Bastian hands over the cash and grins at me with the confidence of someone who’s been winning these games for a long time.
“Three rings for the gentleman,” the attendant announces.
Bastian weighs the first ring in his hand. I want to tell him it’s rigged, that no one actually wins these games, that he’s wasting time and money on an impossible task.
But his first throw lands perfectly, the ring settling around the bottle neck. The second follows the same path, and I realize I’m holding my breath. His movements carry the same determination he brings to everything: guitar playing, farming, or kissing me senseless in places we shouldn’t.
The third ring hangs suspended in the air for a moment and then drops into place with its predecessors. The attendant’s professional smile slips slightly. “Well, we have a winner!” he announces.
“Told you I’d win you a plushy.”
Bastian studies the available prize options. When he points to a stuffed goat with ridiculous eyelashes, my heart skips more than a few beats.
“For you,” he says, presenting me with the toy. “Since you don’t have your own pet goat, this one will do.”
Our fingers brush as I accept the offering. The plush toy’s exaggerated features somehow look endearing rather than tacky. I tuck it under my arm, fighting a smile.
Sebastian Hall won a plushy for me. Today, this is a cliché I’m on board with.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to, but I love it.”
“I know,” he replies. “But I wanted to.” His hand finds the small of my back as we move away from the booth. “Like I want a lot of things involving you.”
The admission hangs between us as I clutch the stuffed goat closer. “Bastian…”
“I know,” he says again, gentler now. “You need time. Space. Proof that this is real.” His smile is filled with patience and determination that makes my chest tight. “I can wait. Just don’t make me wait too long, okay?”
Around us, the festival continues. The carnival music competes with holiday songs and the scents of varied foods mixing in the winter air. But in this moment, everything narrows to the space between us. His eyes hold mine with perfect focus, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. He mirrors it, that devastating grin that makes my stomach flip, and for a moment we’re just standing here like idiots, beaming at each other in the middle of the crowd.
The festival noise increases around us. Then I hear it: “Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown ripples through the crowd. “Seven! Six! Five!” Bastian’s hand finds mine, our fingers tangling as anticipation builds. “Four! Three! Two! One!”
The world explodes into light. Thousands of bulbs ignite simultaneously, transforming the festival grounds into a winter wonderland of twinkling white and warm gold. The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, but I’m watching the lights reflect in Bastian’s eyes. His thumb strokes across my knuckles as we stand together, bathed in the glow of a thousand tiny stars.
“Yes,” I say suddenly, the decision forming before conscious thought. “I’ll have dinner with you.”
“Yeah?” He steps closer. “You’re sure?”
I nod, and his smile could put the Christmas tree lights to shame.
“I should get back,” I say finally, though leaving feels increasingly difficult lately. “It's the first day, so I want to make sure Eleanor is okay.”
“I’ll see you soon,” he says, squeezing my hand before letting it go.
As I walk away, clutching the ridiculous stuffed goat like a lifeline, I don’t even try to erase the smile from my face.
23
BASTIAN
“How are you doing, girl?”The sunlight streams into the barn from the top windows as I check Martha’s water bucket for the third time in an hour. Her heavy breathing fills the space, each exhale carrying the weight of the impending birth. I’ve seen hundreds of calvings, but anticipation still runs through my veins as I watch her shift restlessly in the fresh straw.
I move around her stall, noting each sign that suggests her labor’s approaching. Her tail raises periodically, and her muscles ripple beneath the black-and-white hide as early contractions build.
“Easy girl,” I murmur, running my hands along her swollen sides. The calf shifts beneath my touch, a strong movement that suggests a healthy life waiting to begin. Martha turns her head to watch me with those liquid brown eyes. “You’re doing great, Momma. Just a little bit longer now.”
The barn door’s hinges announce an arrival, so both Martha and I turn our heads to the door.
“Bastian?” Taylen calls out, his expression changing when he takes in the scene. His eyes move from me toMartha, understanding dawning as she shifts again with clear discomfort.
