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And he smiles so gently at me.

“You can fix it,” I mumble.

Aaron exhales with a shakiness that worsens the ever-present warmth in my face. Like he’s been desperate for this moment but concealing it well until now. He seizes my scalding upper arms and hoists me against him, arcing down to close his lips fiercely over mine. I squeak in surprise—a sound he promptly devours. He smells like body-wash tangling with the sting of metal. He tastes like melted chocolate and spun sugar. Both gluten-free, so I don’t have to worry.

Not having to worry isn’t something I’m used to.

He presses himself against me with such ardency that my back is arching under his weight, nearly grazing the red-and-white-striped tent behind me. He slides one palm over my sun hat, cupping it to my head so it won’t topple off, while the other hooks around my waist, dragging it up against his hips. I’m angled so far back that if he lets go, I’ll fall.

He won’t, though. He’s made it pretty clear at this point.

My hands find his chest because I’m not sure where else to put them. It’s mortifying enough to do this in a public space where someone could walk around the tent or head in from the parking lot and see Aaron’s tongue in my mouth. I can’t use this opportunity to explore him, even if I want to. The image of him in nothing but a towel has been carved into my memories, and I don’t hate it.

It lasts ten seconds. In that minuscule amount of time, the sheen of moisture on his forehead has found its way to mine, and my knees are shivering harder than they have been all day.

“Problem solved,” Aaron says with his signature smile, and then he’s drawing me around the tent and merging us with the crowd.

My body is so hot that my tongue has melted along the floor of my jaw, incapable of forming words. I’m not sure what I’d say. My pain is distant, barely noticeable, but not because it’s improved over the past suspiciously long hour. It’s because I’m with him. He’s distracting me, drawing my focus away from the things that occupy my mind day and night.

I come to an unfortunate conclusion. In spite of my best efforts, and the warnings from my brother, and my attempts to be steadfast…

I’m starting to like Aaron Beckham.

18

“So you failed once more to show off your dart skills,” I say, flexing my ankles while I sit on a grated bench beside a clown twisting balloons into hats. “And I made you buy the dagger earring twice. Anything else we did?”

Aaron leans back on his hands, considering, and I can’t help but stare at the way his collarbone juts through his open buttons. He’s been reapplying sunscreen religiously, but his nose and the ridges of his cheekbones are starting to crisp. “We’re a couple of queers at a carnival. What do you think?” he asks, hanging his head sideways. The tips of his loose curls are slick against his skin.

“I think we probably went on the Ferris wheel,” I say.

“What a fresh and ingenious idea.” Aaron bends over and scoops my legs up, slinging them into his lap. To my embarrassment, he begins to knead his thumbs into my ankles, then works his way up my calves to try to ease the ache.

“I don’t need special attention in the middle of a carnival,” I protest. “I’m not your pregnant wife.”

He sighs. “One day, maybe.”

I gag at him, and he laughs, his fingers working my skin more intensely. His thumb catches the cuff of my jeans, and he tugs it up, exposing my ankle. To my mortification, he lifts my leg to plant a gentle kiss to my skin, before continuing on with his massage.

“Don’t do that in public!” I plead.

“How else will people know you’re mine?” he asks with a casual shrug, and I thump his head.

“We’re not boyfriends.” Even if we’ve kissed and cuddled and are currently on a literal, actual date. It’s all to reclaim my memories and not because I’m falling for him.

“Ah, right.” Aaron nods, suddenly solemn. “I’m but a tool for your desires. Apologies for forgetting my place, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But it’s the only time I get to feel like your bitch,” he whines. “You haven’t bossed me around at all today. Why can’t you be more toxic, Riley?”

I give him an exasperated glare, and he laughs again, unveiling those abnormally pointy canines. I wonder how easily they could break skin. Which is a frankly ridiculous thing to wonder, and worsens my flustered state, so I wrench my legs out of his grasp and hurl myself to my feet, seizing his palm. “Let’s get this over with,” I say, dragging him toward the Ferris wheel.

Evening is upon the town, and carnival lights are flickering to life, supplementing the warm orange glow of the horizon beyond the distant cityscape. The carousel twinkles with golden bulbs, and fairy lights sparkle above the walkways, threaded between lamps like bedazzled spiderwebs. The food stands come ablaze, their windows framed in ice-white string lights. Then there’s the wheel itself, the legs and spindles an amalgam of flickering rainbow colors.

As we stand in line, me leaning heavily against the metal poles leading to the ride entrance, Aaron points up at the shifting rainbow on the wheel. “Ally,” he says confidently.

The color shifts to royal blue.