Chapter 3
NOVA
As it turns out, Lawson doesn’t text me—but that’s only because he comes back over to the booth to wait for me before we’ve even finished shutting down for the evening.
I’m super aware of him standing there, several yards away, leaning against a tree and watching me while I clean up my station.
There’s something magnetic about this man—the same thing that had me glancing at him every few minutes even when his brother was flirting with me.
The way he watches me makes my stomach twist with nerves and something a little darker. Desire? Fear? I’m not exactly sure, but I do know my hands are unsteady enough that I drop my face paint kit not once but twice.
Linc is not happy to see Lawson’s return. “Thought I told those Barlowes to leave you the hell alone.”
I look over at my boss in surprise. “You know them?”
“Know of them. They own that dive in Solitude. The Low Bar.”
I’d heard of it, but I’ve never been. I don’t exactly have the funds to waste out at the bar, or the friends who might encourage me to have a girls’ night.
“They’re all little manwhores,” Linc continues, glaring over at Lawson, who looks completely unaffected by the daggers thrown his way. “Fuck anything that moves.” He gives me a severe look. “You can do better, Nova.”
“I’m not looking to do better,” I tell him, even as something unpleasant twists in my stomach at the idea of Lawson fucking anything that moves. “I’m not looking for anything, actually.”
“Then you should send that boy back to his little bar and get home where you belong.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. This is all sounding a little more severe than I’m used to from Linc, who typically embodies a live and let live attitude. “Do you maybe have a more personal reason for not liking these guys?”
He scoffs, but when I don’t drop my gaze, he finally sighs. “The oldest one, Mac or Mike or something, fucked around with Kenny.”
I wince. Linc is incredibly overprotective of his sister, Kendall, so I’m not surprised he would dislike anyone who made a move on her. He seems to be under the impression that his little sister is a sweet innocent flower and it’s his job to keep her from being corrupted.
I don’t bother telling him that ship has long since sailed. If Kendall was hooking up with a Barlowe brother, he certainly wouldn’t be her first conquest. Or her tenth. The girl gets around.
But I value Linc’s sanity too much to tell him that.
“Just because Kenny—who, I might remind you, is a grown adult—might have hooked up with a Barlowe doesn’t make them bad people.”
He scoffs, tossing another glare Lawson’s way. “I’m telling you, I don’t trust that family. They’re all too…smolder-y.”
I bark out a laugh, but I can’t really argue with him. Even from my brief interaction with the four guys, I could tell that the Barlowe smolder game is on point.
“Besides,” Linc continues, his tone growing more serious. “I thought you were swearing off of men. Aren’t you supposed to be all focused on making money these days?”
My stomach drops at the reminder. Linc is the only person in my life who knows about my plans to leave North Carolina—and the reasons why I’m so desperate to do so sooner than later.
“I am focused.” Even I can hear the defensive note in my voice. “I can talk to a guy at a carnival without getting distracted.”
My boss watches me for a long moment before finally sighing. “Okay, Nova. You’re a smart girl and you know what you’re doing. Just don’t get all starry-eyed by this guy. He’s not worth it.”
I give him my most reassuring smile. “I have no plans to get starry-eyed.”
But I know I’m full of shit when I leave the booth five minutes later and head straight to Lawson. I knew it two hours ago when I first locked eyes with his over the table in my booth, knew it even as his brother flirted with me. I knew it when I gave him my number.
This is always what was going to happen. Me sneaking off to meet some cute, broody boy under a tree? Tale as old as time.
Guys like Sawyer—charming, flirty, sweet—have always been easy enough for me to resist. But Lawson? The stoic man with the insane arms and intense eyes? The sexy one with just enough darkness under the surface to make things interesting?
Lawson Barlowe might be exactly the kind of guy I shouldn’t go for, but somehow, he’s exactly the one I can’t seem to resist.
Even though I’m supposed to be focused on my goals. Even though guys like him have derailed my life over and over again. Even though that little voice is back in my head, shouting her warnings.
I still walk to where he waits for me. I still feel that flutter of nerves and excitement in my belly when his lips tilt up in a half smile. And when he offers me his hand, I take it.
I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.
“I can’t remember the last time I was at a fair,” Lawson tells me as we weave through the rows of carnival games.
The sun is dipping low, painting everything gold and pink.
Families with tired kids are heading toward the exits while couples and teenagers stream in, the energy changing with the light.
Everything feels a little louder, a little more exciting as night falls.
Or maybe that’s just him.
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “I go to fairs every summer.”
He glances at me, mouth tilting. “Big fan of Skee-Ball?”
I laugh. “I can’t toss a ball to save my life. But I grew up with a lot of artists. The fair and carnival circuit was a pretty big deal.”
He studies me like that tracks. It probably does. I know what I look like—flowy skirt, stacked rings, hair made messy by the breeze. I definitely rock a hippie, boho vibe more often than not.
“Were your parents artists?” he asks.
I turn my head before I can stop myself, focusing on a group of teens shrieking around the dunk tank. The distraction gives me a second to steady my voice.
“My mom. She did a lot of beadwork.” I nod toward the vendor booths set up near where Empire of Ink had their space. “I spent many, many summer days selling bracelets and necklaces at booths just like that.”
Some memories glow in hindsight. Others are rougher around the edges. I’m never quite sure which category those summers fall into, so I just smile when I look back at him.
“I take it you guys are here for your nephew?”
The change in him is instant. His shoulders loosen. His expression softens in a way that almost steals my breath. “Yeah. We’ve been promising him for weeks. You should have seen him on those rides—he thought they were the most exciting thing on earth.”
“He’ll be begging you to take him to an actual amusement park next.”
The fond exasperation in his eyes makes my chest squeeze. It’s not just affection—it’s devotion, protective and fierce.
“You’re crazy about him,” I say quietly, watching his face.
“Yeah.” His voice goes rough.
Something flickers there. Something deeper. For a second, I get the sense there’s more behind the love he feels for his nephew—history, maybe pain. He looks like a man holding back a story.
And then the moment shifts.
“Kid’s not around now, though,” he says, his voice lowering, heat sliding beneath the words.
I raise an eyebrow, even though my pulse jumps. “Are you saying this is an adults-only type of evening?”
He leans down and brushes his lips over mine—barely there, a gentle graze—but the spark shoots straight through me. My body betrays me with a shudder.
“Absolutely,” he murmurs.
He’s close enough that I can see the hunger in his eyes. It makes it hard to swallow. Hard to think. “What did you have in mind for this adults-only night?”
“How do you feel about hot air balloons?”
I laugh, caught off guard. “Pretty sure hot air balloons are family friendly.”
“Not what I plan to do to you when we get to the top.”
My breath leaves me in a soft rush. God, it’s crazy how easily he affects me. The heat in his voice, the way he looks at me like I’m something he already knows he’s going to have.
I stare up at the ride as we approach. The “balloon” is wrapped around a thin tower, the basket attached to cables. I get the feeling the ride is more of an elevator than anything to do with actual hot air, but it goes up pretty high and it looks cool.
At the front of the line, Lawson talks to the clearly bored ride operator, slipping him cash like he’s negotiating a secret mission. A minute later, he’s guiding me into the basket. The operator secures the latch, barely interested, and then we’re rising.
I squeal before I can stop myself as the ground drops away beneath us.
“Okay,” I say, turning to him with wind-bright eyes. “What’s the plan?”
“What plan?”
I scoff. “I saw you pay that guy. What’d you ask for? A couple extra minutes at the top to try to get to first base?”
His hand settles low on my hip and every nerve in my body lights up.
The fabric of my skirt is thin—too thin—and I’m suddenly hyperaware of the warmth of his palm, the strength in his grip. My pulse stutters, breath becoming uneven.
“Baby,” he says, his voice low and certain, “I plan to get way past first base tonight. And I’m not waiting until we get to the top.”