“Ah, I know where I’ve seen you before,” I say to James and Beth as we push through the hotel doors. “The Golden Age retirement home!”
“Oh, right,” Beth says with a smile. “My grandma, Lois, lives there. We come by to visit her, and some of the other residents as well.”
“Always the highlight of my week,” James adds. “Do you have someone there?”
I nod. “I do. Glenda Dickinson, my grandmother. She moved in a couple of months ago. It’s… been an adjustment.”
Beth gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know the feeling. It was the same for my grandma, but she eventually made friends, and she loves it there now.”
I can only hope mine will have the same experience. Although I’m guessing Beth’s grandma is a bit more open-minded and sociable than mine.
The festival is packed with people—no surprise there. We walk past rows of food trucks selling corn dogs, funnel cakes, burgers, and lemonade. Carnival games with flashing lights and inflatable structures welcome swarms of kids and overly competitive adults, and live music is blasting from a nearby stage while a giant Ferris wheel serves as a festive backdrop.
Wandering alongside the group, it’s almost like I’m here with friends. We chat, grab a bite to eat, share stories—they’re all particularly eager to hear mine—and laugh about nothing and everything. It doesn’t even feel like I’m hanging out with a bunch of millionaires. We wait in the long lines to get food like everyoneelse, no special treatment. Which I should have expected, I guess. I feel stupid thinking otherwise. It’s just a festival. Then again, if a celebrity could monopolize an entire hospital with her fame, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched. Really, aside from a few fans asking for a picture, we’re having a perfectly normal evening.
“Are you okay?” Baptiste bumps his shoulder lightly with mine. “Having fun?”
I smile at him. “I am, actually. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Want to go for a ride?” he asks with the hint of a smirk. I don’t get what he means at first. But then, he glances up at the Ferris wheel, the massive structure now lit up against the sunset, its lights blinking lazily as it turns.
I drill him with a hard stare. “Over my dead body.”
“Oh, come on.” His shoulders sag dramatically. “It’ll be fun.”
“Nope.” And I’m not even kidding. I really don’t do fair rides. Who knows if the parts are cobbled together correctly, or if there isn’t a bolt or two missing after building it up and tearing it down so many times?
“Yeah. Let’s all go,” Aaron says, glancing at Marissa, who nods firmly at his side.
“You're coming,” Baptiste says to me, the gleam in his eyes telling me he’s enjoying this far too much.
“Nope.”
“Why? Are you scared?” he asks, coming closer and infusing the air with his clean, woodsy cologne. “I thought you were a tough cookie.”
I give him a pointed look. “I am.”
“Prove it, then,” he adds, lowering his voice just enough to make it sound like a challenge.
I take a deep breath as an internal debate wages in my mind. On one hand, I really don’t want to go on that sketchy ride. But on the other, it seems safe enough—a lot of people have ridden it already, and nothing has happened. As I think it over, Baptiste’s green eyes are defying me. This guy knows pretty darn well I can’t refuse a challenge. And his cologne… “Fine. But you’re paying.”
His shoulders shake with laughter as we trail behind the other guys, who are getting tickets.
The line is surprisingly short, and Baptiste and I are ushered into a gondola in no time. The metal door clangs shut behind us, sealing us inside the small glass cabin. It smells faintly of warm metal and the buttery popcorn drifting up from below.
We begin our slow ascent, enjoying an unobstructed view of the National Mall and all its monuments. The towering structures are lit up, glowing against the darkening sky. The Washington Monument cuts clean and pale into the deep blue. The Capitol dome shines in soft golden hues in the distance.
The city hums beneath us—music from the festival, bursts of laughter, distant sirens, and the low murmur of thousands of people celebrating. Yet up here, suspended in the evening air, it feels oddly quiet. Intimate.
“See? It’s not that bad,” Baptiste says, bringing me back to reality.
I snort. “Yeah, until the hinges on this thing give out, and we fall to our deaths.”
“Wow,” he blurts out. “You’re a real bundle of joy, aren’t you?”
I hide a smirk. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
He laughs harder, shifting his weight back, and the gondola tilts slightly. The entire structure creaks, metal against metal, and my stomach drops with the lurch of the cabin. Instinctively, I hold on to Baptiste for dear life, my hands practically grinding into his muscular arm. Okay, maybe not grinding—but definitely clutching for dear life.
