“I’m not afraid. I’m… cautious. Those things go faster than they look.”
“It’s a merry-go-round, Oliver. Not a catapult.”
He looked at the painted wooden horses as if they were part of some deranged test of courage. “It’s spinning.”
“It’s gentle.”
“It’s… whimsical.”
“That’s the point,” I said, nudging his arm. “Come on. Live a little.”
He exhaled a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes warmed. “If I die on this thing, I’m haunting you.”
“Fine by me,” I said cheerfully. “But I know you’ll enjoy it.”
Against his better judgment, or perhaps because of it, he followed me onto the carousel platform. Before he could negotiate for a dignified carriage or bench, I pointed to a horse that was a little ridiculous: bright blue, gold saddle, carved mane flying as if galloping through snow.
“That one,” I said.
He stared. “Brianna, please.”
I climbed onto it with a grin. “If I can, you can.”
He muttered something that sounded vaguely like “unbelievable” but swung his leg over the horse beside mine. Watching a full-grown London solicitor attempt to look composed on a wooden carousel steed was… almost unfairly adorable.
When the carousel chimed and began to turn, his eyes widened. Just slightly.
“See?” I said, “Not so terrifying.”
He shook his head, the beginnings of laughter tugging at his mouth. “This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously fun.”
And it was. The world blurred into gold lights and winter air, the music lilting around us. His laugh, warm, real, unguarded,slipped between us, and my chest tightened at the sound. Just for a moment, the weight of him leaving, the uncertainty, the ache… all of it faded. There was only this, this silly ride. This man beside me and the fleeting feeling of happiness.
When the carousel slowed to a stop, I hopped down first, boots crunching against the snow. Oliver followed, slightly dishevelled but smiling in that way that made something inside me flutter.
Before he could step away, I pulled out my phone.
“Wait.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Come here.” I motioned him closer. “I want a photo.”
His brows rose. “Of… us?”
“Yes.” A beat. “Unless you don’t want?—”
“I do.” He stepped closer. “I do.”
Our shoulders pressed together. I lifted the phone. Just as I hit the button, he angled his head the tiniest bit closer, and warmth bloomed along my cheek. The screen captured it: Snow caught in his hair, my flushed face and our smiles, soft and unfamiliar and real.
A memory. A moment. Mine to keep.
“Another,” he said quietly.
My breath hitched.
