against mine. It feels completely natural as I take his hand and lace our fingers together.
He doesn’t fight it like I thought he might, instead his grip tightens briefly around mine. I like it—holding hands with this man. It’s such a simple thing, but it fills me with happiness and a certain degree of wonder at this simple happiness flowing through me.
Carnival calliope music flows out of speakers as we pass the rides. The Tilt-a-whirl has a line, and so do the bumper cars. We pass the kiddie section with its Whirling Teacups, Flying Elephants, and Caterpillar Roller Coaster. I pull him to a ticket booth, and we get enough for two rides. Then I drag him over to the Ferris wheel.
He frowns. “Thought you wanted to go on the Scrambler.”
I shrug. “I changed my mind.”
He looks up at the tall structure. “You sure?”
“Please?”
“All right.”
We watch as a mother and two small children load in front of us. The carnival worker starts the wheel again, and several swinging chairs swish past, before he stops it for us with a press of his foot on a pneumatic pedal.
We board a blue chair, and he swings the metal safety arm down with a clank. A moment later, we’re moving backwards, and then we start the climb up the big wheel. The ground falls away below us as we rise above the treetops, and the lights of the town come into view. We can even see the distant traffic crawling along on the interstate. We come to a stop at the top as he loads more people.
“Wow. Look how far we can see,” I say.
Memphis is quiet beside me, and I look over to see his fists tight on the bar, and his gaze on the ground below.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
“What?” His eyes dart to mine. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re afraid of heights.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I arc a brow, and call his bluff, leaning forward to swing the chair.
He grabs my arm in a tight grip. “Knock it off.”
I stop immediately, sorry for tormenting him. “Why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to go on this ride?”
“And be called a chicken-shit? No way. If you can ride it, so can I.”
We begin to move again, slowly circling down and around. The ride is picking up speed now, and the attendant is no longer loading more chairs.
Beside me, Memphis lets out a slow breath, and I can see him physically relaxing back. As long as we don’t stop at the top, he seems fine with it.
A few more rotations and the unloading begins. We pause a few chairs above the attendant. We can see the crowd milling about. I spot a vendor and point. “Oh, cotton candy. Have you ever tried it?”
“Nope.”
Our chair swings down to the ground, and the attendant unloads us. We tromp down the plywood ramp to the grassy dirt, and I pull Memphis toward the vendor. The small stand is lit with bright lights. A woman swirls a paper cone around the spun sugar, forming a pale blue puffy cloud of sugary goodness. We get one to split.
“What is this stuff?” Memphis asks.
I tear off a piece, and hand it to him. “Spun sugar. Try it.”
“Sweets aren’t really my thing.”
“Everybody has to try it at least once.”
He pops it in his mouth, and grins. “It melts.”
I smile back. “That’s the best part, feeling how quickly it disappears.”
He tears off another hunk, and tries it again. “I see why the kids love it.”
“It’s awesome.” I take a bite, and enjoy the flavorful sweetness dissolving on my tongue. Memphis smiles as I moan in pleasure, and I love the way he’s looking at me.
“Are you having a sugar high?” he asks.
“That’s the best kind.” I hold it out to him, but he waves it off.
“No thanks. I’ve experienced it. You finish it.”
“Okay. Not gonna argue over hogging it all.” I smile, and lift my chin. “We still have tickets left. You pick the next ride.”
He glances around, then takes my hand, and leads me through the crowd. I devour half the cotton candy, and toss the rest in a nearby trashcan as we arrive at a ride. I look up.
“The Scrambler.” I slug his arm, cuddling close. “You don’t have to pick this just because of me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then I’ve always wanted to know what that one’s like.” He points, and I follow his gaze to the Funhouse with its entrance shaped like a gaping clown’s mouth.
“Oh, you’re