Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I haven’t known a love since Penelope. I’ve never actually allowed a woman to get close because yes, I was still in love with her after all those years.
Everything happens for a reason…
Even the everythings that feel shitty and take aim at the gut and go for the jugular.
I have to believe that, or I’ll go crazy. Why else would the universe put all these obstacles and signs in my path?
All these things happen to show us how much people mean to us and how we have so much to be grateful for. Moments, times, and places.
I turned around, and she was gone.
The county fair was packed. It was opening day and wrist bands for the evening were half off, so it feels as if everyone in the state was there. Besides that, a band from my parents’ generation was playing that could still draw a massive crowd, and the crowd tonight was enormous.
The sea of people was as wide as the actual ocean and just as dense.
My heart was in my throat. Not that Penelope was a child and I thought she would be snatched, but the idea we were separated made panic rise with every second the space between us filled with people.
Had she walked off, or had someone dragged her off?
Was she in the bathroom?
Had something happened to her?
We’d been holding hands, headed toward the one largest thrill ride the fair had, one she’d begged me to go on just once. “Just this once, and I’ll never ask again…”
I hated rides.
Any ride, even the tame ones.
I think I was traumatized as a kid on the Tilt-A-Whirl, barfing on my cousin as soon as the ride began twirling in circles, round and around, dizzy and nauseous and wishing I hadn’t eaten a chili dog for lunch.
He’d wished I hadn’t eaten a chili dog, too, when it landed in his lap and on his shirt and in his shoes.
I hated that ride, and I hated the fair, but Penelope thought it would be a fun date night. The evening was cool, and she was able to bundle up in a cute sweater and leggings, snuggling up to me as we walked arm in arm through the massive crush.
Until we hadn’t been.
Glancing around, I frantically shout her name, eyes scanning the area where the rides ended and the games began, unable to catch sight of her dark hair in its flirty ponytail, tied with a pretty white ribbon.
It matches her sweater.
I go up on my toes to scan above whatever heads aren’t taller than me. Several people recognize me and smack me on the back to say hello.
I have to find my girlfriend.
Three seconds from shouting her name at the top of my lungs, she materializes through the crowd, holding a pink puff of cotton candy in one hand and a blue snow cone in the other.
Licking it, she offers me a taste. “Where’d you go?” she asks, big doe eyes staring up at me.
My heart pounds in my chest, da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.
“Where did I go? Nowhere, I was looking for you.” I can barely formulate a sentence, wanting to take her by the shoulders and say, “I was worried! I thought you were lost, or stolen, or…or…”
Penelope hands me the snow cone, pressing a cold hand to my cheek and giving it a pat. “Aw, you poor thing. You were worried? I told you I was going to grab treats.”
She did? “There are too many people here, babe. Maybe we should leave.”
It was stifling.
More so than any stadium, and I’d been in plenty.
“Leave?” Her eyes go wide. “I wanted to play a game! Or at least walk around and look at the booths. Can we do that?”
Play games? Everyone knows those are rigged. “Which game?”
She plucks off cotton candy and sets it on her tongue, shrugging her way through the crowd. I have no choice but to follow if I don’t want to lose her again.
“I don’t know. Don’t you want to win me a prize?”
I suppose that wouldn’t be too hard.
I follow her closely, reaching for her hand, letting her pull me along toward the Strong Man—or, High Striker, as the large red sign proclaims.
It rises high in the air, and the silver bell sits at the top, taunting me. The yellow ruler is labeled with weights all the way to the top, and the black plate at the bottom waits to be struck by the hammer.
“Step right up, test your strength!” the carnival worker calls out, despite the fact that we’re already standing in front of him. Penelope waits patiently for me to pick up the mallet and take aim.
“Three swings for ten dollars,” the man tells me with a toothy grin. “Or five for fifteen.”
Prizes hang on the fence behind the worker—stuffed animals large and small, and some little things, too.