Page 48 of Red Flags Only

“You’ll have your sanity, Jupe, just as soon as we’re done playing with flags. You like the flags, yes? Pretty, pretty flags. So red. So shiny.”

Hmph. “Butterflies are better,” I pout.

“Of course they are.” She pats my arm, then lets her hand rest there as she tells the shoe man her size. The warmth of her fingers pressing through my shirt does much to comfort me, despite the loss of the butterflies.

Several minutes later we climb into our karts butterfly-free.

“Okay, folks!” a man in a white and black striped shirt and black slacks speaks into a microphone beside the lanes where Lyra and I sit in a line of go-karts filled with teenagers and children with stuffed shoes. “My pit crew worker, Laura, will be by to check your seatbelts and ensure everyone’s safety before we start the race.”

A surly looking brunette in an identical uniform stops by my kart, takes a cursory glance at my seatbelt, then moves on.

“If you see a yellow flag while you’re out there, go ahead and slow down for me, yeah? Red flags mean full stop and wait for instruction.”

I frown. I don’t like the sound of that. That feels likein case of emergencywording, notroutinely we show you the red flagswording.

“White means last lap, and a Fun Emporium favorite – the checkered flag – means your race is over! When you see that checkered flag, go ahead and park your kart, then wait for this light right here-” He points to a stoplight above his head. “-to stop blinking red before you exit the vehicle. Hands and feet stay inside at all times.” He smilesthe smile of a man who makes minimum wage to corral children all day. “Happy racing!”

The light above his head turns green, and we take off.

I spend the first lap in shock, doing all that I can to keep up with Lyra, who must have been a NASCAR level racecar driver in a previous life. She zips. She zooms. Shelaughs.

The second lap, my shock leaves me, and I’m able to fully appreciate Lyra in this setting – wild, free, and high on kart fumes and life.

The third lap, I ram into the barrier on every turn, unable to keep my eyes off of her wide smile, the wind in her hair like a halo around her.

I commit these moments to memory. The beauty of joy on her face, the way it transforms her in that not-dress. The beating of my heart – too fast – and the goosebumps on my flesh. I memorize it all.

Thismoment.

Thisfeeling.

Thiswoman.

They never do wave the red flag, but I don’t notice. My vision is taken up by gold.

Chapter Twenty-Four

We love these tropes.

Lyra

“I’m sick,” I answer the door a week after the best date I have or ever will have had. Leaning against the frame, I squint at the hazy visage of who I hope is Jove. “I would’ve called, but I didn’t save your number, and a letter wouldn’t have gotten to you fast enough, and I don’t have your address either to drop one off on your porch without risking giving you my germs.” I pull a tissue from the pocket of the robe hanging off my shoulders over my favorite pair of fuzzy pink pajamas, blow my nose, then continue. “I’m so sorry, Jupie. I can’t go on our date tonight.”

“Lyra, what the flag?” Jove asks, catching me when I wobble. He hisses as my skin hits his. “You’re burning up!”

I shrug, leaning into the cool comfort of his embrace. “You’re ice,” I mumble. “What blessing.”

Jove curses, then bends, scooping me up. Ah. Yes, much better, for here is his neck, frigid and wonderful. I shove my face into it.

“If you could just drop me off in my fridge, that would be great,” I mutter. “We’ll have to do date night next week.”

His jaw works above me, grinding against my head andmaking the pounding in it even poundier.

Ow.

“Okay. Okay. This is fine,” he booms, no care for my poor head. “We’ll just pivot. What are the trope options here… hm… He takes care of her when she’s sick, obviously. I can’t leave you like this. You’re pathetic.”

I groan in protest. I’m not pathetic. I’m adorably in need. A damsel in distress. My knight? The deep freezer sitting in my garage, which will surely fight this vicious heat. Oh, how I love him.

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