“Yes.”
“You got shot.”
“Correct.”
“You yelled at a trauma surgeon.”
“He was flirting with you.”
“We are not revisiting that.”
“He was.”
“And you’re afraid of the Ferris wheel?”
Dylan’s jaw tightened. “I’m not afraid.”
“Of course not.”
“I dislike unnecessary heights controlled by teenagers with facial piercings and questionable training.”
I looked at the operator, who was leaning against the controls while eating nachos.
“Fair.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re still riding it.”
He looked at me.
I smiled.
He sighed like a man walking toward execution. “One normal date, she said.”
“This is normal.”
“This is a lawsuit suspended by bolts.”
“Very normal.”
The operator took our tickets without interest and pointed us toward a swinging blue seat.
Dylan climbed in with obvious distrust. I sat beside him, coyote on my lap. The bar came down with a clang that made his whole body tense.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Perfect.”
“Liar.”
“Obviously.”
The wheel jerked forward.
Dylan’s hand found mine.
Fast.
