Page 22 of Fairground

Probably deliciously strong pecs and some perfectly trimmed chest hair. Unruly enough to make it look like he isn't trying but just long enough to add some friction.

Don't go there.

It’s October now, cool enough to confuse me in the mornings on how I should dress. I’m in black jeans and a tank top, my body already shivering despite the sun. I’ve had a busy morning—the kid’s school drop off, cleaning the house, hitting the gym early to stay in my new routine—but none of that is enough to keep me warm now that the sun's dropping behind the horizon and a cool breeze has kicked up. It’s the kind of chill that seeps past skin and into your bloodstream, the kind that makes you crave something warm—coffee, a hoodie, or maybe, ridiculously, thebody heat of a man who looks like every small town, lumberjack dream.

Cash’s gaze drifts over me, taking in the slight shake in my arms. “You look cold,” he says, his voice casual but his brow furrowed. “Wait here. I’ve got a coat in my truck.”

I wave him off. “I'll be fine.”

He shakes his head, ignoring me as he heads to the truck anyways. A moment later, he returns with a green jacket. “Will you wear it?”

I eye the jacket for a second before nodding and slipping it on. It smells like him—woodsy, like fresh-cut cedar mixed with something warm and spicy and practically swallows my frame. For a guy who works with chickens all day, he sure never smells like it. Would be a lot easy to not stare at him if he stunk like shit. And honestly it isn’t fair that he’s nice, funny and pretty.

My fingers smooth down the fabric that drapes over my hips. “Thanks,” I mumble because why’s he being so nice to me?

He smirks. “Wasn’t sure you’d take it. It’s not black, after all.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t only wear the color black.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I like the color. It’s slimming. You wouldn't get it.”

His smirk fades as his gaze sweeps over me again, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Finally, he steps back, shaking his head.

“Can’t imagine why you’d care about that.”

Heat creeps up my neck because I’m not sure what to do with that comment. I’m not slim by any means, and I’m not ashamed of how I look, but sometimes I just want to hide the extra bit of fat that I have on my hips and stomach away from the rest of theworld. Especially from someone like Cash. The way he’s looking at me right now makes me feel seen and I don’t want to be seen by him. At least, I don’t think I do.

I wave him off, my voice sharp because he really wouldn't get it. It looks like he doesn’t even have to try to maintain his physique.

“Let’s just focus on business, okay?”

“Sure,” he says, though his grin suggests he’s far from done messing with me today. “You up for a walk? I can take you around the property and point out where different attractions are usually located.”

I nod, tugging my ponytail a little tighter. “That sounds good.”

What I don’t say isI’d follow you anywhere right now,because my brain has been reduced to mush at the smell of his coat, and my sandals were a bold choice for dirt and gravel.

He starts walking toward a wide unpaved path that curves past a row of empty white tents and trailers that haven’t been set up yet. I fall into step beside him, careful not to trip over anything, including my own feet while doing everything possible not to focus on how strong his back muscles look from behind him.

“This row here’s where most of the food trucks line up,” he says, gesturing loosely. “Barbecue, funnel cake, deep-fried Oreos. That kind of thing. We’ll also have a tent for the Whitewood Creek Brewery and Restaurant.”

“Are there like… any healthy eating options? I ask, squinting at him.

Cash glances at me, amused. “You think people come to the state fair for healthy food?”

“No but why does that automatically mean everything has to be deep fried?”

He shrugs. “I don’t make the fair rules, Rae.” And then he keeps on walking while I struggle to catch up.

We pass a fenced-in dirt area he explains will be the livestock showcase. Then another where the carnival rides are being assembled in crooked pieces like a janky Lego set. There’s a low buzz of saws and the occasional clang of metal on metal, but most of the space is quiet.

As we move through the fairgrounds, I can picture it all: the scent of kettle corn in the air, kids running ahead of tired parents, music playing through the speakers that we’ll have set-up. Cash fills in the details for most of the things I would never know and there’s something about the way he talks that makes me feel like I belong here, even though I very much don’t.

“Main stage will be over here,” he says, stopping near a wide flat stretch of grass backed by a chain-link fence. “I can’t remember who we had perform last year but it’ll need to be even better this year if we want to impress the town.”

“Sure.” No pressure or anything.

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