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Carson is smiling happily, but he’s looking sideways . . . at me, as though he was making sure that I was enjoying myself. Something about that is very touching. Or maybe he’s making sure I’m okay, because my mouth is open in a scream, my eyes so wide that you can see the whites all around my irises. I’m one of the terrified-looking people. But I know I enjoyed the hell out of the ride.
“We’ll take that one,” Carson tells the worker, and then he pays for the image.
“Here you go, sir,” the kid tells Carson, giving him a piece of paper. “Scan this QR code and it’ll take you to the website. Put in this code, and the image will be there for you. You can print it yourself, send it to a printing place, or even send it to a smart frame. No need to carry a print with you around the park.”
Impressive! That’s actually a great idea, I think to myself.
We go for a less intense attraction that mimics riding on a Mississippi river boat on a much smaller scale and then battle it out in a shooting game where you have to hit the target to make your horse win the Kentucky Derby. Carson wins and lets me choose the prize. The adorable stuffed horse is fluffy and soft, so when I see a little girl making goo-goo eyes at it, I gift it to her, hoping she enjoys it.
When we get in line for Bunyan’s Breakout, I’m thinking that this might be the best day I’ve had in a very long time. I’m always head-down working, so doing something strictly for entertainment, with no undercurrent of networking or image repair, is a luxury I don’t afford myself. But with the sun shining on my shoulders, a hot dog in my belly, and Carson at my side, I feel like I should indulge like this more often. It’s good, old-fashioned fun, and I’m having a blast with Carson.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For today.”
Carson tilts my chin up, his smile gentle and sweet. “No, thank you. For everything.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips, and though some innate part of my brain yells about appearances and public displays of affection, I easily tune it out. I want to be a normal woman on a fun date with a normal guy, enjoying each other’s company, and that includes a perfectly acceptable, sweet kiss.
There’s a distant roar, and suddenly, we’re covered in water, soaked to the bone. I blink, sputtering as water drips from my lashes, nose, and . . . well, everything.
“What the—” I laugh as I blink the water away and see that Carson is equally soaked, his hair swept over to one side haphazardly and droplets stuck in the scruff of his beard.
“Bunyan’s Breakout!” a teenager shouts next to us, his arms thrown wide. He shakes his head like a shaggy dog, and water goes flying everywhere.
Carson covers me as if a few more drops are going to make a difference. “I didn’t realize we were on the bridge,” he explains, though I have no idea what he’s talking about. Recognizing my confusion, he points behind us to where the rest of the line has stopped. “The line goes over the bridge, but if you don’t want to get soaked, you cross between logs.”
Apparently, we didn’t cross in time with the ride’s logs dropping over the edge and creating a wave of splashing water. Instead, our kiss stopped us right in the water’s trajectory.
“Come on!” Carson shouts, grabbing my hand and running for the far side of the bridge. It takes me a second to realize there’s another log coming, the kids riding in it already squealing in excitement. On the other side, Carson blocks me again, and I press my face into his wet chest, laughing. “You okay?”
He’s worried, thinking I’m maybe upset or crying and not laughing, which just makes me laugh the harder. “I’m melting, melting! You’ve destroyed my beautiful wickedness,” I whine, adding a cackle at the end. “What a world, what a world!”
He looks down at me, already smiling at my poorly quoted Wicked Witch impersonation. But then his smile falls and his jaw goes hard. “Shit,” he hisses, and then he takes my hand. “Excuse us, please.”
He’s talking to the people around us in line as he guides me out of the back-and-forth que. “What’s wrong?” I ask, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. “Carson?”
“Your shirt.”
I look down to see that the white tank top Carson brought me has gone completely sheer, which wouldn’t be so bad if my bra weren’t also completely see-through. I’m currently dressed as a wet T-shirt contestant except there’s no contest! Then I realize that Carson’s shirt is sticking to him as well, showcasing the bumps of his abs.
