It’s the last night of the fair and I’m ready for it to be over. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been fun. But I’m exhausted. There’s no doubt in my mind that the kids are going to earn enough to cover the trip.
Ryker’s words from the other night, when he offered to sponsor whatever is needed for the trip if there is a fundraising gap, echoes through my mind. Again.
I have no idea what came over me that night. Walking up to Ryker and talking to him like I have every right to just strike up a conversation? Totally not something I ever thought I would do.
But I had to thank him because every single SOMC business donated, some of them donated multiple items. All for the benefit of some kids who really deserve it.
The last thing I expected was to have a conversation with him, especially not one so flirtatious. I was pretty sure my heart was going to hammer out of my chest the entire time. Then trying the ring toss? It was…fun.
And the last person I should be having fun with is the president of our local motorcycle club. Even if it did feel good and those few minutes were better than any date I’ve been on.
He didn’t look at me like I was just the sheriff’s daughter. He didn’t look at me with any expectations. It was delightful.
I’ve always avoided the club. It felt safer that way and far easier.
Now that I’ve been that close to Ryker? I have even more reason to steer clear.
The man is far too sexy. The muscles! His shirt was straining against the t-shirt he was wearing. I could practically see every single one of his abs. Internally, I was battling with myself because I wanted to lick every single one of them.
Honestly, I can’t even imagine seeing the man shirtless. He has tattoos crawling up his arms and disappearing under his sleeves. I’m incredibly curious about what I would find underneath.
His scent, spruce and cinnamon, wrapped around me in a cozy blanket. I’ve been catching bits of it in the air ever since. Like a phantom of his presence next to me.
I probably made a fool of myself.
Fuck.
While holding up my camera, I plaster on a forced smile and pat Jessi’s arm to get her attention. She looks at me and I try to pretend like I haven’t been thinking filthy thoughts about the last man I should want to get naked with.
“Are you good here? I want to wander around and get some photos before the cake eating contest and the auction winners are announced. We’re closing bidding soon, but I’ll be back before then,” I assure her.
Jessi waves her hand. “Go and get the perfect shot.” She looks around at the kids and giggles. “Honestly, they’ve got it. I don’t even have to be here, but I’m glad to supervise.”
I chuckle before waving slightly and taking one more look around. She’s not fucking wrong. They’ve got it.
As I start to take pictures, capturing moments people only experience in a fleeting way while I freeze them in time, I’m not really paying attention to where I’m headed. It’s not like I have a destination. I’m just following the images, the people, the lights, the sounds.
The laughter of everyone surrounds me and I catch a few shots of people enjoying their night and letting whatever worries they carry with them take a little break. Even if only for a little while.
One of the carnies catches my attention, an older man who has clearly seen a lot of things in his life. It’s in his eyes. Hiswrinkled face tells a tale, and I bet he has some tall tales, the kind that flow when a beer is cracked open and someone gives him just a little attention. I can’t help but smile behind my camera.
And he gets me thinking.
About the difference between the bright lights and smiles versus the job of it all. The juxtaposition of it is a story in itself. My need to find that moment, the place where the two meet, has me slipping behind the rides. I find abandoned parts, cars which have seen better days, and just enough of the bright lights from the other side to remind you of what we’re looking behind.
The fair wouldn’t function without everything that happens behind the scenes, but people only look at the lights. I’m not even sure if it’s something to be changed, but I can capture the stark reality of it with my camera so it can be witnessed.
I’m behind the House of Mirrors, snapping a picture of a broken piece of glass where it’s been abandoned, when I hear the sound of a dog barking. No, barking isn’t quite what this dog is doing. It sounds like it’s thrashing.
I turn and see Bobby Baskin, who was in my class in high school, hand an envelope to a man I’ve never seen before. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a carnie.
The thrashing and barking get louder, which is when I notice the dog in the cage. It looks feral with the way he’s snarling, his teeth bared. Everything about the dog screams violent and aggressive. What the fuck is going on?
When I bring my camera back up, I snap as many pictures as I can. Bobby slaps the man on the shoulder with a big grin on his face, not at all phased by the dog doing its level best to escape itscage. I can’t help but jerk every time the dog barks. The sound is desperate and filled with rage.
Bobby slides into the front of the truck and my eyebrows pull together because it’s not his truck at all. I take a picture of the license plate, which I can only hope is in focus, just as the carnie turns. He looks right at me and his face morphs from something like triumph to something darker.
I’m moving before I even realize it’s happening. But so is he.
