Page 33 of Pick-Up
“What are you though? A chain saw massacre victim? A soon-to-be headless horseman?”
He shakes his head. “I’m ‘cutthroat.’ ”
I drop my head in my hands. “Noooooo. See that? You took something cool and made it a dad joke.”
He shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “I’m a dad.”
I study his profile—strong jaw, small scar across the bridge of his nose that only makes him better-looking, eyes that crinkle at the corners, full lips. “So, how come you’ve got the cotton candy skills to pay the bills?”
“Did you just say that?”
“I’m not responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth tonight,” I say. “I have been robbed of my humanity and filter.”
“Fair enough,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. I do not notice his arms flex.
“So? Dish. How come you’re a cotton candy maestro?”
“I guess I’m just gifted.”
I cant my head. Nope. “Bzzzzzz. Survey says that’s not a thing.”
He snickers, handing me the flask back. I take another swig. It burns so good in my throat. Now that I’m sitting still, I realize the temperature has dropped. I hand him back the drink and he takes it without a word, grab my fleece from my bag and throw it on, cozy. I realize, now warm in this moment, I am kind of happy.
Strange.
“Truth?” he says.
“Obviously.”
“I’ve manned this station before.”
“Manned. That’s got to be a canceled expression.”
“Well, to be fair. I am a man. And I did run the show.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Last year?”
He nods.
“Wait, what?!” I sit forward in my seat. Point a finger in his face. “You’rethatguy? You’re the cotton candy dad? You’re legendary! Both for your gifts and your epic meltdown!”
“Whatever.” He frowns. “Let’s not get carried away. It just took a second to find my groove.”
“I heard you almost got into a fist fight with a kindergarten dad when you ran out of blue sugar!”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” he mutters. “But that guy was a dick.”
I start to laugh. Suddenly, it strikes me as so absurd. That parents could get so worked up over a janky school fair confection! That he and this other dad literally had to be held back from punching each other in the face!
Ethan starts snickering too. Soon, there are tears streaming down both our faces. We can’t stop. I don’t even know if it’s funny or if I’m just in a post-sugar-withdrawal free fall. I might require a formal detox. Whatever it is, it’s been ages since I laughed this hard and he’s right there with me.
Wiping tears mixed with cotton candy remnants from my face (what manner of hot mess must I look like right now?!), I sigh as our laughter finally begins to dissipate. “You asked why I signed up!” I manage. “Why’d you take the dreaded job last year?”
But even as I ask it, I know the answer.
