What’s a single thirty-four-year old’s favorite ride at Santa Monica Pier? The emotional roller coaster.
And the crowd goes mild.
“Careful of the ice cream, Leighton.”
“I can’t help it,” she cried. “It’s dripping all over me.”
We were finishing up the last of today’s shooting schedule. We had already snapped four pictures before the sun had gone down. The only one left to go was their photo in front of the Ferris wheel.
In the original photo, a four- or five-year-old Leighton swung her legs off a bench while enjoying an ice cream cone as big as her face. Beside her, Nellie, who couldn’t have been more than one or two at the time, clung to a cheap stuffed animal—clearly a prize won at one of the nearby game stalls. A glowing Ferris wheel backlit the two of them, just as it did now.
“Alright, we got it.”
“Oh, thank god.” Leighton tossed what was left of her ice cream into the nearby trash can. “I need to wash this off. It’s too cold for ice cream.”
She wasn’t kidding. Fifty degrees was downright freezing by Los Angeles’s standards, and yet, it hadn’t deterred locals and tourists alike from visiting the pier tonight. The place was bustling with folks of all ages, many of whom had come to see tonight’s holiday-themed lighting display. They lit the Ferris wheel up year-round, but only in December could you see a ninety-foot-tall, super-sized snowman, animated to wave merrily over the Pacific Ocean.
“Can we talk?”
I sucked in a breath and twisted to face the woman I had been avoiding for days.Old habits die hard.We hadn’t so much as texted until today, when I’d reached out to confirm the time of our photo shoot.
I’d wanted to call her. I had even written out a script, which, spoiler alert, was about as good as my riddle. As per usual, my insecurities had gotten the best of me, and the incessant questions had taken the leftovers.If she wanted to talk to me, she could just knock on my door, couldn’t she? Does she really just consider me a distraction? Will I ever be enough for her?
That last one hurt the most, probably because it wasn’t the first time it had crossed my mind. On the contrary, it was an obstacle I had been working to overcome with my therapist for a while now—blame it on thirty-plus years of being the family outcast.
That was my issue to work through, not hers, but I still needed to know if there was even the slightest chance that we might have a shot.
“Sure.”
Her eyes skated over the pier. “Here?”
“Unless you want to do it up there?” Her mouth dropped open when I pointed toward the Ferris wheel. As a photographer, I was very well versed in both human emotions and facial expressions. I knew fear when I saw it. “I was just kidding. What did you want—”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
She nodded toward the wheel. “Let’s go.”
“You’re serious.”
“About us, yes.”
There was still an us. If that were the case, I would climb the fucking Ferris wheel.
“Let’s go.”
Leighton stopped us on her way back from the restroom. “Killian’s picking us up in five minutes. Wait, where are you guys going?”
“To ride the Ferris wheel,” I told her.
She scrunched her eyebrows together, confused. “You’reriding the Ferris wheel?” The question was directed solely at Nellie.
“That’s right.”
“But—”
“Oh, look, there’s no line. I’ll call you tomorrow, sis.” She caught my hand in hers and dragged me toward the entrance to the ride, pausing only to call out, “Great show today!”
