“Man, now I’m hungry for pie,” she says before looking back out the window. “Wow, this place is so much bigger than I expected.”
Chloe’s already unbuckled and halfway out the door. “Can we do go-karts first? Please?”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” Emma says, climbing out and stretching her arms over her head. Her sweater rides up slightly and I force myself to look away. “Go-karts are non-negotiable.”
We walk through the entrance gates and I’m hit immediately with the smell of kettle corn and funnel cake, mixed with hay and diesel exhaust from the rides. It’s more carnival than harvest festival—there’s a Ferris wheel turning slowly against the bright blue sky, game booths lining the walkways with oversized stuffed animals hanging from the awnings, kids screaming on some spinning ride that looks specifically designed to make you lose your lunch. Families are everywhere, parents chasing toddlers, teenagers clustered in groups, older couples walking hand in hand through the chaos.
“This place is amazing,” Chloe breathes, her head swiveling in every direction at once, trying to take it all in.
“Right?” Emma grins down at her. “So, Chloe, I’m guessing based on your love of racing that you’re a bit of a daredevil. Am I right?”
Chloe looks up at her with a grin that could rival my brother Jack’s most confident smirk. “Yes. I love anything fast and scary.”
Emma actually squeals, grabbing Chloe’s hand. “See, I’m the same way. Which means we are definitely going on the roller coaster later.”
Chloe’s face lights up even more, and I laugh, shaking my head at both of them. “Oh god. I don’t know if I can keep up with you two.”
“That’s what the coffee was for,” Emma says, turning that bright smile on me. “Don’t tell me you don’t like carnival rides?”
“They’re fine,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “But I may or may not have a slight fear of heights. I don’t have Chloe’s fearless gene.”
Chloe giggles, skipping ahead on the path. “Daddy hates heights. And rats. But I think rats are cute.”
Emma laughs. “Well, we’ll go easy on you then. Maybe.”
“I appreciate that,” I say dryly.
The go-kart track is set up near the back of the festival grounds, a decent-sized course with actual turns and hay bale barriers, not just some sad oval. There’s a line but it’s moving steadily, and I can hear the buzz of the small engines and see karts whipping around the curves. Chloe’s already assessing the available karts, pointing out which ones look fastest.
“That one,” she says, indicating a pink kart near the front. “The tires look better. See how they’re not as worn on the inside edge?”
“You sound like your uncle,” I say, ruffling her hair.
“Uncle Jack says tires are everything,” she says matter-of-factly. “Well, tires and strategy. And knowing when to brake going into a turn. You have to have the right instincts to be fast.”
Emma laughs. “Chloe, I gotta say, I respect how seriously you take this.”
“Go-karts are serious business,” Chloe says, eyeing us with a look that makes it very clear we’re both about to get destroyed. “You need to be able tofeelthe car.”
I suppress a smile. That’s a direct quote from Jack, who Chloe idolizes. Victoria and I are neither particularly competitive nor adrenaline junkies who crave speed. But Chloe grew up watching Jack race in Formula 1 on weekends with me, and despite having been a wild child his whole life, he’s always been incredibly good with her.
On our last visit to visit him and his wife, Lark, at their home in Monaco, Jack took her out in a practice car—completely strapped in and going way too fast for my comfort. I’d half hoped it might finally curb some of that thrill-seeking instinct, but she only got out more determined to go faster. Much to my horror and Jack’s absolute delight.
“You’re racing too, right?” Emma asks me as we approach the front of the line.
“I was planning to watch,” I say, eyeing the tiny vehicles.
“Absolutely not. You’re racing.” She’s already pulling me forward by the arm, her fingers warm through my sleeve. “Come on, Midnight. When’s the last time you did something just because it was fun?”
I can’t actually remember.
“Alright, alright,” I laugh, letting her pull me forward. “You’ve made your point.”
Chloe lights up. “Yay, Daddy’s racing!” Then her expression turns serious. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’re old.”
“Old?” I protest.
“Ooh, burn,” Emma says.
