and he responded with a low, satisfied hum that vibrated against her lips.
James’s hand, still warm and steady, moved slowly from the small of her back, skimming over the curve of her hip and down to her thigh.