Page 159 of Only Mine
“Law school. Turns out I’m good at making grown men cry.”
“I bet you are,” Rome says, but it’s not with his usual easy charm.
She gives Rome the side-eye. “Why are you staring at me eating carnival food?”
“Maybe I like watching you eat.”
“That’s creepy, Rome.”
“Everything I do is creepy to you, Red.”
“Not everything.” She finishes her corn dog and reaches for a funnel cake. “Your ranch expansion was smart. Risky, but smart.”
“You’ve been paying attention to my business?”
“I pay attention to everything. It’s my job. Speaking of, you might want to get a lawyer.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“I don’t do small-town legal work. Too boring.”
“I’m not boring.”
“No,” Carly says, chewing slowly and then swallowing. “You’re not.”
The rest of us look on, our gazes ping-ponging between the two of them until Violet whines, “Can we please go, already? The Ferris wheel line is finally short.”
“Your wish,” Rome says, peeling his attention away from Carly to wink at his date. “Though I know another ride I’d prefer.”
“We’ll catch up with you later,” Violet says to us, backing away and pulling Rome with her. “Save us some food?”
Rome tips his hat at us before spinning on his heel. “Don’t wait up.”
Carly watches them go, a chunk of brisket growing cold on her fork.
“Fifty says they don’t make it past the cotton candy stand,” Saint muses, and I poke him in the ribs, giving him a look that saysnow is not the time.
Saint gives me a one-sided smile that tells me he knows exactly what shit he’s disturbing.
“Come on,” Saint says, his hand sliding down to intertwine with mine. “I saw a Korean fusion truck. I haven’t had good bulgogi in months.”
I let him pull me toward the trucks, grateful for the excuse to have him to myself. He orders for both of us: bulgogi tacos, kimchi fried rice, something with gochujang that makes my mouth water just watching him negotiate with the chef about spice levels.
“Here,” he says, holding a taco to my lips. “Try this.”
I take a bite, and the flavors explode on my tongue—sweet, salt, spice, and citrus.
He feeds me another bite, his thumb catching a drop of sauce at the corner of my mouth. The simple touch sends heat spiraling through me.
Saint notices the way it rises into my eyes. “Time to go home.”
I drag him toward the parking lot, but Saint has other plans, tugging me behind a row of game booths where the carnival lights cast bright colors across his face. He backs me against the wooden wall, caging me in with his arms.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he murmurs.
“Only twice,” I whisper back, winding my arms around his neck. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
His lips brush against my temple. “Beautiful. Radiant. Mine.”
