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Emma lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s all it takes?”
I shake my head, slow. “No. But it was a good excuse.”
The wheel reaches its peak, the world stretching wide beneath us. Emma looks down, then back at me. “I forgot how beautiful this is.”
I don’t take my eyes off her. “Yeah,” I say, voice low. “It is.”
She catches it. The shift. The pull. And when I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, she doesn’t let go.
For a moment, neither of us speak. The world is quiet, the only sound our breathing, the distant hum of the fair below.
Then she turns, eyes soft, uncertain, searching. I lean in. Slow, again giving her the chance to pull back.
She doesn’t. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first. Then warmer, fuller like the first drop of rain after a drought.
When we pull apart, her eyes search mine. She whispers, “Bryan… what are we doing?” I tighten my grip on her hand. “Enjoying the moment.”
She exhales, nods. And as the Ferris wheel begins its descent, I know I don’t ever want to let her go again.
The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of fried dough and sea salt as we walk away from the fair, our fingers loosely tangled. Emma’s skin is warm against mine, her laughter still echoing from the last ride we took. I don’t want this night to end.
She nudges me with her shoulder, tilting her head up at me. “You’re smiling a lot tonight,” she muses, her eyes teasing.
I smirk. “Blame it on the Ferris wheel. Or the fact that I just proved I’m the reigning champion.”
She scoffs. “You cheated.”
I tug her closer as we walk. “And yet, you still have that stuffed lion in your arms while I carry this measly little panda.”
Her arms curl around the plush toy, and a small, almost shy smile tugs at her lips. She’s so beautiful when she does that. That soft kind of smile, the one she used to give me when we were teens and tangled in each other’s world. The one I’ve caught glimpses of again these past few weeks and I’ll do anything to keep it on her face.
The street is quieter now, most of the fairgoers heading home. We pass the warm glow of a small shop window and something catches my eye. The old gift shop.
I slow, pulling her toward it. “Let’s go in.” Emma hesitates. “Bryan…”
I squeeze her hand. “Come on. I haven’t been in here in years.”
She exhales, shaking her head but letting me lead her in. The door chimes, and immediately the familiar scent of aged wood and vanilla candles greets us. Shelves line the walls, stocked with everything from seashell jewelry to hand-carved trinkets.
An elderly woman looks up from behind the counter. “Well, look who the tide washed in.”
Emma grins. “Hi, Mrs. Dawson.” Mrs. Dawson beams, giving me a once-over. “Bryan Kingston, I never thought I’d see you in here again. And with Emma Greene, no less.” She winks. “Feels like the good old days.”
Emma’s cheeks pinken, but I just smirk. “We’re reliving our youth.”
“About time,” Mrs. Dawson muses, turning back to her book.
I glance around, my gaze landing on a small display of seashell pendants. I pick up a delicate silver chain with a blue sea glass pendant, holding it up. “This reminds me of you.”
Emma’s eyes soften. “Because?” I step closer, tilting my head as I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “You always used to collect sea glass. You said they were pieces of the ocean’s heart.”
Surprise flickers in her gaze. “You remember that?”
I chuckle, fingering the pendant.Of course, I do.
Mrs. Dawson clears her throat from behind the counter. “Young man, are you buying that for the lady, or are you going to stand there staring at her all night?”
Emma huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t have to …” I ignore her, pulling out my wallet. “I want to.”