Ruby added watercolors and colored pencils, then moved to the next stall. “And Theo, oh, perfect. Look at this poster of the solar system. And this model rocket kit.”
“Ruby, you don't have to—”
“I want to.” And she did. She wanted to be part of their lives, wanted to give them things that would make them smile. Even if she couldn't be there to see it. “They're your kids. I want them to have something special.”
Celeste looked like she might cry. “Thank you.”
They found a funnel cake stand and ordered one to share, the powdered sugar coating their fingers as they tore off pieces. Ruby watched Celeste laugh as sugar particles drifted through the air, and felt her heart give a sharp twist.
This was just sex and a fun bit of time.
So why did it feel like Ruby was already losing something vital?
“Ferris wheel?” She suggested, needing distraction.
“Of course. You can't come to a carnival and not ride the Ferris wheel.”
The view from the top was incredible. The whole Quarter spread out below them, the river glinting in the distance. Ruby should have been looking at the view. Instead, she couldn't stop looking at Celeste.
“I was thinking—” she started, then stopped. She knew better than to do this. Knew it would only hurt. But the words came anyway. “After the festival ends, maybe we could keep seeing each other. Nothing official, just, maybe I could visit sometimes. Or you could come to wherever I end up next.”
Celeste's eyebrows grew pinched, as if she was in pain. “Ruby—”
“I know we said this was temporary. I know that. However…”
“Let's just enjoy the festival,” Celeste said in a determined voice. “Okay?”
The rejection landed hard and Ruby nodded, forcing a smile. “Right. Of course.”
They finished the ride in silence that felt heavier than before. Ruby tried to push down the hurt, the sick feeling in her stomach. She'd known this was coming and had agreed to it. So why did it feel so terrible?
Because she'd been stupid enough to fall in love. That's why.
Back on solid ground, Celeste suggested checking out another exhibit, and Ruby agreed, because, what else could she do? They walked to a gallery showcasing modern art, pieces that played with light and shadow in ways that should have fascinated her.
But all she could think about was Celeste's non-answer. The reminder that all this had an expiration date.
One piece caught her attention despite her mood—a massive installation made of mirrors and colored glass, refracting light in rainbow patterns across the walls. People walked through it, their reflections fragmenting and multiplying until you couldn't tell what was real and what was illusion.
“Infinite Possibility.” Celeste read the title from the placard. “The artist wanted to explore how we see ourselves versus how others see us.”
Ruby stared at her own reflection, split into a dozen different versions. “Which one is real?”
“Maybe they all are.” Celeste's voice was soft. “Maybe we're all of them at once.”
They moved through the installation slowly, and Ruby thought about all the versions of herself she'd been. The cocky teenager who thought she could conquer the world. The college student who'd crashed and burned. The artist who hid her best work because she was terrified of failure. The woman who'd fallen in love despite knowing better.
Which one was real? Maybe all of them or maybe none.
They had dinner at a small diner that evening, both pretending the earlier moment hadn't happened. By the time they got back to the hotel, Ruby felt wrung out emotionally, her chest aching with words she couldn't say.
The moment the door closed, Celeste pressed her against it, kissing her with an intensity that felt almost desperate.
“I need you,” Celeste murmured. “Please.”
Ruby kissed her back, pouring all her frustration and hurt and love into it. Every emotion that had been churning inside her since their argument—the fear of losing Celeste, the desperate need to connect, the overwhelming love she couldn't keep hidden anymore—all of it came out in this kiss.
Celeste responded with equal fervor, her hands fisting in Ruby's hair, pulling her closer as if she could merge their bodies through sheer will. They stumbled toward the bed, bumping into furniture, too consumed with each other to care about grace or coordination.
