Chapter Nine

Eve

It’s the perfect weather for a carnival.

You know, if the perfect weather included cold temperatures and the occasional snow flurry. Fortunately, for me, it does, because the Christmas festival is my absolute favorite time of year.

As I step out of the Bingo tent, I do a little twirl beneath the lightly falling snow. Ariel and Daphne both laugh, shaking their heads at my antics, but I don’t care. That doesn’t stop me from tilting my face upward, opening my mouth, and sticking out my tongue. Immediately, I catch snowflakes on my tongue, just as I used to do as a child.

“Can’t take you anywhere, can we?”

I straighten up so fast, I almost overcorrect and stumble. John is standing in front of me, a wide, knowing smile on his too-handsome face. “Can I help you?” Yes, I know I’m still a little testy, but I can’t help it.

When I got home Thursday night, John was waiting on my porch with my mail. He wore the same cocky grin as he wears now, and even though he technically has the right, I refused to acknowledge it. He clearly saw me deliver his mail, and worse, he then witnessed my mortification of slipping and falling in the yard. Knowing him, he saved the video too and will pull it out every Christmas to show family and friends what kind of felonious neighbor he has.

“Just enjoying the festival,” he replies, holding up his cup of something, steam billowing out of the hole in the lid.

“Well, enjoy,” I reply, turning and heading toward the rides. Realizing I wasn’t alone, I pause and turn back to my friends. “Sorry,” I say just as my eyes connect with John’s blue ones. “You’re still here?”

“Yep. Thought I’d hang out with you ladies this evening,” he says casually.

“I’m going to meet Beck and Cooper. He’s probably ready for all the rides.”

“We’ll see you there,” I say, waving as Daphne walks off to find her husband and son.

“I’ll meet back up with you later. You know rides aren’t my thing,” Ariel says with a shrug. “We’re going to Penalty Shot afterward, right?”

I nod, annoyed as hell to have my friend bail on me. No, rides aren’t her favorite part of the festival, but she agreed to do a few of the non-spinning ones with me.

“Great! I’ll see you in a bit. Have fun!” Ariel chirps before taking off in the opposite direction.

“Looks like it’s just you and me.”

Sighing, I turn to face John. “I feel like this was a setup.”

He scoffs. “Not by me, but if, you know, you were to ride a few rides with me, I might be willing to completely forget all about the mail thing.”

As my narrowed eyes meet his, there’s no missing the way his lips tick as he fights a smile. “Blackmail? You’re blackmailing me?”

“Of course not, that’s illegal. I like to call this a negotiation.”

I huff and cross my arms, glaring back at him…until I laugh. A bubble of laughter spills from my lips, causing him to smile too. “You are ridiculous.”

He waves his hand, encouraging me to lead the way, and then he quickly falls in line beside me. “In all seriousness, are you okay from your little tumble the other night?”

“I’m not sure what’s worse. The bruised ass or the bruised ego,” I mutter, waving to a few clients I see entering the carnival area.

When I notice John stop, I do the same, giving him my attention. “I could rub it for you.”

Realization sets in and I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re terrible,” I say, swatting at his arm. Despite being beneath a winter coat and layers of clothing, I can feel his strong, corded muscles.

“Come on. I’ll settle for a ride on the Ferris wheel.”

We head over to get tickets for the rides, lining up after a group of middle school kids. “I want to ride all the rides!” declares one girl, while the other says, “I’m not going on the Zipper. Last year Emma Faygin threw up all over the place, including on her brand-new coat.”

“That’s because she ate two pretzels with cheese and a large hot chocolate right before she got on it,” the first girl replies as they hand over their money to receive their wristbands.

“She reminds me of someone I used to know,” John mutters, nodding toward the first girl with bright eyes, anxious to start riding.

“I hope you’re not talking about the puker,” I joke.

“Of course not. Your stomach was iron when it came to rides. How many times did we ride the Tilt-A-Whirl senior year?”

“Fourteen times,” I state proudly. “And the last three were after I ate that second corndog.”

John laughs, handing over cash to the wristband attendant. I don’t miss the fact he gives enough for two ride bands. “I was ready to tap out after the tenth ride,” he confesses, “but there was no way I was letting you go on it alone. I was in it until the end, whether that be vomiting or death from spinning.”

Shaking my head, the recollections hit me like a ton of bricks. All the rides, the pageant, the kisses stolen anytime, anywhere. It was the festival of our senior year of high school, and we were inseparable. It was honestly the best year of my life, and not because I was crowned Miss Snowflake Falls. Simply because John was with me every step of the way, making memories.

“Yet, you survived and lived to tell about it,” I reply. “Thank you,” I say to the attendant as she hands over the two wristbands.

We step aside, and John holds up the first band. Pushing my coat up to expose my wrist, I hold my breath as his warm fingers brush against me. Despite it not being skin-on-skin contact, I feel the heat of his body, the tenderness of his touch, and it causes my entire being to flush with something unexpected.

Desire.

When mine is in place, he hands me the second one, and I do the same. My gloved fingers brush against his exposed skin, removing the little sticky piece on the end and securing it into place. “There,” I say, clearing my throat. It’s suddenly incredibly dry.

“Thanks.”

He takes the two small pieces of trash and drops them into a nearby bin. “Ready?” He offers me his elbow, and without giving it a second thought, I wrap my hand around it.

“Let’s do it.”

“One more time,” I proclaim through my giggles.

“Ugh,” John groans, taking my hand and pulling me away from the Tilt-A-Whirl. “How about something slower first. Let me catch my bearings.”

“We’ll never beat the old record of fourteen if we don’t take ride number nine,” I insist.

With his gloved hand wrapped around mine, he leads me toward the haunted house. “After this one.”

My heart starts to quicken as we get in line and wait our turn. I haven’t ridden this one since senior year, because every time I saw it, I would think of John. It’s not the haunted house, or the fact there’s absolutely nothing scary about it, but for the mere fact it was special to us. We’d sit close in the seat, pretending to be scared by the zombie elves, killer Santas, and mutilated Christmas presents. It was where he held me close and kissed me as we slowly made our way through the darkened ride.

“Next!” the young man hollers, pulling me from the memories.

“Ready?” John asks.

I nod, because I can’t seem to find words. We walk up the steps and climb into the car. A car which feels a thousand times smaller than it ever did when we were younger. Now, our arms and legs are pressed together as the bar is lowered into place. John shifts, resting one arm behind my back to give us a little more room in the seat. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself he’s doing.

The ride starts to move. The happy holiday tunes transform into a scary beat as the doors open and we’re thrust into the weird world of Christmas meeting Halloween. Plastic elves pop up, and screams of horror fill the black space in front of us. Red-and-green lights flash as a scary Santa pops out of a chimney.

“Was this ride always this cheesy?” I ask, noticing how warm and comfortable it is to be wrapped in John’s arm.

“Always, but we never noticed, because I was too busy kissing you.”

I feel myself blush, and even though I can’t really see his face, I glance his way. “You told me you were protecting me.”

He chuckles a low, gravelly rumble. “Protecting you, kissing you. Same thing. My game was on point back then.”

I don’t even mean to ask, but I find myself doing it anyway. “And you have no game now?”

“Oh, I do, it’s just a little rusty.”

Clearing my throat, I jump into the murky water without a life raft or being able to see what lurks inside. “What about your girlfriend?”

I feel his eyes on me, but I keep mine trained straight ahead. “What girlfriend?”

I shrug and exhale deeply. “I had heard you were living with someone at one point.”

He moves his arm, shifting it closer as we continue through the short ride. “I was, but that ended two years ago. Melissa was in my unit in the Army, another medic. We dated for a couple of years, she lived with me in Georgia, but we wanted different things.”

The heaviness of his words hangs in the air. This is the first time I’ve willingly asked about John since he left me alone nine years ago. The only reason I even knew about the girlfriend was because of overhearing John’s mom talking to mine.

After a long silence, I finally ask, “Like what?”

He turns, meeting my gaze. As we near the end of the ride and the lighting starts to brighten and the exit door opens. “Like wanting a family.”

My throat is so dry, I don’t know how I even get words past it. “You didn’t want one?”

“I did.”

Those two words are very clear in my mind. She didn’t want one.

We come to a stop, deposited back outside where we started. He helps me out of the small car and continues to hold my hand as we move from the haunted house. “She wanted to retire from the Army and not work. She wanted to stay on the East Coast where it is warmer, the ocean wasn’t too far away, and spend her days shopping. Melissa never would have moved to Colorado with me, and that was always my intention. Eventually, I wanted to come home.” He takes a breath and looks my way. “She didn’t want kids.”

I don’t know why my heart is thundering in my chest, but it is. I always pictured John with a family. His big heart and compassion for others would make him a wonderful dad. After we graduated high school and broke up, I always wondered and worried about him. He joined the military, and even though I knew his mom would have talked to me, I didn’t feel I had a right to ask about him. Then, after we spent that one slightly alcohol-infused night together when we were twenty-one, I forced myself not to ask. I didn’t want to know, because knowing hurt. Thinking about him hurt. So I did everything in my power not to.

We start walking toward the Ferris wheel once more. “So…you and Andrew, huh?” he asks, his voice a bit hesitant.

My eyes are cast down, watching our boot-clad feet take steps. Exhaling, I turn my attention toward my sister’s bakery. She’s filled to the brim with customers. Usually she doesn’t stay open past her normal six to two hours, but with the festival in full swing, she agreed to offer a select list of pastries, as well as a few coffee and tea choices, as to not compete with the organizations, churches, and clubs selling different food and drink around the square.

“Come on. If I’m going to give you the story, I need a chai tea.”

We walk to my sister’s business, and I can’t help but smile with pride at the number of customers. I know she’s selling warm apple turnovers, white chocolate and raspberry scones, and big, fluffy cinnamon rolls with caramel and cream cheese frosting. She’s been baking since she closed yesterday in preparation for tonight’s rush, and whether they’re here to escape the cold outside and spend a few minutes warming up or trying to grab some of her specialty Christmas pastries before they’re sold out, or both, I’m incredibly proud of the business she’s built with her own two hands.

We jump in line, and thanks to the somewhat limited menu options, the move toward the counter doesn’t take too long. Not only is Joy working, but her assistant, Jan, as well as our mother, and Joy’s best friend, Krista. “Good evening,” Krista greets, a wide smile on her face.

“Hi, Krista,” I reply, stepping up to the counter.

“Can you believe this?” Joy asks, manning the cash register.

“I can.”

“What can we get you?” Krista asks, eyeing John with a knowing gleam.

“I’d like an apple turnover and a pumpkin chai tea, please.”

“Make that two,” John replies, pulling cash from his wallet.

Looking his way, I insist, “You don’t have to pay for mine.”

He just flashes me that same grin that always makes me a little weak in the knees. “I don’t mind.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Mom hollers, delivering another tray of turnovers to the display case. “I’m so glad you got one. This is the last batch.”

“They look amazing,” I reply, taking the two individually boxed turnovers when Krista places them in front of me.

“They’ve been a big hit,” Mom states, giving me a wide smile when she has the fresh pastries delivered to the case. “What have you two been up to?”

“Just riding a few rides.”

“How many times have you been on the Tilt-A-Whirl?” she asks with a chuckle.

“Too many,” John replies, throwing all his change from the twenty into the tip jar.

“Here you two go. Enjoy your evening,” Joy states, sliding two steaming cups of tea onto the counter.

“Thank you.” I take a small sip from my cup.

“Heard a bunch of people are going to Penalty Shot tonight. You going?” Joy asks, the unspoken question written all over her face.

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure,” I mutter, hiding behind my cup. Joy is one of the few people who knows about my embarrassment from nine years ago, and by the look in her eye, she’s concerned about the same fate happening again. “You?”

She shakes her head no. “I’ve been up since four. The only place I’m going tonight is to bed.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” I reply, taking a step to the side so the next customer can place their order. “Let me know if you want my help up here tomorrow,” I add, knowing that Joy will spend all day tomorrow prepping for Monday, including cleaning the entire place from tonight’s onslaught of customers.

She gives me a grateful little smile. “I will.”

“Wanna sit?” John asks, pointing to a table being vacated by two teenagers.

“Sure.”

We sit across from each other at the small bistro table, and while we both take a bite out of our turnovers, I know it’s time to speak my confession. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to talk about his relationship with Melissa—especially with me—and I owe him the same when it comes to Andrew.

“Andrew and I were engaged. A month before the wedding, I found out he was cheating on me,” I state softly, keeping the words to our table.

When he doesn’t reply, I risk a glance up. His eyes are…mad, but I quickly realize, he’s not upset at me. He’s angry for me. “I knew I didn’t like that fucker,” he mutters, taking a bite of his turnover. “Please tell me he wasn’t cheating on you with that little Pop-Tart you work with.”

I snort a laugh. “Pop-Tart? No, he didn’t start dating Roxie until recently.” I look over, picking at my pastry. “You don’t want to hear all of this, do you?”

He swallows hard over the hot liquid and sets his cup down. “Yes.”

With a sigh, I tell him all about starting to date Andrew at twenty-five, and how he proposed two years later. We were still living apart, Andrew claiming he wanted to find a new house that no one had lived in besides us, but honestly, I think he was just dragging his feet because he would be held more accountable. It wouldn’t be quite so easy to “work late.” “The woman he was having the affair with worked for the funeral home. She was married, had three kids, and wanted to leave her husband for Andrew. Apparently, when he refused, she decided to blow the whistle on their year-long affair, so she showed up on my doorstep one night and spilled every disgusting detail.”

His jaw ticks as he listens. “Where was Andrew?”

I chuckle a humorless laugh. “Oh, he was at home. His home. We hadn’t moved in together yet, despite being a month out from the wedding. He told me there was no reason to move in, just to move a second time. We were actively looking for a house, but he found fault in every single one I liked. He claimed he wanted to build us a home, one nobody had lived in yet, but, whatever.”

Leaning forward, he whispers, “Please tell me you kicked him square in Santa’s bag when you confronted him.”

A bubble of laughter spills from my lips. “My mama taught me not to kick Santa’s bag…unless he truly deserves it, and while this case clearly calls for a swift kick in the…bag, I just called it off and gave him back the ring.”

He leans back in his chair, watching me. “I would have sold it.”

The corner of my mouth curls up. “I didn’t even want the money. I’m much better off without him or the ring.”

“Damn right you are,” he states with a nod.

We eat the rest of our turnovers and stand to allow someone else to have our seats. As we’re walking toward the door, I throw a quick wave to my mom and sister, who seem to finally be slowing down from the rush.

Outside, we move through the crowd, the cold air seeping into my veins. The crowd is starting to thin out a bit, even though the rides will continue for another hour or so.

“John!”

We turn and find Beck Vogel heading our way. “Hey,” John replies, leaning in and giving him a hug. “I was hoping to run into you.”

“We’re all headed to Penalty Shot. Daph’s taking a zonked-out Cooper to her parents for the night, and then coming up for a drink. You coming?”

John looks at me. “What do you think, Eve? Wanna have a drink and lose a game of pool?”

The competitive side of me flares to life, and even though I’m not sure returning to the bar with John is wise, I can’t help but blurt out, “You’re on.”