I grin at her. Bailey bites down on a smirk and rolls her eyes.
“Alright, kid,” the rough-around-the-edges carnie says. His mullet, which ends in a scraggly gray braid, sways as he waves at the wall of stuffed animals behind him. “Pick of the litter for you and your muscles.”
Some girl shouts my name, asking me to pick something for her, but it’s not Bailey’s voice, so I don’t bother giving her a glance. Instead, I analyze the wall of stuffed toys.
“The horse!” Bailey calls out to me.
I check it out, but it’s too small. I’m not letting her walk around the town fair with a tiny prize when I just made this game my bitch.
I’m not replacing her ripped horse with some cheap fair prize, either.
I take a step toward the end.
“Beau Eaton, don’t you dare pick something huge.”
I turn to face her now. She shakes her head at me as I walk backward, straight into the waiting arms of … a giant stuffed raccoon. The biggest toy they’ve got.
“Why not, future Mrs. Eaton?” I call back, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “You love that massive rock I put on your finger, don’t you?”
“Beau.” I guess it’s her turn to use my name as a single-word scolding.
“You also like my massive—”
“Beau Eaton!” She rushes forward, clamping a palm over my mouth. Her eyes sparkle while her loose hair dances in the breeze—she’s fucking glowing.
“I was going to say motorcycle, sugar,” I mumble behind her hand. Then I turn out of her grip to the carny. “I’ll take the massive raccoon, sir.”
“Sir?” The man chuckles as he unclips the oversized stuffed animal. “Not sure I’ve ever been called a ‘sir’ before.”
When he hands me the raccoon, I instantly pass it over to Bailey, amused by the way it reaches from beneath her chin down to her knees.
“This is ridiculous,” she says, peeking around a furry shoulder.
“Utterly,” I agree.
“Am I supposed to carry it all night?”
I throw an arm over her shoulder, getting more and more comfortable touching her. I don’t even think about it. I just draw her close. “It? Kinda harsh. He deserves a name, don’t you think?”
“Who said it’s a male?” she volleys back, smiling up at me. Even with an oversized raccoon in her arms, she finally seems at ease.
So it kills me when I hear someone say in a stage whisper, “Bailey Jansen carrying around a trash panda is the only thing that makes sense about that relationship.”
How fucking dare someone say that loud enough for her to hear?
My eyes narrow and I go to turn, instantly ready for a fight, but Bailey is just as fast.
Her hand shoots up and wraps around my wrist, giving it a sharp tug. “Don’t bother.”
“Bailey, people aren’t allowed to talk to you like that.”
“She wasn’t talking to me.” Bailey tugs again, urging me forward. “She was talking about me. And that’s not new. Let it go.”
I can’t let it go.
“Don’t be impulsive,” Bailey adds as I turn abruptly.
My eyes land on the girl, and she flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder like her cruelty might impress me.
Fuck her.
I slip into that eerily cool, calculated zone I know all too well. My gaze cuts through the crowd, and I swear I’m seeing at them all through the crosshairs of a rifles cope. I point at the girl, singling her out, and project my voice, enunciating every word very carefully.
“Talk shit about my fiancée again. I fucking dare you.”
Bailey shrinks, but the girl who said it just looks … confused.
I stare hard, not at all uncomfortable in the awkward silence. And when no apologies come, I shake my head at all of them and lead my girl away from the confrontation.
“Beau, you shouldn’t have done that just now,” Bailey whispers tersely.
“You’re right. I should have started doing it a long time ago,” I grit out as I set my sights on the Ferris wheel.
Bailey doesn’t respond, and she stays silent as we wait in line. When we step onto our square and open-air capsule, Bailey instantly dives for the bench across from me. She seats the massive raccoon beside herself so that I’m forced to sit facing her.
I stare at her profile. The feminine line of her jaw, accentuated by the way she’s turned her head to gaze out over the town. The slope of her nose. The unnatural way that she avoids blinking.