4:30 p.m. on Friday sneaks up on me, and I’m standing in front of the Fort Myers fairgrounds in my jeans and sweatshirt, racked with nerves, far sooner than I anticipated.
Bennett is somewhere inside, and I can’t shake this nasty feeling that I am betraying Rowan. Which is so fucking stupid—not only is he not here to see me anyway, but I owe him nothing. Just because he doesn’t like the guy doesn’t mean I can’t.
I let that notion drive me, and I enter the fair, looking through the crowd for blond hair and blue eyes. My anxiety is peaking again, and I remind myself that I can’t stay too long—I’ve been routinely taking my anxiety medication around 8 p.m. these past few days.
It’s supposed to be used on anas-neededbasis, but I feel I’ve never needed it more than I have recently.
“Elijah!” Bennett’s excited voice rings out, and as I’m pulled from my thoughts, I find him leaving the ticket booth.
When he approaches me, I am bombarded with the overwhelming scent of cinnamon. It must be his cologne, and I can feel myself craving the sweet scent of chrysanthemums and pine needles.
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m great! Here, I got you a wristband for the rides and some game tickets. What do you want to do first?"he asks.
The rides?! Hell no. I may be able to pull off the kiddie train or something, but I’m not going anywhere near that rickety Ferris wheel.
“Games, for sure,” I say, and Bennett chuckles.
“Follow me, then. I know the perfect one.”
I’m dragged to a ring toss booth where we both lose spectacularly, which is all fine and well. It’s kind of nice, actually—to be able to laugh and tease each other as we play.
Something is anxiety-relieving about these childish games and the way Bennett throws his entire body into them. And after I beat him at the basketball station that has been set up, I find myself standing taller, breathing easier.
My life has been stuck in hard mode lately, and I think Bennett was right—I need a break.
We end up at the strength game next, and Bennett picks up the mallet with ease.
“If I win you this bunny,” he points to the biggest stuffed prize available. “I demand a kiss on the cheek.”
I study the muscles of his arms and his cocky grin, already aware that he’s most likely played and won this game a million times.
This is a bet Bennett is one-hundred percent ready to cash in on, and I find myself laughing at the completely obvious trap laid out in front of me.
“Okay, big guy. Give it your all,” I tell him.
Bennett winks before handing the man running the game three tickets. Then he swings back the mallet and slams it down—hard. The light shoots up, slamming into the bell at the top.
“Good job, son, take your pick of the prizes,” says the elderly man, and at the sound of his voice, I recognize him as the bingo caller from the community center.
Images of Rowan flash before my eyes, and I shiver with awareness as Bennett grins at me.
“So?” he prompts me, and I shake away my memories with a renewed sense of motivation and step forward.
“We’ll take the stuffed bunny, please.” And then, I turn to my right and stand on the tip of my toes, laying a soft kiss right onBennett’s cheek. He flushes red, grinning even wider as he stares down at me.
“Totally worth how sore my arm is right now,” he says, and I laugh as the man hands me our prize.
As we move to one of the food stands and Bennett orders a funnel cake to share, he runs a hand over the ears of the bunny.
“So, what will you name him?”
“Name?” I ask, and he nods.
“Yeah, we have to name him if we’re taking custody.”
I didn’t know we were playing the whole thing out. A name? Fuck, I’m not very sentimental.
