8. Dannica #2
“And me?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard.
“What do you see when you look at me?”
“I see a man who’s very good at keeping people at arm’s length.” I smile. “I think you’re carrying something heavy. Not because you want to, but because you don’t know how to put it down.“
He looks uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have gotten so deep, so I pivot.
“Now your turn. Care to share why you think you used to be good at it? Past tense?”
So much for giving him space.
“No.”
The answer slides right under my skin. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? There is always a story. People constantly tell on themselves if you know where to look. In their pauses. In their word choices. In the things they refuse to answer. Another thing familiar to the diner Mystery Man.
I blink up at him. “Well, that’s rude.”
“It’s honest.”
“You’re making that a habit tonight.”
“I’m trying something new.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this a personality experiment?”
“Maybe.”
His hand presses slightly at my waist, guiding me into a turn. I go with it because I’ve decided to trust this masked stranger with my balance, my personal space, and whatever tatters remain of my common sense. When I come back to him, I’m closer. Much closer.
Close enough to feel the warmth of him properly now. Close enough that the air between us feels thinner. Close enough that I catch the faint rise and fall of his chest, the subtle hitch in his breathing that makes my own breath stumble in response.
“You’re very calm about all of this,” I murmur.
“All of what?”
I gesture a little between us. “This. Stranger. Mask. Slow dancing like we’re in some kind of?—”
“Period drama?” he offers.
A surprised laugh slips out of me. “That was my line.”
“Was it?”
I look at him more carefully then.
The jester mask catches the light every time he moves, gold and white and just dramatic enough to make him feel more unreal instead of less.
But beneath it, there’s something deliberate.
Something controlled. Measured. Even now, even here, when the whole festival feels dipped in sugar and magic and unreality.
And yet, he’d hesitated before touching me. He’d looked down at our hands a second ago, like he needed the grounding of something tangible.
The music slows even more, softening into something almost embarrassingly romantic.
It’s a melody composed for poor decisions and fairy tale logic.
Around us, couples unconsciously draw closer.
Bodies sway more than dance. The whole tent seems to exhale.
His arm tightens just enough to keep me with him.
Or maybe I move in first? I honestly couldn’t say.
All I know is that suddenly there’s hardly any space left between us, my hand is sliding a little higher on his shoulder, his fingers are warm at my side, and for one suspended, impossible moment everything else falls away.
No diner and orders. No bills or endless mental checklists or trying to hold a dozen things together with two hands, caffeine, and sheer force of will. No feeling like the walls are closing in by obligation, slowly, crushing my dreams bit by bit.
It’s just this moment with the music low around us and the atmosphere turning everything soft at the edges.
brEAKING NEWS: EVERYTHING GOES QUIET—LOCAL WOMAN UNSURE HOW TO PROCESS PEACE
Just him. And the deeply inconvenient way he’s looking at me like I’m not background noise or someone passing through his evening. Not a girl in a mask at a festival. It makes my chest ache in a way I decidedly do not care for.
“You’ve gone off into some deep thinking,” he murmurs.
I make a face. “I don’t know how to stop.”
“Well, I can help with that. Just stop.”
“That’s helpful. Truly groundbreaking advice. Have you thought of putting out a self-help book?”
“I’ll leave the writing to you.”
I stiffen, only a fraction as realization hits. This is the Mystery Man from the diner. Has to be.
I tip my head back slightly, trying to catch more than fragments beneath the mask. A mouth. A jawline. Something I can pin down and verify my suspicions.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The question comes out softer than I mean it to. Less teasing. More real.
He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t.
His gaze drops briefly, and when it lifts again, there’s less ease, more intent in his eyes. Like he’s standing on the edge of something and deciding whether to fall.
Heat blooms low in my stomach before I can stop it. Well, that’s new.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says. “Tell me to stop.”
I should. I should say something about this being a bad idea. About responsibilities and small towns and how nothing stays quiet for long. I should probably also mention the fact that I don’t even know his name. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I stand there, looking at him, every sensible thought I’ve ever had leaving my body all at once. That feels like answer enough.
His hand shifts against my side, fingers brushing upward just slightly, not quite touching my skin but close enough that my body reacts anyway.
A spark goes through me so fast and sharp it nearly steals the breath from my lungs.
Everything narrows into a tight bubble. The music thuds to the same beat of my heart and the air pulls us closer and tucks us in.
Then he leans in. Slowly. Slow enough that I could stop him, close enough that I don’t.
His mouth presses to the rhinestones covering mine.
It shouldn’t feel like a kiss. Not through the mask.
Not through the layer of glittering fabric and whatever amount of common sense I still technically possess.
But it absolutely does. I can’t tell if it’s the intent or maybe the heat of it.
Or if it’s the way his hand tightens at my waist for one suspended second, like he forgot there was anything between us at all.
His warm breath whispers past my lips, teases my tongue, has me opening for more even though the mask prohibits that.
My fingers curl against his shoulder, my breath catching hard.
Something hot and electric unwinds low in my stomach, and I have the deeply mortifying thought that okay, maybe Shelly was right about festival magic after all.
I feel him harden against my hip. The contact is brief, barely there, but it sends a sharp, unexpected jolt through me.
My breath stutters. My nipples pebble, and I press in closer, seeking more.
And then something changes. He stills as suddenly as a wire pulled too tight, then pulls back like he’s been burned.
Shit, what happened? My cheeks flame, and I’m sure he can see it through the pale makeup. “What?—?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
The words—too abrupt, too distant—hit me like a fist to the gut.
They feel too final for what just passed between us.
And before I can make sense of it, before I can ask, reach for him, or do literally anything useful, he’s already stepping back.
Already letting go. Already disappearing into the crowd like the whole thing was a trick of light and music and wishful thinking.
Gone. Just gone.
I stare after him, pulse still racing, body still very much operating under the impression that we are in the middle of something, actually, thank you so much. My lips still feel kissed, which is absurd.
LOCAL WOMAN QUESTIONS REALITY AFTER TECHNICALLY NON-EXISTENT KISS.
“What the hell?”
Shelly’s voice cuts through the fog as she appears at my side, Quadri and Mary right behind her. I turn toward them slowly, probably looking like I’ve just witnessed a minor supernatural event.
Shelly’s eyes are huge. “Where did he go?”
“Who was that?” Quadri asks, already scanning the crowd like she’s about to hunt him for sport.
Mary tilts her head, quieter, more focused. “Are you okay?”
I open my mouth. Close it again. Try again. “I…”
I’ve got nothing. Great. Just great.
brEAKING NEWS: BASIC MOTOR FUNCTIONS FAIL FOLLOWING UNEXPECTED ATTRACTIVE STRANGER INCIDENT.
“I have no idea,” I finally manage, which feels deeply insufficient for what just happened.
Shelly grabs my arm. “No, absolutely not. That was not a ‘no idea’ situation. That was a moment. That was”—she gestures wildly toward the crowd—“cinematic. Where did he go?”
“I don’t know!” I snap.
A couple nearby glances over. I lower my voice immediately. “He just… left.”
Quadri’s gaze sharpens. “Why?”
Excellent question. One I would love to have answered.
“I don’t know,” I repeat, because apparently that’s my brand now.
Shelly squints at me. “Did you scare him off?”
“I did not scare him.”
“You do have a face that could intimidate weak men,” she says thoughtfully.
“Thank you, Shelly. That’s very reassuring.”
“I mean it as a compliment.”
Mary steps a little closer, her eyes raking over my face, my shoulders, my hands like she’s cataloging damage.
“He apologized,” I say, the words feeling strange even as I say them out loud.
They all freeze.
“He what?” Shelly demands.
“He said sorry. And then he just… left.”
Quadri lets out a low, unimpressed breath. “Coward.”
“No,” Mary says quietly.
We all look at her.
“No?” Shelly echoes.
Mary shakes her head slightly, her gaze drifting back toward the crowd where he disappeared. “That didn’t look like fear.”
I swallow because she’s right. It didn’t feel like fear. It felt like… like something had snapped, or maybe like something had gotten too close.
“That was weird,” Shelly decides.