Chase takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure what smells better, the fried dough, cotton candy, or?—?”
“What’s cotton candy?” I interrupt.
He opens his palm and makes a balloon-like gesture. “Um, it’s puffy, sweet, and looks kind of like a colorful cloud.”
“Oh, you mean candy floss.”
“I’m pretty sure any dentist would discourage you from flossing your teeth with pure sugar.”
I giggle. “You’re right. Dr. Gundry would forbid that, but we call cotton candy, candy floss in England. I suppose had you gone to prom, you’d know that. It was carnival themed.”
“Well, I didn’t go because I had to leave abruptly. So, I take it, you went?” His voice wavers.
I sigh at the memory of a night home watching television with Phoebe. “No, my friend Maeve filled me in with great detail on everything that I missed.”
“Do you like cotton candy? I’ll get you some. A candy apple? Fried Oreo? Do they have those here?”
“I like cinnamon rolls.” It’s then that I realize the third component of his scent. It’s soap, man, and cinnamon.
Chase is a bad boy cinnamon roll. Not at all doughy and his firm muscles are evidence of that, yet he’s perfectly sweet and buttery on the inside with the perfect amount of spice.
“How about chili and a cinnamon roll?” Chase asks.
“I’ve seen that served at a diner and I’m not so sure those go together.”
“Sure, they do. Like peas and carrots, cookies and milk, like?—”
“I’ve never heard anyone say they go together like chili and cinnamon rolls.”
“You haven’t been to my grandparents’ farm in Iowa.”
“But I have been to Iowa. I went on a trip there once to source materials for candle-making. Wax quality is of primary importance and I came across that particular meal combination.”
“You were in Iowa and didn’t have chili and cinnamon rolls? We’ll have to do something about that.”
At the idea of spending more time together, I’m suddenly starved.
Is that drool? No, it’s nothing. Ignore me and carry on, fairgoers!
“I don’t think we’ll find that here. How about pizza?” I ask, sounding half drunk on the scent of cinnamon, spice, and Chase Collins.
“Sure. I love pizza, but about that...um, remember when I said, ‘Hi, Pizza,’ instead of Pippa?”
Wearing a smile, so he knows I’m mostly joking, I fold my arms in front of my chest. It probably just looks like I’m hugging the bear, but I cock a hip just to remind him that I didn’t appreciate the comment.
“Way back, I almost told Freddie that I liked you, but at the last second, I replaced it with pizza. From then on, you’ve beenPizzain my mind.”
“And there I thought you considered me Pippag Thomzeg the ogre of Hinnifin Hall.”
Chase steps closer. My pulse quickens.
“I had to engage Jerk Mode, so no one suspected how I felt about you.”
I tuck my chin, not sure what to think. As usual, I try to plan what I’m going to say, but my words falter.
He smooths my bangs and then lifts my chin with his two fingers. “Pippa, I’m not sure when you last looked in the mirror, but I like what I see. A lot.”
I expect him to have the same native tongue as my brother, hot sauce with a side of cockiness, and I’m not talking about chicken wings. But Chase is more like what I imagine a cinnamon roll with chili is like. Not too spicy. Not too sweet. Just right.
