Chapter 44 #2
"That's… acceptable."
"She accepts!" Sebastian threw his arms up like he'd won the lottery. "Mark the date. Write it down. Candace voluntarily agreed to a ride."
"I wouldn't exactly call it voluntary," I grumbled.
"Too late." Sebastian beamed. "I'm already planning the commemorative plaque."
The line crawled, leaving me with more time than I wanted.
To notice the way Sebastian's shoulder brushed mine when the crowd shifted.
The way he smelled—clean, warm, something woodsy I couldn't place.
His smile, curving each time we locked eyes.
Stop it.
This wasn't a date.
This was two people chaperoning their disgustingly-in-love siblings.
That was all.
Ahead of us, Emma was showing Damien something on her phone, their heads bent together. He said something low, and she laughed—bright and unguarded—swatting his arm.
He caught her hand. Kissed her palm.
"Five bucks says he proposes by Christmas," Sebastian murmured.
"That's a sucker's bet."
"Thanksgiving?"
I considered it. "Halloween."
He raised an eyebrow. "Bold. I like it."
The line shuffled forward. We were almost at the front now, close enough to hear the mechanical groan of the wheel and the attendant's bored safety spiel.
"Okay, real talk." Sebastian turned to face me, expression shifting into something almost serious. "Are you actually okay with heights? Because I was joking around, but if this is genuinely going to freak you out—"
"I'm fine." I met his gaze, surprised by the concern there. "Heights don't bother me. Spinning does. Flipping does. This is just... sitting. I can sit."
He studied me for a moment longer, like he was checking for cracks.
"Okay," he said finally. "But if you need to grab my hand, I won't judge."
"How generous."
He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a giver."
The seat swayed as we entered.
Sebastian settled beside me, close enough that our thighs pressed together. The attendant checked our lap bar, gave us a thumbs up, and sent us lurching forward.
"Oh god." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"You okay?"
"Totally fine," I lied.
The wheel climbed, lifting us above the crowd. Above the noise. Above it all.
The fair spread beneath us—bright lights, winding paths, distant screams from rides I'd never touch.
And then we stopped.
Right at the top.
"What's going on?" I asked, voice pitched high.
I gripped the lap bar.
"They're loading people at the bottom. It's normal." Sebastian's hand settled over mine on the bar. "Breathe."
The seat swayed in the breeze.
Below us, the world kept moving—people shrinking to specks, problems to nothing.
Up here, it was just us.
The sky.
And the first stars breaking through the dusk.
"Okay," I admitted quietly. "This isn't terrible."
"High praise."
"Don't push it."
He laughed. Above us Emma was pointing at something in the distance, short legs kicking.
The wheel lurched back into motion, and I squeaked—actually squeaked—grabbing Sebastian's arm on instinct.
"Sorry," I muttered, loosening my grip.
"Don't be." His hand covered mine, holding it in place. "I told you. No judgment."
I swallowed but didn't pull away.
His biceps were impressively firm and warm beneath his shirt.
My heart did something reckless.
Something that had nothing to do with the height.
The wheel began its descent. The ground rising to meet us.
Emma and Damien waited at the exit, Emma practically vibrating.
"Okay, food now," she declared. "I'm overruling Sebastian's plan. I need a cider donut or I'm going to kill someone."
"So dramatic," Damien tsked.
"Accurate," she corrected, peering up at him—five feet of fury beside his towering frame. "And I'll start with you."
Damien recoiled in mock horror, hands lifting in surrender.
"Fine," Sebastian said. "But we're doing the ring toss after. I made a promise." He glanced at me. "A sacred promise."
"It wasn't sacred."
"It was to me," he said, bowing at the waist.
We followed the smell of fried dough toward the food stalls, the crowd thickening around us. Sebastian's hand found the small of my back—steering me through the crowd.
My skin burned where he touched it.
This isn't a date.
The cider donut stand had a line fifteen people deep.
Emma didn't care. She planted herself at the end of it with the determination of someone who had already decided this was worth the wait.
"They're fresh," she explained, like that justified everything. "They make them right there. You can watch."
She pointed to the window where a machine was dropping perfect rings of dough into hot oil, workers fishing them out and rolling them in cinnamon sugar while they were still glistening.
My insides clenched, a stomach growl escaping.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"No."
Another growl. Louder this time. Traitor.
"Your stomach disagrees."
"My stomach is a liar."
He gave me a look but didn't push.
The line crept forward.
Emma was telling Damien about some podcast she'd discovered, hands flying as she talked.
Damien nodded, the light in her eyes reflected in his.
"Four orders please," Damien announced when we finally reached the window.
One donut. How many calories in a cider donut?
"Actually, I'm not really hungry. I ate before we left."
The lie slipped out smooth as butter.
Emma frowned. "Are you sure? They're really good."
"I'm sure. But I'll steal a bite of Sebastian's."
"Oh, will you?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
"Consider it payment for emotional damages." I gestured at the Ferris wheel behind us. "I was traumatized."
"You literally said it wasn't terrible."
"The bar was low."
We found a bench near the bandstand and squeezed in together.
Emma and Damien demolished their donuts with alarming enthusiasm. Damien paused long enough to kiss sugar from the corner of her mouth.
Disgusting.
Also, ridiculously cute.
Sebastian held his out to me, eyebrow raised. "Payment for emotional damages?"
I hesitated.
Just one bite. One bite won't kill you.
I leaned in and tore off a small piece with my teeth, the cinnamon sugar coating my lips. My eyes fluttered shut, a moan falling from my mouth.
Sebastian's eyes widened, lips parting. "Good?"
"It's fine."
"Liar." He grinned. "Your face and that cute little moan says otherwise."
I wiped the sugar from my mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
But yeah. It was really fucking good.
"Ring toss!" Sebastian announced a minute later, crumpling his napkin and tossing it into a nearby trash can with the precision his physical therapist would have been proud of. "I have a debt to pay."
"You really don't," I laughed.
"I really do." He grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the game booths. "Emma! Damien! You coming?"
"Right behind you," Emma called, still licking cinnamon from her fingers.
The ring toss booth was run by a teenager who looked profoundly bored with existence. Behind him, rows of bottles glinted under the fluorescent lights, and above them hung the prizes—cheap stuffed animals in garish colors, their dead plastic eyes staring into the void.
"How much?" Sebastian asked.
"Five bucks for three rings."
Sebastian slapped a twenty on the counter. "Twelve rings."
The kid handed them over without comment.
"This is unnecessary," I said.
"This is honor." Sebastian lined up his first shot, tongue poking out in concentration. "I made a promise. I'm going to keep it."
The first ring bounced off a bottle and clattered to the ground.
"Promising start," I said.
"Shut up. I'm warming up."
The second ring missed entirely.
"Still warming up?"
The third ring—miraculously—caught on a bottle neck and spun twice before settling.
Sebastian pumped his fist. "Did you see that?"
"I saw a thirty percent success rate."
"You saw greatness," he countered, bouncing on the ball of his one able-bodied foot.
Nine rings later, Sebastian had won exactly enough points for a medium-tier prize: a lumpy purple elephant with one ear slightly larger than the other.
"She's perfect," he declared, accepting the elephant from the bored teenager. "Don't you think?"
"She sure is something," I said, not bothering to hide my smile.
He held the elephant out to me with both hands, expression mock-solemn. "For you. My lady. As promised."
I took in the lopsided creature. Its stitched smile pulled unevenly. Its trunk curved at a questionable angle.
I loved it immediately.
"Thank you," I said, taking it from him. "I'll treasure her always."
"You better. I worked hard for her."
"You missed nine shots," I teased.
"I made three." He slung an arm over my shoulder, steering me towards the next game. "That's a thirty-three percent success rate. In baseball, that'd make me a star."
"This isn't baseball."
"Fair rules. Different standards."
Emma and Damien were already there.
"I want it," she whined, stomping her foot playfully, pointing at a stuffed crocodile. "I've already named it Chomps."
"It's rigged," Damien said, exasperated. "The rim is smaller than regulation. The ball is overinflated. It's designed to make you lose."
"So you're saying you can't do it?" she challenged.
His eyes narrowed.
Sebastian leaned close to my ear. "Oh, she's good."
Damien rolled up his sleeves, pulled out his wallet—then promptly lost fifty bucks.
Fifteen minutes and another forty dollars later, Emma was clutching a three foot stuffed crocodile, beaming from ear to ear.
"You manipulated me," Damien said, looking simultaneously annoyed and impressed.
"I motivated you." She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. "There's a difference."
"Fair rules," Sebastian cut in. "Different definitions."
"Shut up," I snorted.
Damien glared. Emma laughed. The sky behind her had gone fully dark, the fair now a maze of lights and shadow.
We drifted past game booths and food stalls, teenagers pausing for selfies under the neon glow.
Sebastian's hand slipped into mine between the funnel cake stand and the haunted house.
I didn't pull away.
"Hey." He slowed his steps until Emma and Damien moved ahead. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You just seem..." He searched for the word. "Quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
He laughed, loud and vibrant. "No you're not. You're witty and sharp and you talk shit about everything." He bumped his shoulder against mine. "Quiet is different."
I looked down at the purple elephant tucked under my arm. At our joined hands. At the lights blurring past like streaks of paint.
"I'm okay," I said. "Really. This is just… a lot."
"Good a lot or bad a lot?"
I considered it.
Garrett would have demanded an answer. Pushed until I gave him something he could use—reassurance or ammunition.
Sebastian just waited.
"Good a lot," I said.
I hesitated.
"I think."
He squeezed my hand once before letting it go. "Good."
We caught up with Emma and Damien near a bench overlooking the fairgrounds, the lights scattered below us like a shaken snow globe.
Damien was talking about an apple orchard they should visit in the fall—already mapping out the next memory.
Emma nodded along, bright and certain.
"Are you guys ready to head out?" I asked.
Emma glanced at her phone. "Already? It's only nine."
Sebastian patted his medical boot. "Beatrice is getting tired."
"You named your boot?"
"We've been through a lot together," he explained. "I figured she deserved one."
Emma rolled her eyes, but she gathered her giant crocodile, the tail dragging on the ground. Damien snatched it from her hands, the animal comically small in comparison.
"I can carry it," Emma protested.
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I want to." He said it simply.
Emma's cheeks went pink.
Sebastian made a gagging noise. I elbowed him in the ribs.
The walk back to the car was slower, all of us heavy with exhaustion and sugar.
The crowds had thinned. Families heading home. Parking lot emptying.
Ahead, Emma leaned into Damien's side. His arm wrapped around her. He adjusted his pace to match hers—shorter steps, slower rhythm.
Sebastian's hand found mine again. Hidden in the dark.
This was dangerous. Too soon. Too much.
But his hand was warm.
And he didn't squeeze too tight.
We reached the parking lot, the gravel crunching under our feet. Damien loaded Emma's crocodile into the back seat of his expensive car. Sebastian limped ahead of me, reaching for the driver's door and pulling it open with another exaggerated bow.
I mumbled a thanks and ducked behind the steering wheel.
"She needs a name," Sebastian said, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Who?"
"The elephant." He nodded at the purple lump in my lap. "You can't just call her 'the elephant' forever. It's impersonal."
"I've had her for an hour."
"An hour is plenty of time to form a bond."
I looked down at the elephant's uneven smile, her mismatched ears, her crooked trunk.
"Lavender," I said.
"Lavender?"
"She's purple. It fits."
Sebastian considered this, then nodded solemnly. "Lavender. I approve."
Beside us, Damien's car roared to life, headlights sweeping across the lot. We pulled out in a small caravan—me leading, Damien following—winding through the dark country roads back toward the city.
The radio played something soft. The heat kicked on, warming my feet. Outside, the fields rolled past in shadows, the stars bright and sharp above us.
My purse buzzed against the center console.
Then again.
I didn't reach for it. Didn't even glance at it. I already knew who it was—could practically feel the poison seeping through the leather.
Sebastian's gaze flicked to the purse, then to me, but he didn't ask.
"Hey," Sebastian said quietly, a moment later, voice carefully light. "Thanks for driving tonight. And for inviting me."
"Technically I didn't invite you, you invited yourself," I teased.
He smiled—that real one, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You're welcome."