Page 67 of The County Fair Queen

Preston reached out for Jordy, tilting his chin up until their eyes met. As my father's thumb stroked Jordy's chin, I took a step forward, ready to rain down holy hell upon them for essentially eye-fucking each other in the middle of the town square, but Rivers held me back.

In an act that made my stomach churn, Preston smirked, scraping Jordan's jaw with the nail of his thumb. "I ain't your damn daddy," he said… seductively? Honestly, it was hard to tell. Preston was a wild card. Who the hell knew what went through his mind most of the time?

After our group dispersed, Rivers asked Beau and me to hang back. "Beau," Rivers said.

"Yeah, Daddy?"

"Would it be alright with you if Phillip stayed the night with us?"

Beau's eyes widened, and then he shook his head so quickly that for a moment, I thought he might just take flight. It surprised me, and by the looks of it, Rivers seemed just as confused.

"Ms. Fletcher already told me we were staying the night at her house. She said she wanted to show me where we're gonna keep Fudge's family in the morning."

"She did?"

Beau nodded. "She also said you two were gonna want to spend some time fabricating, whatever the heck that means."

"Fabricating?"

"Is that some sort of oilfield jargon? Dear God, Rivers—I can't. I'm not cut out for manual labor." I held out my hand, palmdown, fingers twinkling. "These are the hands of a goddess, and goddesses don't dally in works that require physical exertion."

Rivers took my hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. I may have swooned, but that was hardly the point.

"That's what she said," Beau said. "Or maybe it was 'funnel-caking?'"

"I don't know what that means," Rivers said.

"I'm not frying up baked goods at midnight," I said, taking a step back. "Dear God, I can barely even boil an egg without Jordan's assistance. Why is this child hellbent on me spending my last night doing physical labor?"

"Or was it 'fornicating?'" he mused.

"Oh my fuc—"

Rivers covered my mouth with his hand, his eyes growing double in size. "Funnel-caking. She definitely said funnel-caking."

"It's too late for cooking," Beau said before yawning. "Can we just buy a couple from one of the trucks before we leave? I won't tell Mrs. Fletcher, I promise." Beau yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. At his side, Fudge Rivera followed suit, his obnoxious yawn ending with an oink. Beau turned to me, holding his hands in the air and clapping his fingertips to his palms, motioning for me to pick him up. My heart may have melted a bit when I scooped him up and hugged him to my chest. Rivers bent down and picked up Fudge before leaning in and giving me a quick peck on the lips.

"You ready to go, Firecracker?"

I nodded. "Take me home, Riv."

Chapter Seventeen

TWO INITIALS DIVIDED BY AN UNBROKEN HEART

We crept through Aunt Lurlene's home like cuttlefish at the bottom of the deepest portion of the sea, clinging closely to the walls as if we'd hoped to fade into the paint itself. There was no reason to hide what we were doing; we were both adults, fully capable of making this decision. Still, I think we both knew this would be our series finale. One last curtain call before our whirlwind romance faded to black. Neither of us acknowledged where we were going, or the reason we were going there. We didn't need to. The look in his eyes as he clung to me after we danced. Our hearts beating in time as I held him against me. There was no other way for this show to end.

I opened the door to my childhood bedroom and ushered him in. There was a rose-scented candle on my nightstand, and as he fumbled awkwardly with his belt, I lit it, staring at the flame fanning in the breeze. The window was open, and hanging from the sill, one of Aunt Lurlene's wind chimes played out a gentleautumn song. When I turned around, Rivers was unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes clinging to me like a lighthouse, as if he needed me to guide him through the act. I placed my hand on his, stopping him.

"I want to show you something first," I said. He followed me toward the old blueberry-colored beanbag, following suit as I knelt in front of it. "Don't laugh."

"Promise," he said, kneeling down behind me and kissing the side of my neck.

I pulled the beanbag out, making visible a love letter of sorts. Our initials, bound by an unbroken heart, etched into the wooden bones of my family home. He let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl before wrapping his arms around my waist and rolling his hips against me. He was hard, and the pressure of it felt like solid steel against my crack.

"You weren't joking," he said, sounding surprised.

"I had the biggest crush on you, Riv." He had one hand around my waist and the other draped over my shoulder, holding me by the heart. "I didn't have a lot of friends back then. When we were assigned to do the science project together, I wanted to tell you. Wanted to rip this beanbag away from the wall and show you how I felt. I used to lie awake in bed and try to imagine this little world for us. One where you liked me back."

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