Page 15 of Embers of You (Amity #1)

Sutton

It’s the day of the rodeo; Bailey drove us the short distance to the fairgrounds and I’m a little surprised at how big it is.

We find an open spot on the bleachers where we both can sit not long before the rodeo is supposed to start.

I have no idea what to expect, and all Bailey has said is that the whole town turns up and it’s a fun time.

There’s also a festival, which I didn’t expect, but I guess she wasn’t kidding about this being the biggest event this town has.

It’s the Amity Strawberry Festival, apparently.

“Is there a ton of strawberries or something?” I ask as we wait for everything to begin.

“There’s really not as many as you would think.”

“Why is it called that, then?”

She shrugs. “Sounds better than the Amity Nothing Festival.”

I let out a short laugh while she chuckles. I don’t think I’ve seen her genuinely laugh in any of our limited interactions. She seems nice but closed off. Except I do know she hates her next-door neighbor, Wes.

We haven’t talked about him that much, but we saw him as we were leaving today.

She made sure to tell me exactly how she feels about the tall, somewhat scary looking man that lives next door.

Apparently, something happened when she moved in, and they’re both the type to hold grudges.

That fact has now led to a neighborly feud.

It makes me extremely glad that I’m not on Bailey’s bad side, because she’s someone I definitely want to have as a friend, not as an enemy.

There’s an announcement crackling over the loudspeakers, cutting through the low hum of chatter and the distant smell of funnel cakes and hay. My heart gives a little jolt as the voice echoes through the stands. “Ladies and gentlemen, the rodeo is about to begin!”

Instantly, all my focus shifts to the arena in front of us. The noise fades, the crowd blurs, and my eyes lock onto the dirt ring as they announce the start of the barrel races and who’s up first.

“Jameson Turner,” the announcer bellows, and there’s a noticeable shift in the crowd. “Making his return to the races after ten years.”

My jaw drops because I wasn’t expecting to see him here.

The starting signal goes off, and Jameson is riding on a dark brown horse that runs out extremely fast. My eyes track the two of them as they run around the first barrel, he’s so low to the ground on the turn I’m surprised he doesn’t scrape the ground or fall off.

Then they’re running to the next one and doing the same thing. The timer stops and the crowd erupts in cheers. Including Bailey and me, and I’m surprised to see her so animated as she claps for Jameson alongside the rest of the crowd.

I’m also surprised with how excited I am for him and how wide I’m smiling. I watch the area Jameson and the horse went through and watch him jump off, patting the horse on his head. He turns around and it’s like he knows exactly where I am as his eyes lock on mine even from across the distance.

At first I think there’s no way he actually sees me, he’s just looking out at the crowd.

But then that perfect smile appears on his face, the one that lights up in his eyes, and I’m annoyed with myself for recognizing it.

I still can’t bring myself to look away, so I raise my hand in a wave.

I watch in fascination as he waves back at me.

“I think you caught his attention.” Bailey nudges me softly.

“Yeah, I think I have for a little while, unfortunately.”

“I’ve only ever heard good things about him. The town golden boy.” Bailey shrugs. “There are worse guys to catch the attention of.”

I shake my head, looking away from Jameson to face Bailey. “I’m sure a lot of women catch his attention, I’m not special.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

I hum, turning back toward the arena just as the next rider is announced. They’re good, but not as fast as Jameson. My eyes continue to drift to where he is throughout the rodeo and every single time I look over at him, I find that he’s already looking at me.

After the rodeo is finished, everyone takes their time getting up and finding their way out of the arena and over to the festival grounds. I don’t seek Jameson out as Bailey and I leave. We walk the short distance to where the carnival rides and booths are set up in a large field.

There are pictures of strawberries all over, but when it comes to actual strawberries this place really is lacking them, which I find ironically funny. There are vendor booths set up in rows, selling various items and food.

Behind them there’s a group of carnival games and in the largest part of the field, there are some rides including a tilt-o-whirl, a Ferris wheel, and a roller coaster that does not look safe.

It’s like a smaller version of a state fair.

They could have named it something along those lines, but for some reason the Amity Strawberry Festival sticks,.

Now I’ve made it my mission to find at least one single berry.

Bailey and I walk through the row of vendors, and while some have products with strawberries on them, none of the food carts have any. The closest thing I find is strawberry lemonade. As we’re waiting in line, Bailey groans, turning to face me even more.

“What?” I question.

“Wes is here,” she scoffs.

I look past her shoulder and catch sight of our extremely large neighbor pacing nearby. His head swivels every few seconds, scanning the crowd, the arena, the exits—anywhere but the people around him. He doesn’t look like he even wants to be here. I’m not sure he’s here for the rodeo at all.

“Do you think he’s here with someone?” I ask her and she huffs out a half laugh.

“Doubt it. No one can handle more than five minutes of being in his presence.”

“Hm.” I wonder what his story is. I feel like the hate between them may be rooted in something else. Something that may explode in another way.

We get our food and sit on some benches to eat the barbecue sandwiches which are surprisingly good. The strawberry lemonade, though, is severely lacking in strawberry.

After we’re finished, we wander toward the row of games.

There’s the usual line-up of tossing ones.

Rings flying toward glass bottles, darts thudding into balloons.

Nearby, a row of brightly painted booths features the water-gun races.

The prizes are a colorful mess. Oversized stuffed animals, inflatable hammers, and even a sad-looking tank of goldfish.

Bailey and I are watching a couple of kids who are overly animated as they shoot the water guns toward the target. Their screams get louder as one of the kids starts to pull ahead of the others.

Someone steps up next to me, but I’m so entranced in the game that I hardly pay attention, even when the bell dings signaling the winner. The kid cheers loudly while the others take their defeat well, even though I’m sure they’re sad about losing.

“Want to try it out?” a voice asks next to me, startling me and I jump.

I turn to see Jameson, looking down at me with that sparkle in his eye and giant smile on his lips.

I’m not sure how he manages to look even more attractive right now than he has any other time I’ve seen him, but he does.

Maybe it’s because watching him race on that horse was hotter than I expected it to be.

Now, here he is in a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans that hug him perfectly in all the right places.

Don’t even get me started on the brown cowboy hat on his head that should probably be illegal.

He’s tall, large, and unreasonably handsome standing here next to me. All my hesitations about him seem to fade into the background right now because where I’m standing all I see are green flags.

“Try what out?” I ask, distracted by the sight of him in front of me; I hardly even remember where we are because all I see is him.

He nods his head slightly. “The game. Want to play me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Go ahead,” Bailey suggests. “I’m going to head home, you enjoy.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine I’ll come back with you.”

“No, stay. Play a game or two,” she encourages.

“Yeah, Sutton, stay and play a game or two,” Jameson joins in.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Bailey waves, already walking backward toward the exit.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I turn to Jameson again who looks extremely proud of himself that he has me in this position.

“Fine one game,” I relent.

“If that’s the case, then we need to make it good.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if I win, you have to go on at least one ride with me.”

I grimace. “Please not the roller coaster, I don’t trust it.”

He laughs. “No roller coaster.”

“What about if I win?”

“What do you want?”

I think for a second, looking around and it may be a dumb request, but dammit I’m determined. “I want you to find me a strawberry here.”

“At the Amity Strawberry Festival? You should know, there’s none around.”

“Then you better win.”

He barks out a laugh, it’s deep and sends an unexpected shock between my thighs at how throaty it is. The man shouldn’t have the power of a sexy laugh and look like he does.

“Go ahead,” he instructs, and I do, managing to step ahead of him so I can stop being so distracted by every little thing he’s doing right now that has my brain melting.

I don’t need to become involved with him. Friends is fine, friends can play a game together. Friends can keep their hormones in check when the other looks the way he does.

Get it together, Sutton.

Jameson pays for both of us to play, even though I insist on paying for myself. He just gives me a look that has me rolling my eyes.

We take our positions behind our respective water guns, and the attendant starts counting down. Then we begin, both doing our best to aim our stream of water at the target. He’s immediately ahead of me, finding the center right away, while it takes me a few seconds to get the angle right.

Once I do, it’s too late and Jameson is already way ahead, so I attempt a distraction. Doing my best to maintain my own stream against the target, I lean over to shove at him to try and get his aim off.

“That’s cheating,” he scolds me, playfully.

“I think you’re cheating since there’s no way you’re this good at this game.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he taunts.

“I’m not going to lose.”

I’m most definitely going to lose.

That’s exactly what happens when the buzzer goes off, signaling Jameson as the winner. I groan in defeat, slowly turning to face him. He’s silently gloating, a smug smile plastered on his face.

“Alright, what ride are we going on?” I relent.

“I’m not sure, I think we need to walk around a little bit so I can figure it out.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but a deals a deal.

“Pick a prize,” the worker says, drawing both of our attention to him.

“You pick,” Jameson instructs.

“No, you’re the winner.”

“I’m already getting my prize; this one’s for you.”

I work to hide the blush creeping onto my cheeks, and pick a fuzzy looking teddy bear; the attendant hands it to me, and I hug it close to my chest. It’s perfect to keep my arms occupied so I don’t accidently do something stupid like try and touch Jameson because I can’t control myself.

Especially while we walk toward the small selection of rides.

He keeps his hands in his pockets, with a light look on his face and doesn’t try to force conversation with me.

I hug the stuffed bear tighter, as though it’s going to protect me against what I’m feeling and the way I’m somehow softening for the man next to me.

There’s some commotion in front of the tilt-o-whirl that draws both of our attention.

There’s a group of five or six teenage boys, and at first it seems like they are just messing around with each other, but they continue to push at one of the kids in particular and it becomes clear that this isn’t just them playing around with some friends.

“Stop,” the kid complains; he looks smaller than the rest of the group, but they continue to antagonize him.

“C’mon, Griffin, don’t be a little bitch,” one of the other boys’ taunts.

“Stop it!” Griffin cries out again.

“Hold on,” Jameson says gruffly before stalking over to the group while I stay rooted in the same spot.

He approaches the group, immediately drawing their attention. His back is to me, and I try not to appreciate how his strong shoulders look while he stands tall, so sure and confident. When I hear him actually confront them, I hold my breath, waiting to see what his plan is.

“There a problem here, gentlemen?” Jameson asks.

“Just messing around, sir,” one of the bullies responds.

“What about you?” Jameson turns his attention to Griffin.

The boy looks down, appearing nervous about responding and I can’t tell if he doesn’t want to make things worse with the group, or if he really thinks they’re his friends and that this would ruin it.

“Where are your parents?” Jameson asks.

No one answers him this time.

“Okay, well, how about you all head home, or I’m sure I could find out who your parents are and have them come get you.”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” one of the kids says, sounding worried and they start backing away from Jameson. “We’re going.”

Griffin hangs back slightly, and I see him turn toward Jameson, a small smile pulling at his lips. I can’t hear him, but it looks like he quietly says, “Thank you.”

Jameson puts his fist out toward the kid, who bumps it with his own and I don’t know why the simple action makes me melt. When this sexy firefighter turns back toward me, the softness in his gaze and that damn cowboy hat makes me feel weak in the knees.

Friends; that’s all we can be. I need to keep reminding myself of this.

Every step he takes toward me has me feeling like that’s less and less likely to happen. I can only hope he’s as genuine of a person as he seems when I inevitably lose this battle with myself.