Page 36 of Love at Full Tilt

Outside Fableland

Orlando, FL

The road leading into Fableland does its part to set the stage for the world of wonder Casterman hoped his parks would be.

Although it’s located a mere half hour outside the hustle and bustle of downtown Orlando, the resort is cordoned off from the city by miles of forest mostly made up of Florida’s thin-trunked longleaf pines.

When guests turn onto the entrance road, they are surrounded by nothing but trees and the sky and sun, creating the illusion that they are leaving the “real world” behind and crossing into a magic realm where anything can happen.

We’re not even halfway across the parking lot when the clouds open up.

Torrents of rain splash down on us in an instant.

Even as we sprint, Mason’s hand never leaves mine.

Water streams in my eyes, blurring my vision, and the strands of hair that have come loose from my ponytail are slicked along my forehead.

The soles of my feet slip across the soggy bottoms of my flip-flops, and twice, I almost tumble into a puddle.

Mason stops to let me in the truck first.

As I slide in, my wet legs stick to the leather seat, making an awful squeaking sound every time I move. I fold my arms as tightly as I can, trying to hold back the water pooling off me.

Mason gets in the driver’s side and turns the key in the ignition. “Are you okay?”

“This truck isn’t yours, right?” I remember him saying something about needing rides everywhere. “I don’t want to drip all over it.”

A small, derisive grin twists his lips. “It’s Pops’s. Drip wherever you want.”

“Is he still at the hospital?”

“Nah, he just needed stitches. Cut open his hand making a sandwich half-drunk.”

I frown. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious.”

Mason’s jaw ticks with tension. “By the time the nurse took him to get looked at, he was sober and pissed off. Had me drop him off with a buddy so he could go gamble for the next few days. Clearly not serious.”

Whenever Mason talks about his father, his whole demeanor turns to stone. Even the boyishness of his face is gone, replaced by an emotionless mask. There’s nothing I can say to erase that pain, so I rest my hand on his arm.

Like a reflex, the palm of his other hand settles on my knuckles.

Rain drums the roof like the entire percussion section of an orchestra is sitting on top of it. Outside, water falls across the windshield in curtains thick enough to obscure the end of the hood.

“We’re going to have to wait this out,” he says.

“Okay.” I fight off a shiver. “We’re in Florida. How can it be this cold?” It’s like the water has seeped directly into my bones.

“Don’t you deal with blizzards up north?”

“Yeah, but I’m not wearing shorts. ”

He leans over to fish something from the back seat of the cab. A second later, he produces a worn gray sweatshirt and offers it to me.

I’m afraid it might be his father’s until I take it and catch that pine and ice scent I’ve come to associate with Mason.

I pull it over my head with too much enthusiasm and practically strangle myself on the hood.

Mason has to help me wriggle the rest of the way into it.

If I wasn’t so cold, I’d be embarrassed.

It doesn’t help that he’s laughing when my head finally pokes out the top.

Once I’m settled, he bends over the console so he can flick open the vent. It’s hard not to notice that he doesn’t move back, leaving us close enough that our sides touch and his arm rests across my knees.

I let myself sink into him. “Sorry it took me so long to respond today.”

“I was worried you were going to think I was trying to conyou.”

I tear my eyes from his face to stare out at the rain. “I didn’t know what to think honestly. We both want to win this contest pretty bad.”

He leans forward so I’m forced to look at him again. “I would never have told you about my grandfather if I was playing you.”

I nod.

“And I never would have kissed you.”

I sigh. “I don’t know what guys like you go around doing with their mouths.

” People that look like Mason have never paid me any kind of attention before.

And maybe that was partially my fault. I assumed they had a lot of opinions about plus-size people that I didn’t want to hear, so I usually gave them a wide berth.

I probably would have done the same with Mason if he hadn’t insisted on us working together.

“Guys like me?”

I wave at him. “Movie-star types.”

The apples of his cheeks glow red as he shakes his head.

“Dude, you could get a job as an Oliver Cray performer. You look exactly like him.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Now I’m wondering if you’re conning me. ”

“Stop.” I give him a gentle shove.

“Would you be bothering to associate with me right now if I didn’t look like your cartoon crush?” He’s grinning widely. For once, his teeth are visible. Two of the bottom ones are crooked, and it only makes him more perfect.

Every inch of my skin is volcano hot.

“You make me feel like the parks do.” I can’t believe I let those words out of my mouth.

The smile ebbs from his face, and he tenses against me.

“I know I’ve told you that when we were younger, Tess, Issy, and I used to be obsessed with Fableland.

But it wasn’t just Sunspark or the rides and stuff.

It was all the secrets too. We used to spend hours scouring the internet for information on them.

Tess organized everything in binders. They…

I don’t know…grew out of it, I guess.” I shrug.

“I couldn’t, though. This place felt like all I had left. ”

I explained how I’d once punched a hole in our basement wall when my mom was too anxious to let me go to a party.

My fist went right through the drywall. I completely panicked and hid it behind an old painting.

My parents never found it, but I knew I had to find a different outlet for those feelings.

“All that Fableland research that helped me get here? It gave me another way to cope.”

Silence spreads between us for long enough that I jump at the sound of Mason’s voice.

“I know you think I hate the parks, but it’s not that simple.

I used to buy into them just like you do.

” I see him swallow. “Thanks to Carter, my whole family always had season passes, and sometimes, when my mom and I were bored in the evening and my homework was done, we’d come over and ride one or two things.

Then she’d buy me cotton candy and drive us home and tuck me in.

It all seemed—to use your word—like magic. ”

“Cotton candy is the greatest.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.

Mason smiles, but his gaze is heavy. “I haven’t had any since she died. When she got sick, I did the things those Fable Industry movies told me to do. I made wishes, I tried to be as good as I could be, I believed, I worked hard. I did it all.” His eyes sink closed as his jaw clenches.

“But she died anyway,” I whisper.

He nods, eyes still closed. I don’t know what to do, so I wrap my arms around his neck. A jolt rocks through me when he hugs me back.

“It was hard after that”—his breath is hot on my scalp—“not to see it all as fake. False promises. And then these other shitty things kept happening to me: Pops got mean, stopped talking, stopped caring, started disappearing, spending all our money, then Granddad got sick and left me too. It’s hard to believe in anything after that.

Except myself. I’m the only one who can make anything happen, you know?

Magic and wishes and all that, they don’t do shit. ”

He pulls away so we’re face to face, our mouths mere inches apart. “These last few days with you, though”—he hooks his hand under my chin and draws me in for a slow, sweet kiss—“that’s magic I can believe in.”

Once the rain lets up, Mason asks if I want to meet Toast and Waffles before we head back to the park.

“Just to meet the dogs?” I ask hesitantly. I know he and I have spent a lot of time alone over the past four days, but going to his house feels like something different. More intense.

“We could have a snack?”

“You ate like three hundred breakfast items half an hourago.”

He chuckles. “Lia, we just met. I don’t have any expectations. I just want to show you the things I care about.”

He’s so straightforward. No games. No guessing. It warms me like a blanket out of the dryer.

“Of course I want to meet them,” I say softly.

It takes us about ten minutes to get from the Breakfast Nook to Mason’s house.

It’s one story, with a green stucco facade trimmed in white and a front yard that’s empty except for a giant palm tree near the entrance.

The homes surrounding it look similar, though the colors vary and some have brick accents or bright flower beds.

Kids are playing basketball in a driveway at the end of the street.

When Mason unlocks his front door, two blurs of brown and black skid around the corner.

Their nails scrabble against the tile as their little legs scramble toward us.

One of them is barking his head off, the other letting loose these mournful bays like he hasn’t seen Mason in six years.

As soon as they get close enough, they dive at our calves, tails swishing the floor as they scamper in circles, unsure who to greet first.

One is all black, except for clusters of brown at his neck and at the bottom of each of his paws, almost like he’s wearing brown shoes and a brown bow tie.

The smaller one’s smooth, shiny coat is entirely the color of maple syrup.

The loudest laugh escapes my mouth when Mason points at him and says, “That’s Waffles.

” Because of course that’s Waffles. It only makes sense.

I kneel down to pet them. With every movement, my damp clothes cling to me a little more uncomfortably.