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Slinging my cross-body bag on, I shove my phone and fifty dollars in cash inside. I grab my keys and hurry out, locking the door behind me.
The sun has already set, but it’s still light enough outside that I can see Coen through the truck windshield. He watches me as I make my way to the passenger side.
When I open the door to climb up, he says, “Nice dress.”
Smiling, I slide onto the seat. “Thanks. It has pockets.”
“And that’s important?”
Snickering, I explain the age-old joke that a dress is only perfect if it has pockets. That pockets are of theutmostimportance.
Coen’s eyes shift to the skirt portion, and he nods. “You know that might blow up in the wind on some of the rides. Not sure I want you flashing your panties to everyone.”
I try not to be warmed by a statement that could be considered proprietary. Instead, I flip up the bottom of my dress to reveal the secret underneath. “In addition to pockets, this dress has built-in shorts. Cool, huh?”
His laughter comes out in a short bark as he reverses, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard true laughter from him. Up until now, it’s been more and more smiles, but this is heartfelt laughter. Totally spontaneous and unfiltered, and it lights up his face in a way that takes my breath away.
We lapse into easy conversation on the way to the fairgrounds. Coen tells me about his most recent endeavor learning how to fly-fish and a lesson he had this morning. I tell him about cleaning out my refrigerator.
Because it’s Saturday night, we actually have to stand in line for tickets. At the booth, I pull out my cash, but Coen pushes money at the attendant and buys not only our entry passes but a wad of ride tickets.
“Here,” I say, shoving a twenty-dollar bill at him.
“My treat,” he replies casually, and we walk through the double chain-link gated fence into the Potter County Fair.
The midway is my favorite spot—I love all the silly games and the carnival food. On the perimeter, the rickety rides are lined up like probable death traps, but you simply must do them.
We agree to do rides first and food later, followed by games.
Coen and I hit the Zipper, and I can’t help but scream as our cage flips end over end while the whole zipper rotates. I stagger slightly when we get off, both of us laughing. Coen steadies me with a hand to the elbow until we get a few paces away from the ride but then lets me go.
On the way to the Gravitron, we meet up with Erica and Hank. From there, we ride the Tilt-A-Whirl twice, since it’s Erica’s favorite.
Tonight, Coen makes no effort to disguise himself the way he has before. We don’t talk about his hockey career because we don’t talk about anything personal. That’s crossing lines that are too tenuous.
But I know from what I’ve read he was not on good terms with the team when he was suspended, and him hiding out here in the mountains of western Pennsylvania is telling. The mere fact he doesn’t want privacy trees cut down speaks of a man who doesn’t want to interact with anyone.
Yet tonight, he is approached by a few people, and while he’s not quite gracious, he acquiesces to a few photos with fans.
Of course, Erica, Hank, and I stand back and elbow each other, as it’s definitely cool to be hanging out with someone famous. But then we’ll head for another ride and once again, Coen will just be a regular guy.
My phone dings, and I pull it out of my bag, reading a text from Ann Marie.At the House of Mirrors.
Coming, I text back and we all head that way.
I’m pleased to see Xander with Ann Marie. They’ve gone out on a few dates, but this trip to the fair was a last-minute thing. Ann Marie was fretting that perhaps he wasn’t really interested, but I think he is.
We line up to go into the building with a bazillion mirrors designed to contort and disorient. Erica, Ann Marie, and I stand together talking, while the guys stand behind us doing the same. Coen is engaged with Hank and Xander about fishing, which, by all appearances, might become a favorite hobby.
Ann Marie nudges me and whispers. “Are you on a date with him?”
I shake my head as we inch forward in the line. “We’re just friends.”
“Who have sex,” she whispers back.
Erica snickers and glances over her shoulder at the men, then back to me. “Well, regardless of whatever you two are, you’re the most envied woman in these fairgrounds.”
I snort at her. “Yeah, right.”
