“I can get you a front-row seat for the second show tonight. You’ve shown me your chili world—” She looks like she wants to gag on the word—“I’d like to show you mine.”
“It won’t be any trouble?”
Sam smiles. “My posters are everywhere, remember? Celebrity does have its benefits. I’d love for you to be there.”
“Then I will.”
She seems to shudder under some weight in my words. I feel it, too.
“Great! I… uh… really need to get back. Rehearsal and all. Give the ticket booth your name, and hang around after the show. I’ll tell the stagehands you’re VIP.”
“Wow, I feel special.”
“You are.”
Now, I can feel myself blushing.
Sam inhales deeply, inflating a wild, embarrassed smile that lights up my soul.
“You’re the crown chili champion! Of last year!” she says. “Of course, you’re special.”
We laugh so easily together, as if we’ve been joking our entire lives.
Sam holds out her delicate hand again. Maybe she’s looking for excuses to touch me, too.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Thor.”
“The pleasure has been mine.”
Feeling bolder than the spiciest chili, I take her hand like I’m handling a precious stone, bring it to my lips, and plant a soft kiss on her softer skin, never breaking her emerald gaze. “I can’t wait to see you perform.”
“Same,” she huffs. “I mean, I can’t wait to see you…for you to see me perform. All right, I have to go—the chili fumes are getting to my head.”
I watch her go, losing myself in her long legs as she scurries off and waves at a few fans. Someone says something to me, but I don’t hear them.
I don’t see the crowd.
I don’t smell the chili.
The only sensation worth feeling is her touch, and I’m counting the heartbeats until I feel it again.
Outside, it's still sweltering even though the sun has long set. But the temperature drops the moment I step into the big purple tent as if the threshold transports the show’s guests to another realm. Strobing soft lights and exciting music would force my heart to beat harder if it wasn’t already thundering.
The thought of seeing Sam in her element has kept it pounding all day.
I flood in with families, groups of loud teens, and old folks looking for a youthful thrill. Conversations trickle into my ears from all directions, murmuring ofValkyrie. It’s as if my thoughts have occupied the minds of everyone present.
Wooden bleachers form a massive square, all facing the packed-down dirt where the performances will take place, separated only by a waist-high wall of hay bales. A few attendees shout my name as I shuffle toward the hay. I give them a wave, recognizing a few. As I take my seat in the front row, I’m joined by a drunk man in a cowboy hat. He nearly spills his beer sliding in next to me.
“Shoulda gave us separate seats for how much these damn tickets cost.Bleachers. That’s some bullshit,” he says haughtily. “It’ll be worth it, though. That girl performing wants mebad.”
I flip through my program booklet. “Who? The giantess or one of the clowns?”
“What? Hell no.Valkyrie.” He takes a chug and clears his throat as if it pains him to drink the cheap lager. “We... uh… got a little flirty earlier. I got her number.”
“Is that so?”
His red face gives him away. “You calling me a liar?”
