Page 67 of Fractured Ice

"A lot."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. Behind me, someone clears their throat. I glance over my shoulder and there's a guy waiting, looking between me and the booth and the pile of cash on the table.

I gesture at the stack. "This covers the booth for about the next hour," I tell the guy behind me. "Fundraiser gets all of it. I’m a charitable type of guy."

He looks at the money. He looks at me. He's maybe five-ten and has the build of someone who has not recently gotten into any fights.

"Cool," he says, and wanders off toward the ring toss.

Sienna is staring at me.

"You can't just buy out a kissing booth."

"The money still goes to the youth programs fund." I settle against the table more comfortably. "I checked."

"That's not—" She stops. Tries a different direction. "This isn’t your time to talk to me."

"I'm not talking to you. I'm a patron of the booth."

"You bought the booth."

"I made a significant charitable donation." I look at her. She looks back at me. She's got that particular tension around her eyes like she's losing a battle she intended to win, and underneath it, underneath all of it, she doesn't look as angry as she did a week ago. I feel something ease in my chest that's been wound tight for seven days. "I've missed you," I say.

"Ethan—"

"I know. I know I'm not supposed to say that." I hold her gaze. "I've missed you anyway. Every day this week was worse than the one before it and I don't know how to fix what I broke, but I had to at least—" I look at the pile of money. "I had to do something."

She doesn't say anything. She's looking at the table, at the stack of bills, and I can see her working something out. I'm letting her work it out because pushing hasn't gotten me anywhere good.

"You bought out the kissing booth?" she says finally.

"Yes."

"At a charity fundraiser."

"The charity still gets the money."

"That's—" She stops again. The corner of her mouth does something small that she immediately controls. "That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever done."

"I have a competitive list, so that's saying something."

"It really is." She looks up at me, and for the first time in a week her eyes don't have walls behind them, just Sienna, just her actual face looking at my actual face, and I'd say something about what that does to me but I've already said enough things. "You can't just show up and⁠—"

"I know."

"I told you to stop⁠—"

"I know. I'm going to fix what I said and how I said it and everything that happened that night." I look at her steadily. "I just needed you to know I'm not going anywhere. Not even when you tell me to."

She's quiet.

The fair goes on around us, kids and families and someone's dog that has apparently made it to our section of the lawn and is now investigating the base of the booth with enormous enthusiasm.

"You're impossible," Sienna says.

"I've been told."

She looks at the money again, this ridiculous pile of dollar bills, and she lets out a breath that isn't quite a laugh but has some of the same DNA, and she shakes her head slowly.