“Prepare to go down,” Chloe says solemnly.
I laugh. “Alright, despite the slander, I’ll still get the tickets.”
I hand cash to the attendant, who waves us toward the karts. Chloe takes off running toward the pink one with Emma right behind her. Chloe gets there first by half a step and they both laugh, Emma holding up her hands in defeat. I can’t keep the smile off my face watching them together. Something about seeing them like this—competitive and joyful and completely at ease with each other—makes my chest feel too full.
I grab the blue kart and fold myself into it, my knees practically jamming into my chest. Emma slides into the red one next to me with far more grace. Chloe’s already adjusting her mirrors and checking her seatbelt with the seriousness of a professional driver before a race.
“Try to keep up, Dad,” she says sweetly.
“I’m going to destroy both of you,” Emma announces, revving her engine for emphasis.
The attendant walks down the line checking seatbelts, then heads back to the starting line and raises the flag. My heart’sactually beating faster. When’s the last time I felt this? This buzz of anticipation for something that’s just... fun?
The flag drops.
It’s chaos. Chloe is shockingly good, which shouldn’t really be a shock. She takes the first turn perfectly, leaning into it like she’s been doing this her whole life. Emma lacks Chloe’s experience, but she makes up for it in pure, fearless determination. She cuts the first corner too tight and nearly spins out, but only laughs, unbothered.
They’re both laughing hysterically as we whip around the course, and I’m fighting to keep up, my competitive side kicking in harder than I expected. And then I realize I’m laughing too, enough that my face hurts from smiling so much.
By the time we cross the finish line and climb out of the karts, we’re all breathless and flushed. Chloe’s hair has come completely out of her ponytail, Emma’s sweater is askew, and I’m pretty sure I pulled something in my back trying to maneuver that tiny vehicle.
“That wasamazing!” Chloe shouts, bouncing on her toes.
“I almost had you on that last turn,” Emma says, pointing at Chloe accusingly.
“You were like three kart-lengths behind me,” Chloe counters, grinning.
“I was lulling you into a false sense of security,” Emma says, making Chloe giggle, then turns to me. “You were actually pretty good for someone who claimed he was just going to watch.”
“I have a competitive streak,” I admit, still catching my breath. “Apparently.”
“Clearly.” She laughs.
We wander after that, no particular destination, just letting Chloe lead us from booth to booth. The sun is warm on my face, and there’s this easy rhythm to walking beside Emma while Chloe bounces ahead of us, pointing out everything thatcatches her attention. We stop at the kettle corn vendor and I buy a bag that’s way too big. We all eat from it as we walk.
Chloe gets distracted by everything—a golden retriever in a hot dog costume that she absolutely has to pet, someone’s elaborate pumpkin carving display with jack-o-lanterns that must have taken hours, the face painting booth where she stops so abruptly I almost run into her.
“Can I get my face painted?” she asks, already pulling me toward it.
“Go for it,” I say.
She climbs into the chair and describes in elaborate detail exactly which colors she wants and where, gesturing at her cheek like she’s giving architectural blueprints. The artist nods along patiently, and I catch Emma watching the whole exchange with a soft smile.
When Chloe’s done, she’s got a butterfly on her cheek in purple and blue and gold, and she’s admiring it in the hand mirror the artist gives her. “Do you like it, Daddy?”
“It’s perfect,” I tell her.
We keep walking, passing game booths with barkers calling out their pitches, trying to lure people in with promises of easy wins and giant prizes. Chloe stops in front of a booth with bottles stacked in a pyramid, baseballs lined up on the counter, prizes hanging from the awning. Her eyes lock onto a purple bear almost as big as she is, displayed prominently in the top row.
“Can you win me that one, Daddy? Please?” She’s pointing at it, bouncing on her toes.
I pull out my wallet and hand over cash to the teenager running the booth. I pick up the first baseball and wind up. It goes wide, clipping the edge of the bottles without knocking anything down.
Emma and Chloe both burst out laughing behind me.
“Warm-up throw,” I say, turning around. “Obviously.”
“Sure it was,” Emma says, nudging Chloe.
