Page 34 of Protected By the Billionaire Ex-SEAL

“So, how was that?”

“Good.”

“Where do you want to go next?”

“Home.”

He frowns at my one-word replies, trying to figure me out. But I’m all too conscious of the eyes on us and am no longer comfortable. To my relief, Christian doesn’t ask questions and ushers me out of the diner in no time.

But when we get into the truck, I realize he’s not driving toward where his street is.

“Where are we going?”

Christian’s silent for a while. Then he clears his throat.

“We’ve been stuck at home for a while. I have a better plan.”

Chapter 11

Christian

I don’t know what changed her mood from restlessly excited to quietly broody, but it made me come up with one goal: to make sure she’s never sad again during her time in Sweet Haven. Because I know going home will just prolong the latter mood, I drive us in the other direction and try not to get into details until we’re in the next town, which isn’t that far away. Hopetown has a slightly bigger population than ours, and they have one thing we don’t at this time.

When Raven discovers this, her eyes go wide as saucers.

“Is this a fair?”

“Yeah. A town fair, which I’m going to assume you’ve never been to before.”

I can’t help but grin at her fascinated, whispered no. “Amusement parks, yes. But this…does Sweet Haven have this?”

“Once a year, usually in a different month. But this month is Hopetown’s Foundation Month, so they have this up.”

“Oh. So Sweet Haven people visit here, too?”

“They did. It’s the last week, so I don’t think there’s a lot of my folks here now.”

I know Honey Lee never mentioned this to her, considering Raven isn’t supposed to go out, but I feel like I did the right thing when she steps into the enclosed area and her face lights up. When I realize where her gaze is, I nudge her.

“Come on. Let’s see who gets to win the biggest prize.”

A challenge rises in her eyes as we head toward the first booth, where we’re supposed to toss the rings on the bottles. I win that one easily and choose the brown teddy bear. I also win the balloon darts and ping-pong ball toss games, and by the time my arms are laden with plush toys, she’s groaning in protest and rolling her eyes at me.

“You’ve had practice. Of course, you’d know how to hit targets. Can I pick the next game?”

“Sure. But I might still win it.”

I swallow my gloating when she does win the next game, then the next. I try not to stare every time she laughs out loud; her delight is sheer and breathtaking. When we spot a platform with a kiddie pool filled with water below, I shake my head adamantly at the mischievous glint in her eye.

“Absolutely not.”

“But I want you drenched.”

It says a lot about her company that my mind immediately goes to how she can make me wet, but I shake it off and try to keep my thoughts appropriate.

“How about you sit there and I hit the bulls-eye?”

“No. I told you. You’re good at hitting targets. That would be unfair.”

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