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Before I could change the subject, Jax cleared his throat, looking somewhere behind me.
“Incoming,” he said, his voice low. “Fans. And your TV crew.”
I nodded once, turning to see the rowdy group of people approaching.
“Oh my goodness,” a stylish woman said in a British accent, coming up and touching my arm. “It is you. I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
“Told you he’s from here,” another guy said. “It’s nice to see you, Charlie.”
“Wait,” I said, recognizing the guy from the coffee shop in town. “You work at River Brews, right?”
He nodded. “This is my cousin. She’s visiting from London, and she loves you from Life of Tomlin.”
“They get Life of Tomlin in the UK?” I asked, incredulous. “I didn’t even think you guys liked football.”
“American football,” she corrected me, laughing. “My cousin told me I might spot you when I visited here, but I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”
“Well, hey. Let’s get some selfies,” I said. “How are you liking Colorado?”
After I’d chatted with the two of them, the camera crew fired up their rigs. Kim found me, already a whirlwind of energy, laser-focused on what she wanted to get on camera tonight.
“Okay,” she told me. “I want to get some shots of you walking around with Jax. Maybe checking out some of the art stalls, playing some games together, that sort of thing. How’s that work for you?”
“Hello to you too, Kim,” I joked. “How are you? How’s the weather?”
She waved a hand in my direction, ignoring my attempts at polite small talk. “This festival is going to be perfect for one of the middle episodes of the season. All of these little twinkly lights will look nice and romantic.”
I nodded. “I always thought I’d find romance under these lights, too.”
Kim glanced down at her phone and then back up again. All business, all the time. “I’ve got thirty minutes with you, then we can join up with the other Fixer Brothers, spend some time filming Shawn and Nathan.”
“My goal in life is to make you laugh, just once, Kim,” I told her. “And I will succeed.”
All she did was nod, looking off into the distance, calculating. I wasn’t even sure she’d registered what I’d said.
“You got it, Kim,” Jax told her, clearly eager and ready for his assignment.
“Good,” she said, unsmiling. She went back over to one of her assistant producers, instructing him on where to go next.
“She’s as clinical as a surgeon,” I muttered in Jax’s ear. “She’s produced about eight successful reality TV shows, though, so she’s got to be doing something right.”
Jax was staring at me with a heated look, silent for a moment as we waited. After a beat, he spoke. “By the way, I’d say yes.”
“What?”
His eyes were like fire. “What you said earlier. You said you’d ask to kiss me if you were drunk. Well, I’d let you.”
I snorted a laugh. “Good one, Jax.”
“Not kidding,” he said, insistent. “Kiss me anytime, Charlie. Not going to pretend I wouldn’t like it.”
“Roll camera!” the main cameraman said from beside us, the recording lights turning on right as Jax dropped that bombshell on me.
“So where should we go first?” Jax asked, standing up a little straighter as he reacted to being filmed. “Pumpkin ring toss?”
My head was somewhere up above the lanterns, above the hazy night clouds, above the goddamn stratosphere.
He’d like it if I kissed him?
“Charlie,” I heard Kim hiss from behind the cameras. “We’re rolling.”
I snapped back into action. “Pumpkin ring toss,” I agreed. “Yes. Let’s head over there.”
We sauntered over to the hay-lined stall full of golden hula hoops that people were tossing at 3 large pumpkins behind the booth. I was dimly aware that I was surrounded by cameras filming my every move, but as usual, I couldn’t really care. Jax had kicked something loose inside of me and then just moved on like nothing had happened.
He really was a good actor, I’d already learned—but there had been no cameras on us when he said I could kiss him anytime I wanted.
And it hadn’t felt “fake.” Not even a little bit.
We took turns tossing the hoops, each of us way worse at the game than we expected. Hoop after hoop landed down in the hay instead of anywhere near a pumpkin.
“You’re supposed to be good at this,” I told Jax after his second round of failures.
“What?” he asked, incredulous, a smile hinting at his lips. “You think I’m supposed to be good at tossing hula hoops?”
“Hand-eye coordination is supposed to be your strong suit,” I protested. “Aren’t you some sort of athletic god?”
He snorted, tossing back the rest of his apple ginger fizz before throwing out the cup nearby. “Somehow I missed pumpkin ring toss lessons in my years of sports. Here. One more round. I’m going to get it this time.”
