Page 118 of Scrape the Barrel
“They’re not far off. In fact, I bet more people have been hurt on horses than on carnival rides.”
I scoffed as a group of kids ran past us, giggling amongst each other. “I highly doubt that.”
“How about we play it safe and just do the Ferris wheel?”
I looked ahead of us to where her line of sight was trained, then looked up, and up, and up… “How is that playing it safe, exactly?”
She laughed again, her hair slipping over her shoulders and down her back. She was blinding in her beauty. I was so entranced by every inch of her.
“Come on,” she said, picking up her pace to get a spot in line. I trailed right behind her, seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces around us.
Though we did the parade every year, I never stayed for the fair. I’d help my mom with the rescue portion and head home to drink a beer and go to sleep. It was a tradition I’d fallen into seamlessly.
Being here with her, though, made me realize there wasn’t a damn place on this floating rock I’d rather be than holding hands with Sage McKinley at the county fair.
“After this, do you want to get some funnel cake?” she asked as we stepped up to the stairs, third back in line.
“I’ve never had it.”
Her jaw dropped dramatically low. “You’ve never had funnel cake?”
“Nope.”
“It’s amazing.”
“I’m sure it’s not as amazing as your baking.”
“Listen, I may be a good baker, but nothing beats a fresh funnel cake at the fair.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “I’ll put that to the test after our ride, then.”
We climbed the three stairs to the metal platform and they let us through after I handed them two of the tickets Bailey had given me earlier. He’d snuck in early to buy a shit ton of tickets before the lines got long and gave each of us a handful of them.
Letting Sage go ahead of me, she slid onto the seat, the entire cart swinging with her movement. I eyed it warily, and she let out a snort. “Come on.” She patted the seat beside her.
Reaching a hand out to steady the contraption, I sat. The guy who took our tickets dropped a metal bar across our laps, the tiny knob at the end clicking into place, and then we were moving.
“You trust that with your life?” I asked, staring at the little knob where it knocked around in the lock.
She squeezed my thigh, scooting closer to me. “No, but I trust you with my life.”
I shook my head as I set my hand on hers. “I wouldn’t. Not up here.”
A small laugh escaped her. “I thought you could fly?” she teased.
“Only on the back of a thousand-pound animal.”
She looked out at the fair below us, people walking every which way, lights lit up in an array of colors. “I bet it does feel like flying when you get to a certain speed.”
I nodded. “Helps clear my mind when I need it most.”
She turned her gaze to me then, her eyes reflecting the lights below. “What do you need to clear your mind from?”
I shrugged, wrapping my fingers around hers. “Life, I guess.”
“You can talk to me, Callan. Just because I have my own issues doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about yours.”
She was right. It went both ways. It wasn’t that I was under the impression that I couldn’t open up to her, but when other people had things going on in their lives, it felt so burdening to unload my own problems. Because of that, they stayed bottled inside.
