I don’t even care that I’m losing. Not when she looks like this—free, bright, fucking radiant under the crappy carnival lights.
When the ride slows, we coast to a stop with our cars facing each other. She’s still smiling, chest rising and falling with breathless energy. I lean on the wheel and watch her for a second longer than I should.
“What?” she says, cheeks pink now for a different reason.
“Nothing. Just… you’re exactly like your videos.”
She smirks. “Said that already.”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, you’re more.”
She goes still. Her eyes soften—just a little—but it’s enough that my pulse jumps. I don’t know what this is, not yet. But it feels like the start of something.
We step out of the cars and wander toward the midway again, shoulder to shoulder, like the gravity between us is getting stronger.
COVE
My lips taste like strawberry lip gloss and powdered sugar, and Everest—bless his nervous, beautiful heart—has no idea what he’s in for.
We’ve spent the last hour bouncing from ride to ride. First, the bumper cars. Then, the carousel, where he awkwardly helped me onto a plastic unicorn like a gentleman from a Jane Austen fever dream. Lastly, the Tilt-A-Whirl, where we screamed like a kid and we ended up smashed against each other in the corner of the spinning cart, his hand gripping the safety bar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
I haven’t felt like this in months. Maybe years.
I glance over at him as we walk toward the Ferris wheel. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets again, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the carnival like he’s prepping for battle. His mouth twitches every time I bump his arm. He’s trying so hard to keep it cool. But the tension radiating off him? Delicious.
“You doing okay over there?” I tease as we near the line. “You look like you’re about to meet your girlfriend’s dad.”
He snorts. “Honestly, that sounds easier.”
I laugh and flick my fingers through the ends of my pink curls. “It’s just me, Everest.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s the problem, Cove.”
God. The way he says my name.
I flash a signal to the carnie as we approach; two fingers behind my back, a quick whistle under my breath. He nods once,casually flipping the “Out of Order” sign down as we step into one of the enclosed gondolas.
This is it.
The door clicks shut behind us with a soft thud, sealing us inside the rounded cabin. It’s surprisingly roomy—bench seating on either side, low light filtering in from the surrounding fairground glow, and just enough space to move if you’re feeling bold.
Perfect.
We settle onto the bench, the gondola swaying gently as the ride starts to rise. I reach into my purse, slow and practiced, like I’m just reapplying gloss or checking my phone. My fingers close around the GoPro, and I lean forward, attaching it right to the small suction cup mount I brought and sticking it on the bench seat opposite us—centered, steady, ready to capture everything.
“Hey,” I say, voice barely above the creak of the cart. “Ready to make some magic?”
He turns to me. Swallows. His throat works like he’s trying to force the nerves back down.
“Yeah,” he says, and it’s not smooth.
And honestly, that’s hotter than any performance I’ve ever directed.
I lean back in the seat and stretch my arms like I’ve got all the time in the world. “You ever been filmed before?” I ask, teasing.
He laughs softly. “Only by accident. And definitely not with a GoPro strapped to a gondola in the sky.”
“Well, welcome to the weirdest first date you’ll never forget.”
