Judah leans close to Mason, murmuring something in his ear. Mason’s face flushes slightly, but he steps forward, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
“Let me try,” he says quietly.
“Mason.” I reach for his arm. “You don’t have to?—”
But he’s already handed over his five dollars. The operator gives him three darts, and Mason weighs them in his palm.
His arm draws back. Releases.
Pop.
The first balloon explodes in a burst of bright blue rubber.
Dom catches my confused look and grins. “Mason’s always been a savant at carnival games. Something about spatial reasoning. Used to clean up at the county fair every summer when we were kids.”
“He won me a giant stuffed bear once,” Judah adds, his voice soft with memory. “It only took ten shots in a row at the basketball hoop toss game to do it. I still have that bear on my bed at home.”
Mason’s ears have gone pink, but he doesn’t look away from the balloon wall.
Pop.
The second follows a heartbeat later.
Mason adjusts his grip on the final dart, takes a breath, and lets fly.
Pop.
Three for three. Perfect accuracy.
The booth operator’s eyebrows rise as he reaches for a pole to retrieve a prize from the top row. “What’ll it be?”
“The lobster,” Mason says, and there’s a small, private smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he glances at me. “The big red one.”
Thirty seconds later, I’m clutching Gerald Jr. to my chest. He’s even more magnificent up close—nearly a foot long, plush and squishy, with felt claws and those glorious googly eyes that rattle when he moves.
“Thank you,” I tell Mason, and I’m surprised to find that my voice has gone a little thick. “He’s perfect.”
Mason ducks his head, but not before I catch the warmth in his expression. “You said you wanted him.”
“I did.” I cradle Gerald Jr. like he’s a newborn baby. “I’m going to buy him a little suit. A tuxedo, maybe. He looks like he’d appreciate formal wear.”
“Phoenix seems to think every lobster should be named Gerald,” Mason explains to the others, shaking his head with fond exasperation. “It’s a whole thing.”
Atticus holds up the last bite of his own lobster roll and regards it with mock solemnity.
“I’m so sorry, Gerald Sr.” he intones gravely. “You have served your country well.”
He pops it into his mouth.
Judah lets out a surprised bark of laughter. Dom snorts. Mason rolls his eyes but can’t quite suppress his own grin.
And standing there in the middle of the Harmony Harbor Lobster Festival, surrounded by people who are rapidlybecoming something more than strangers, clutching a ridiculous stuffed crustacean to my chest…
I realize we have an inside joke now.
Wehave an inside joke. The five of us. Together.
The thought makes something bright and terrifying bloom in my chest.
