“You and Ad—” I started, but he raised his hand to cut me off.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said tightly.
“And now who’s being a stupid ass,” I teased.
He punched my arm, quick and sharp. “When are you coming in to start your sleeve?”
“Soon,” I muttered. I’d given him an intricate design for my right arm a few months back, but I’d been too busy with work to begin the process.
Ellie returned, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She jumped into my arms before I could brace myself. I caught her and kissed her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I did it,” she whispered against my lips. “The release party’s on the calendar.”
Pride swelled in my chest. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”
And I was. Watching her choose herself—something her family never let her do—was addictive.
I wanted to be the one who kept her believing she could.
Five hours later, I was full of doughboys, cider, and at least three kinds of meat on a stick. My stomach should’ve hated me, but walking with Ellie made everything feel lighter. She touched everything at the artisan booths with reverence, her fingers brushing wood carvings and jewelry displays like they were treasures. I’d bought all the things she lingered over. At first she protested, but as the day wore on, she accepted the gifts.
It was like no one had ever given her presents before. And that thought didn’t sit right in my chest.
“We’ve got a little over an hour before the flower release at sunset,” I said when we returned from a trip to my car to drop off purchases. “Want to go on a few more rides?”
Her eyes lit up. “Ferris wheel?”
My gut plummeted. Of course. Out of every ride?—
She caught my expression, her smile faltering. “We can do something else.”
I forced a grin. “Nope. Ferris wheel it is. Kiss at the top, right? It’s a good luck tradition.”
She tugged at my arm. Her steps quickened as we got closer. “Or maybe we should kiss every time it stops and hope it’ll give us even more luck.”
“Absolutely.” I needed all the luck I could get if I was going to ask her to officially be my not-fake girlfriend and for me to survive this ride.
The closer we got to the wheel, the drier my throat became. The iron scent of the Ferris wheel’s machinery hit my nose, mingling with the popcorn and sugar wafting through the air, and irritating my stomach.
The line moved too fast. Before I knew it, we were locked into an open car, and the lap bar was pressed down across our legs.
The ride jerked forward. Our seat rocked. My hand clamped on Ellie’s arm.
She gave a startled squeak. “Drew?—”
“I’m fine,” I gritted out, teeth clenched so tight I thought my jaw might snap.
We rose higher and my stomach dropped. My chest constricted.
Forget about kissing. I was just trying to hold down my doughboys.
Every stop made the car sway, the world tilting below us in dizzying detail—the string lights like scattered stars, the crowd a blur of movement, the smell of fried oil wafting up nauseating me.
The higher we got, my muscles tensed further.
“Drew.” Her voice softened, her hand peeling mine from her arm to lace our fingers together. “You’re afraid of heights.”
A jerky nod was all I could manage.
