Page 30 of (Not Really) Faking It With My Best Friend's Brother

"Blue raspberry, definitely." Susan’s face lit up like a kid's as she watched the strands of sugar bloom into fluffy cotton candy. I found myself grinning as I handed over the money and took the spun sugar confection from the vendor, passing it to Susan.

Watching Susan try to eat the cotton candy without getting it on her nose was a silent comedy that had me chuckling.

"Stop laughing. It's a serious technique," she protested, her giggles giving away her pretend annoyance.

"Clearly, I'm in the presence of a master." I teased, raising my eyebrows in feigned admiration.

"Absolutely," she affirmed with a playful nod, "the art of cotton candy consumption is not to be underestimated."

I laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her to the center of the festival grounds where the Ferris wheel was.

"Oh, no," Susan protested, her eyes widening as she looked up at the towering Ferris wheel. “I don’t do heights, Nate.”

"Come on," I coaxed, “What’s the worst that could happen? You could drop your fluffy sugar cloud?”

She rolled her eyes at my joke, but the corners of her lips twitched upwards in a reluctant smile. "If I drop my cotton candy, Dr. Reynolds, you owe me another one."

"Deal," I agreed, releasing her hand to purchase the tickets.

Our carriage creaked and swayed as it ascended into the sky, Susan clutching the bars white-knuckled, her cotton candy forgotten in her lap. As the world dropped away beneath us, I felt a tug inside me at the sight of her vulnerability.

"Hey, look at me," I said gently, taking her free hand. Her eyes met mine, wide and unsure.

"I've got you, Susan." I squeezed her hand. She nodded, releasing the death grip on the bar and clutching onto my hand instead.

As we reached the top of the rotation, the city lights twinkled beneath us, and Susan let out a soft gasp.

Slowly, her fear shifted to awe as she took in the panorama of lights covering our little town of Rivermint Cove. A smile found its way onto her face as she rested her head on my shoulder, our hands still interlocked.

"Wow, Rivermint Cove is beautiful from up here," she murmured, her eyes reflecting the glittering city lights.

"It sure is," I agreed, but my gaze never left her.

Our cart descended, and her initial fear seemed to have evaporated. As we disembarked, her laughter rang out over the festival sounds. Hearing the joy in her voice gave me a warm sense of satisfaction.

"Well, I survived," she shook her head incredulously, "I actually enjoyed it!"

"See? All you need is a little push sometimes." I shot her a teasing smile.

"Hey, no fair!" she playfully shoved me. "You used your doctor 'trust me' voice."

I lifted an eyebrow at her, a smile playing on my lips. "Do I have a doctor 'trust me' voice?"

She stared at me for a moment, a false, serious expression on her face. "Oh, absolutely," she nodded, pointing a finger at me. "It's all calm and comforting, like 'trust me, I've done this surgery a hundred times,' or 'trust me, this won't hurt a bit.' It's not fair."

I laughed at her description, the warm sound mixing with the distant hum of the festival. "Well, I'm glad it's working."

Turning away from the Ferris Wheel, we wandered back through the carnival stalls. Susan paused at a booth lined with stuffed animals, her eyes sparkling with childlike excitement.

"Look at those pandas!” she exclaimed, pointing to a row of adorable black and white fluffies.

"Do you think you can win one?" her eyebrows danced in the challenge as she gestured towards the ring toss set up.

"I don't know about ring toss, but I'm a pro at the water gun race." I steered her towards the booth next to it, a row of water shooters facing an array of colorful racing horses.

As we took our places in line, Susan's eyes were fixed on the prize—an oversized stuffed panda that would look perfect in her cozy reading nook at the library. It was a light-hearted competition, but I was determined to win that panda for her.

The game started, and we squeezed our triggers, water streaming toward the tiny targets. Susan's horse took an early lead, making her squeal in delight. My competitive side kicked in, and I focused on my target with laser-like precision. Our horses moved neck-and-neck down the track. The cheers and laughter from the people around us became a blur as I heard the bell ring. I looked to see Susan jumping up and down with joy. Her horse had crossed the finish line a fraction of a second before mine.

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