Chase took my lack of graciousness on the chin, which was a point in the correct column for him. Another point was their choice of hotel. I thought Chase would be too fancy to stay in Woodville. I thought they’d get a room in the closest city, which had at least one hotel that was at a level Spoons would be used to. But no, my sister and her rich boyfriend had booked a room above the pub, and he didn’t even seem unhappy about it.
On the drive to their hotel, Caroline complimented my mustache, which was in much better shape than it had been last time she’d seen me, because I’d started going to the barber instead of using kitchen scissors. She also gave me grief about the six takeaway cups and three mugs in my truck, which I brushed off. I was on a path to become a Serious Business Boy™, and Serious Business Boys™ didn’t have time to tidy their cups. Also, to be honest, I’d gotten used to Lyssa sorting my cups. She was good at that.
Anyway, we weren’t thinking about Lyssa, we were thinking Serious Business Boy™ things.
I dropped my sister and her moneybags boyfriend at the pub for Jase to check them in. They were jet-lagged from the long flight, and they’d spend the day walking around like zombies until they stopped fighting it and went to bed.
I didn’t see them before I loaded Mini M into the horse float and drove to Danestown for the fair.
Lyssa was due home today.
Just by the by.
Unloading Mini M at the fairground, I rehearsed my pitch opening under my breath, but my thoughts kept pinging back to Lyssa, like a yo-yo or a really blue-eyed boomerang. It dawned on me then that she might not be planning to come back to my house because of what had gone down before she left. Maybe she would feel awkward about staying with me now? She might go and bunk in the hotel with Chase and my sister. Normally, people on an international holiday wouldn’t want a third wheel killing their vibe, but I knew Lyssa often stayed with Chase and Caroline in their apartment. Something ugly bubbled in my belly whenever I thought about that. If I was honest with myself, I was jealous that Chase knew Lyssa better than I did, even though there was nothing between them. Obviously. It was just that I’d only had her in my space for a couple weeks, and he’d had her stay at his apartment many times since Caroline had moved in with him. They had an easy familiarity that, even though it was platonic, made me feel prickly.
According to Caroline, Lyssa had a toothbrush at their apartment, and her own drawer in the bathroom—not that she would ever keep her shit contained to one drawer. Everywhere Lyssa went, she spread stuff: makeup, clothing, keys, bits of this or that. She’d pick up things and forget she was holding them, or why she had them, and put them down the minute she realized it. Far from annoying me, I missed it. Her stuff made my house feel alive.
All to say, I was down bad and in over my head.
I shook myself, forcing my mind back to the task at hand.
The Danestown fair was popular. Families and couples strolled around, loading up on preserves and artisan bread, buying crafts and chatting with their neighbors. Every kid in a hundred-meter radius wanted a ride on Mini M, and the line for us grew faster than we could walk in circles.
Mini Mike accepted all the attention as his due. We were alike like that. So he was happy preening and walking around and around in the same circle without getting bored. Normally, I’d be showboating along with him. But today I was just going through the motions. I kept up a cheerful chatter with everyone, and people seemed happy.
But my heart wasn’t in it. I was a fraud in a party hat.
At midday, the musical kids’ entertainers struck up in the gazebo in the middle of the town square. All the children and their parents abandoned my line to sit on the lawn and listen to covers of songs about fruit salad and big red cars. After the musical performance, most of the kids were taken home. The fair was left to adults clustered around the port stand and the gin-tasting booth.
The restaurants and boutique bars that surrounded the square were starting to fill up, and sounds of tipsy revelry drifted through the square.
Mini M and I were contracted to stay here until five p.m., even though without any kids wanting rides, we had nothing to do.
I hitched him to his trailer and wandered around the fair. Without a burning desire for fancy jam or port, not much caught my eye until I saw a bunch of bright balloons waving in the wind. My eyes followed the balloon strings down to the backpack they were tied to, then to the clown wearing it. He had balloons twisted into dogs, butterflies, frogs, and a weird swan thing he was wearing as a hat.
I made a beeline for him. The clown, who immediately dropped his high-pitched, cheerful voice when he saw there was no child with me, told me in a raspy smoker’s baritone that he could make red roses if I wanted. I considered it, but it didn’t feel right. I told him a bit about Lyssa’s outfits and her gran, and together we came up with the perfect arrangement. It took forever for him to twist all the balloons into shape, but I had time.
With the newly-purchased arrangement in hand, I belatedly realized the problem if Lyssa decided not to come back to mine. Maybe I could drop it off at Levitate? I definitely couldn’t get Caroline to give it to her—my sister would have a hundred questions about why I’d done this, and I wouldn’t be able to answer any of them.
Back at my stall, I leaned against the picnic table I’d been using as a counter and waited for it to get late enough in the day that I could go home. I didn’t have any social media or games on my phone, and there were no missed calls or unanswered messages, but that didn’t stop me from checking the thing every ten minutes.
Mini M stood nearby, alternating resting his back legs like he did when he was about to fall asleep. I straightened his party hat, illustrated with pink confetti. Mine was matching green. He was probably wishing he was eating hay or rolling in shit, his two favorite things. I was thinking about long dark hair and silly outfits. I’d given up trying to think about anything else.
As if I conjured her, a tall white woman in a bonkers outfit appeared in the square, crossing the grass toward me. Heads turned. It was different to how people looked at Caroline—with Lyssa, they were seeing the outfit, not the person. Not me though. I saw past the purple 80’s tracksuit bottoms she’d cut into shorts and sewed like ye olde bloomers, past the sweater with bright loops of yarn dangling from the sleeves, and the old-man-style tweed waistcoat. I barely noticed her jaunty red beret or platform crocs. I saw her. And she was so fucking beautiful, so clever and interesting and boatloads smarter than anyone ever realized, because they got too distracted by the spectacle of her.
Pushing to my feet, I couldn’t stop the wide grin spreading across my face. She hitched her bag up her shoulder and broke into a little run, almost a trot. In her six-inch crocs (they made six-inch crocs?), it was probably as fast as she could go.
On instinct, I beckoned her, two of my fingers pointing at the sky, two toward me. She didn’t need telling twice.
She launched herself at me, throwing her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I just had time to admire the crush of her tits against my chest before her mouth was on mine, hungry.
Lyssa Luxe said hello by kissing the shit outta me.
I forgot to give a shit about all the people watching, about my vow to clean up my slutty little act, or that we’d left things in a weird place. I wrapped my arms under her ass and hoisted her higher, worshipping her mouth like we were somewhere much more private, with much less baggage. Her hands dug into my hair, knocking off my party hat, and she moaned under my lips, not stopping her frantic pace or the push of her tongue. I met her press for press, stroke for stroke. I wasn’t going to be the first one to stop, fuck that.
Eventually, wolf whistles penetrated my brain.
When someone yelled, “Get a room, Mike!” Lyssa broke our kiss.
