Chapter 20
Clara
Tonight feels like magic.
Not the polished, curated kind with reservation confirmations and strategic networking smiles.
The messy, glowing, breathless kind.
Greyson and I are walking between carnival booths, our shoulders brushing every few steps like neither of us wants to admit we’re doing it on purpose.
There’s music playing somewhere—off-key, slightly too loud—and kids are running past with sticky fingers and neon prizes.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much on a date.
With Geoffrey, everything had been managed.
Reservations at places where the plates were art installations, and the lighting was optimized for flattering photographs.
Conversations about market positioning and partnerships.
Subtle nudges about how I could mention his name in a post.
Who I should sit next to.
What I should order.
Even when he smiled at me, it felt like he was calculating something.
With Greyson?
He bought me pizza and pasta and even spoon fed me bites from his plate like we were a real couple.
He wiped iced tea out of his beard with absolutely zero self-consciousness after I made him laugh mid-sip—and he didn’t blame me either.
He even told me I’m a writer like it was a fact, not a fragile wish.
Untamed.
Unplanned.
Perfect.
The evening breeze is cool, but it’s warm enough I don’t need more than a light sweater.
Spring is unpredictable here. A real in like a lion, out like a lamb sort of thing.
We stop at one of those ridiculous ring-toss games.
Greyson studies the bottles like they’ve personally offended him.
“You think you can win?” I tease.
“I don’t think,” he mutters. “I do.”
I laugh.
He throws the first ring. Misses.
I raise a brow.
He narrows his eyes like the booth itself has insulted his honor.
The next toss lands perfectly around the neck of a bottle.
The bored teenage attendant blinks. “Uh. Okay.”
Greyson doesn’t even look smug. He just turns to me.
“Pick,” he says.
The prizes are absurd. Oversized stuffed animals. Glittery plastic crowns. Something that might be a neon octopus.
I point at a huge plush shaped like a flower—it’s almost as big as my torso.
He doesn’t hesitate.
When he hands it to me, I clutch it to my chest and laugh.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You like ridiculous,” he says quietly.
He’s right.
I do.
We drift toward the edge of the carnival where it’s darker, quieter. The Ferris wheel turns slowly behind us, lights reflecting in his eyes.
And suddenly my thoughts catch up with me.
Can I do this?
Can I actually let myself fall into something like this with a man who already pushed me away once?
The memory of that morning hits like cold water.
Coffee on the stove.
Clothes folded neatly.
“I have work to do.”
Like I was an inconvenience he needed to clear off his mountain.
My chest tightens.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now.
I nod automatically. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t buy it.
He steps closer, not touching me yet, but near enough that I can feel his warmth.
“You’re thinking,” he says.
“Dangerous hobby.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “About?”
I look up at him.
At this man who chased off a bear for me.
Who built art with his hands.
Who shoved me away because he panicked.
And came back anyway.
“I’m just…” I exhale. “Trying to decide if I’m brave enough to do this.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “Do what?”
“This.”
There. I said it.
The word hangs between us like a fragile ornament.
He doesn’t look away.
“I screwed up,” he says. “I know I did.”
“I know,” I reply gently.
“I was scared,” he continues. “You got under my skin fast. That’s not something I’m used to.”
“I don’t want to be someone you experiment bravery on,” I say quietly. “I’ve done something like that before. I was someone’s stepping stone.”
His eyes flash.
“You’re not that,” he says, immediate and fierce.
“I know I’m not,” I reply. “But I need to know you know that.”
The wind lifts my hair. The carnival music drifts faintly behind us.
He steps closer until our toes nearly touch.
“I know it, Trouble.”
“So, why this date? Why me?”
“Because I think we might be worth the risk.”