How did she not feel the mating pull? That thought sent a spike of fear through me and my dragon. I wanted to reach out and hold her hand but didn’t dare. Not yet. Not until I figured out what was going on with her. "I’m just glad you showed up."
We drifted to the food court, where the smells of fried dough and kettle corn drifted through the air. Krystal pointed out a funnel cake stand. "I haven’t had one of these in forever."
"We should fix that," I said, and immediately got in line to buy us one. A few minutes later, we sat on the low bleachers by the music stage, sharing bites. The powdered sugar got everywhere, and she licked it off her thumb with a look that made my heart stutter. I tried to focus on the band, but I couldn’t stop watching her.
She caught me staring. "What?"
"Nothing," I said. "You’re just…"
She waited, eyes on mine, daring me to finish the sentence.
"Easy to be around," I said.
Her smile softened. "I’m not, though. Not really."
I thought of the hundred ways I could reassure her but settled on the truth. "You are with me."
She let that hang between us for a minute, then nodded at the band. "That’s a banjo, right? Or a ukulele?"
"It’s a banjo," I said. "But I can see how you’d mix them up."
She nudged me with her elbow. "Shut up. I grew up listening to pop music, not bluegrass."
I grinned. "I’ll forgive you. Barely."
We watched the band for a while, the sun dropping lower behind the trees. The crowd thickened, people clustering together for warmth as the temperature dipped with early autumn chill.
Krystal pulled her sweater tighter. "I should have brought a jacket."
I shrugged off my flannel and handed it to her. "Take mine."
She hesitated, then slid it on. It fit her like a blanket, the sleeves hanging past her hands.
"Are you always this prepared?" she asked.
"I’m cold-blooded," I deadpanned. "Literally."
She laughed, and finally began to relax. I liked that, making her comfortable, making her laugh.
We wandered the vendor stalls, Krystal pausing at a table of handmade soaps. She sniffed every one, wrinkling her nose at a pine-scented bar.
"I tried making soap once," she said. "It turned out like a brick of lard. My mother gave it to the neighbors anyway."
"Does your mother live in town?"
Krystal made a face like she sucked a lemon. "No. She still lives in Knoxville. We haven’t talked much since my son was born. She wasn’t thrilled when I ended up pregnant and dropped out of college."
I wanted to ask more about that, but I sensed her discomfort about the subject, so I dropped it. Instead, I asked about her son. "Tell me about your son?"
She studied me for a few moments, and I thought she wouldn’t answer. "He’s everything to me."
I nodded, letting her set the pace. "I love kids. They see the world so clearly."
She blinked, not expecting that. "You do?"
"Sure," I said. "They don’t care about the rules. Or the past. They just want you to be there, you know?"
She looked at me a long time, then said, "Most guys bolt when they hear ‘single mom.’"
