Page 95 of The Escape Plan

I smile at her teasingly. “I mean, you did just write an article about how that kind of lore surrounds the building, and that it’s steeped in legends about love… right?”

“Right.” She nods, her expression slightly frustrated, like she’s struggling to articulate her thoughts. I give her space, and after a beat she adds, “After writing the article and all the exploration on the legend we’ve done this summer, it’s undeniable that there’s some kind of truth to it. The building somehow plays some kind of role, helping fate or meddling in matchmaking or whatever. I just mean…” she stops. Swallows. Winces.

For a moment, I think she’s going to leave her thought unfinished.

But then, in a voice so small, I can barely make it out, she says, “I just mean, I’m sad that what the building did foruswas temporary.”

I look at her, really look at her, soaking in her earnest blue eyes and messy black hair and flushed cheeks. The wrinkle in her brow and downturn to her lips.

And the only thought that jumps to the forefront of my mind as my eyes meet hers is:what if it didn’t have to be?

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Keeley

I’m fine.

I’m totally, completely, utterly fine.

The last moments of lingering twilight fade just as the fairground lights up the night with a million glowing, flashing bulbs that twinkle through the darkness.

The sounds of canned music and the delighted squeals of children high on sugar and adrenaline mingle with the scent of fried dough and cotton candy as Beckett and I go through the motions of a great final date night together.

Anexcellentdate night, in fact.

Beckett pulls me from food stand to food stand, exclaiming over offerings that are strange and wonderful in his eyes, but regular fair food in mine: Funnel cakes, Dole Whip, giant corn dogs on sticks, giant soft serves with jimmies, and of course, deep-fried Oreos.

“Come on.” Becks tugs my hand and pulls us into the lengthy Oreo line-up, wrapping his arm around me and pulling my back against his chest while we wait. His chin comes to rest on my head, and I smile.

“Are you using me as a headrest?”

“I can’t help it that you’re the perfect tiny height to do so.” He chuckles, and I feel the sound reverberate through his chest. “In fact, are they even going to allow you to ride the tilt-a-whirl?”

“Since I was twelve, I’ll have you know,” I squawk indignantly. He kisses the top of my head, and I soak in the sensation of his lips brushing my hair, his body heat warming mine.

I’m fine.

When we finally get the prized Oreo in hand, Becks takes one bite and proclaims it “an atrocity” and “a crime against mankind.”

I laugh and declare him “tastebud challenged” as I eat the rest.

He watches me, wiping a smudge of sugar from the edge of my lip with his thumb.

We play carnival games—Beckett proves to have an excellent arm despite his claims earlier tonight that he’d make for a terrible baseball player—and he wins me a giant stuffed elephant by knocking down a stack of cans. I name him Ernie and declare he’s to be best friends with Bert the capybara.

Beckett threads his fingers through mine. “Wanna ride the Ferris wheel?” He grins at me. “I hear it’s very romantic and cozy and hardly anyone has thrown up on it this year.”

“Dream date, right here,” I tell him, but my heart clenches a little behind my smile.

I’m totally fine.

We board the ride, and as Beckett’s arm tightens around me and the wheel begins to move, the soundtrack in my head switches.I’m finedissolves intoI love him.

I love him I love him I love him I love him.

Those three little words are on a loop, playing on repeat in my mind as we go around.

When the wheel stops at the top, Beckett kisses me softly. So sweetly and tenderly and carefully that, for some mortifying reason, I start to cry.

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