Page 28 of The Accidental Honeymoon

We start the long walk to the entrance with Jay’s crew trailing behind us like a procession of ducklings. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and slows his stride to match mine. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to read his expression. He looks calm, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that gives him away.

Jay is as unsettled to have me at his side as I am to be there. Knowing he is also anxious makes me feel less like I’m about to puke, though.

The ticket booth attendant greets us with a grin as wide as the Stetson she’s wearing. “Howdy, partners! Y’all here to strike it rich?”

Jay flashes his trademark grin, the one that’s sold a million yoga mats and protein shakes. “Just here for some nostalgia.”

The woman hands us two tickets and tips her hat. “Enjoy your day at Mount Gemstone, folks.”

We pass through the turnstiles. The park opens up before us in a riot of pastel colors and faux-frontier buildings. It’s beautiful in a gaudy, over-the-top way; sort of like a wedding cake decorated by a drunk cowboy.

The sounds of a makeshift frontier town fill the air. There’s the clatter of a wooden rollercoaster, the tinny notes of a player piano, and the sizzle of frying funnel cakes. I can almost enjoy it. If I close my eyes, I am almost transportedback to childhood summers at this park, when life was simpler.

Almost.

I look up at Jay, wondering how he remembers it. For me, that camp was a brief escape from the chaos of home. For him, this whole park is probably layered with happy memories, the kind that can build a person’s foundation.

Part of me wants to open his head and crawl inside so I can know what he sees when he looks up at the Ferris wheel. His expression is unreadable, which only makes my curiosity run deeper.

As we walk toward the main street, Jay takes my hand. I stiffen, but he squeezes it gently and leans in. "Look at the cameras," he whispers, nodding toward two guys with high-end equipment. One of them gives a thumbs-up; the other adjusts a lens.

I force a smile. Jay grins wider, like we're sharing a delicious secret. What it is, I don’t know.

The park is more ramshackle than I remember. The once-vibrant building facades are now faded and chipped. There's a grungy charm to it, reminding me of a beloved toy that's been played with a little too roughly.

We stroll down the main street, hand in hand. I can almost pretend we're a real couple, here for a day of innocent fun. Almost.

Is this what our fake relationship is going to be like?

The Silver Dollar Saloon beckons with the scent of beer and fried food. A neon sign buzzes lazily, casting a pallid glow over the entrance. My stomach growls. But Jay pulls me onward. "We'll come back," he promises. "Maybe."

I work up a smile. “I’m game for anything.”

Jay raises an eyebrow at me. “I’ll keep that in mind for later when we get to the hotel room.”

I know I’m blushing a deep crimson. I could kill him. But one of the camera guys laughs, making me think that Jay’s words are playing perfectly to his audience. So I work to keep myself from scowling at him.

Appearances are everything.

We walk by Wild Bill’s Saddle Shop & Gifts next. The windows are crammed with paintings of horses, all done in the same gaudy, airbrushed style. I point at one that features a rearing stallion with a rainbow behind it. "That would look amazing in the living room."

Jay laughs. "Only if you help me pick out the frame. Do you like the one with the horseshoes or the lasso around the border?"

“Both!” I declare.

Character actors in fringed vests and calico dresses wander the street, staying just enough in character to be charming, not obnoxious. One tall man in a ten-gallon hat tips it at us and says, "Howdy, lovebirds!"

I blush while Jay waves.

We pass Miss Penny’s Sweets. I spy a display of giant circular lollipops. Barrels overflowing with salt water taffy threaten to spill out the door. The sugar rush just from walking by is almost enough to make me dizzy.

I turn to say something to Jay. What? I’m not sure.

“My tattoo is itchy,” is what comes out. Technically, it’s true. The healing tattoo on my wrist does, in fact, itch. I show him my wrist.

Jay looks at it for a second. “That looks a little dry. Have you been putting lotion on it?”

“Am I supposed to?” I scrunch my face up.

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