“Jade,” he calls, spotting me. He waves like I might not see him otherwise, like he’s not the most obvious, sunlit thing in the whole damn crowd.
“Hey,” I say, managing not to trip over a child wielding a balloon sword. “You weren’t kidding about this place being busy.”
I’d been so dubious when he suggested it. But the more I thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. A fair is so veryFlyn. And looking at his beaming face,I was right.
“I told you,” he grins, falling into step beside me. “Chaos, noise, overpriced snacks. What’s not to love?”
Everything, I think. Except the fact that it is an embodiment of your personality. But I keep that to myself.
Instead, I nod at a cotton candy stand and raise an eyebrow. “Shall we start strong?”
“Oh, absolutely. We’re going full cliché tonight. I’m talking hotdogs, caramel apples, rigged games, maybe even a Ferris wheel if you’re lucky.”
I huff a laugh. “And if I’m not lucky?”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to bribe you with fried food until you forgive me.”
It’s too easy, falling into rhythm with him like this. Too easy to forget that this, whatever it is, is built on the fragile bones of a year-long silence and everything I’ve never told him. But right now, in the syrupy heat of the evening, I don’t want to remember.
I want this.
We skip the cotton candy, but Flyn buys a fresh doughnut within the first five minutes. He tries to offer me a bite, but it’s covered in powdered sugar and already melting in his hands, so I wrinkle my nose and decline.
“More for me,” he says, taking an enormous bite and immediately coughing. “Oh god. I inhaled sugar.”
I laugh, actually laugh, and he looks so pleased with himself I have to look away.
We meander through the crowd, dodging toddlers and teenagers, the occasional glittery face-painter, a guy on a unicycle juggling glow sticks. Flyn’s energy is pure momentum, dragging us toward anything that looks shiny or loud. It should be exhausting. It usually would be.
But when he grabs my wrist and pulls me toward a booth with oversized stuffed animals and a grumpy teen holding plastic darts, I follow without protest.
“You’re good at this sort of thing, right?” he says, handing me the darts. “Mysterious past, nimble hands, acute observation skills.”
I stare at him. “What exactly do you think I used to do?”
Goddess, if he thinks I’m some sort of cool assassin, he is going to be deeply, deeply disappointed.
He just smirks. “Win me a frog, Jadey. I believe in you.”
I should walk away. I should scoff and fold my arms and say something cutting. But instead, I take the darts, aim carefully, and nail three balloons in a row. I’d give Flyn the stars if I could, so this is a small ask and a very rare occasion that I’m glad for my inhuman heritage. Things that are apparently hard for full-blooded humans, are easy for me.
Flyn whoops in delight. He fist pumps the air. He acts as if I just won gold at the Olympics and not at all like I’ve just hit three balloons with wonky plastic darts.
The teenager working the stall looks deeply unimpressed. He even gives an eye roll when Flyn excitedly points to his choice of prize.
The frog is huge. Ridiculous. Fuzzy and green and so bright it hurts to look at.
Flyn cradles it like a baby.
“I’m naming him Reginald.”
I stare at Flyn in bewilderment. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’mdeeplyserious. He’s coming home with me. He’s gonna have a little place on the end of my bed. I might even get him a monocle. We’ll see.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. I like the image Flyn has painted. I like it a lot. This ridiculous frog is going to live on Flyn’s bed, and every night and every morning, Flyn is going to see it. See it and think of me. The person who won it for him.
We wander for what feels like hours, pausing now and then to eat or rest or just lean against a railing and people-watch. It’s warm,but not uncomfortable. The kind of summer night that wraps around you like a loose blanket, soft, a little sticky, full of potential.
