Page 31 of The Ex-cavenger Hunt

“Amazed or amused?” Ethan counters, chuckling as he watches me line up my first shot.

“Definitely amazed.” The words tumble from my lips just as I release the ball. It flies through the air, bounces and—miraculously—lands in the basket. I throw my hands up triumphantly, a giddy laugh escaping me. “See? What did I tell you?”

“Beginner’s luck,” Ethan says, but there’s an appreciative sparkle in his eyes that tells me he’s genuinely impressed.

He moves subtly closer, our shoulders briefly touching, sparking a quiet warmth that surprises me. Ethan’s presence is both comforting and exhilarating, and I find myself drawn to his easygoing nature and quick wit. As we walk around the carnival, our banter flows effortlessly, punctuated by moments of shared laughter and knowing glances.

We move on to the balloon darts, and Ethan takes his stance with an ease that speaks of quiet confidence. His arm arcs forward, the dart flying true and piercing a balloon with a sharp ‘pop.’ He glances back at me, a playful spark in his eyes, the kind that always seems to draw people to him.

“Blah, that’s not impressive. You were trained for that,” I tease him.

“I can promise you that we weren’t trained with water balloons,” Ethan shoots back with a grin.

“Your turn, Lily. Show me what you’ve got,” he challenges, stepping aside to give me room.

I take a dart, its weight surprisingly light in my hand. I focus, the world narrowing to the dart, the balloon, and the distance between. With a small flick, the dart whistles through the air. The balloon bursts and I can’t help but lift my arms and yell, “Yes.”

“Look at you, popping balloons and shit.” He nudges my arm with his. “Do you want us to stay here until we win the big teddy bear?”

“Nah, let’s keep going around,” I say.

Ethan and I meander toward the ring toss.

“Alright, sharpshooter,” Ethan teases. “Let’s see if your aim holds up when it’s all about finesse.”

I can’t help but smile, picking up a neon ring. “Maybe we should place a little wager.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you propose?”

“If I win,” I start, my mind racing with possibilities, “you have to try the scariest ride here with me. No chickening out.”

“And if I win?” Ethan counters, already picking up a ring with a confident smirk.

“You get to pick the next three games, and I can’t complain, no matter how ridiculous they are.”

“Deal,” he agrees, and we shake on it, the casual touch sending an unexpected spark through me.

Ethan goes first, his rings looping through the air with grace. One, two, three rings land snugly around the target bottles.

“Not bad,” I concede, impressed despite myself. “But I’m not beaten yet.”

I take my turn, the rings feeling flimsy in my hands, but I’m determined. The first one misses, a fact Ethan doesn’t let go unnoticed.

“Seems like all that sharpshooting doesn’t translate here,” he quips, unable to hide his amusement.

But then, my next ring lands perfectly, followed by another, but of course he beat me. Which takes us to one of the most annoying and ridiculous games.

“Ready to get schooled in the noble art of mole-whacking?” Ethan smirks.

The game starts, and we’re a flurry of motion, mallets thudding against the machine as we aim for the high score. Ethan’s quick, his reflexes sharp, but I’m right there with him, each hit punctuated by our laughter and the occasional mock taunt.

“If we played the same game, is there really a winner here?” I pant, as the game winds down, both of us breathless from the exertion and exhilaration.

Ethan looks over, sweat beading his brow, but his eyes shine with excitement. “What matters is that we’re having fun,” he says, his voice warm and genuine.

He’s right, but not only now. Ever since we started this trip I’ve been having fun. It’s been not only surprising but maybe one of the best road trips I’ve taken in my entire life.

“Watch this,” I chirp, my eyes fixed on the pyramid of cans at the far end of the booth. The game operator smirks as if he’s seen a hundred hopefuls like me, confident until the clang of failure. But not today.

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