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A sea of lights, sounds, and smells assaulted my senses in rapid succession. Music played in the distance with beeps, buzzing, and whistles crafting a layer over it.
“What do you think?” Morgan grinned at me. “Ringing any bells?”
“No,” I said.
“All right. Well, I’m starving. I brought home some craft table stuff for later, but we need the whole experience tonight.” Morgan headed straight to a food truck and ordered a slice of cheese pizza. “What kind do you like?”
I shrugged.
“Make that two cheese,” she told the guy, then paid.
He handed us our large slices on thin, grease-soaked paper plates.
“This right here is what it’s all about,” Morgan said, taking a bite.
I ate a bite of mine, too. It tasted more of oil than anything, and lacked fresh ingredients.
We walked a bit.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I’ve had better.”
She beamed up at me. “You know you’ve had better pizza? Is this one a certainty?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t imagine anything topping the pure guilty pleasure of a carnival slice. When you figure yourself out, you’ll have to treat me to some of the good stuff.”
“It’s a date.”
The words just slipped out. I hadn’t intended to say them, but her response carried momentous importance to me.
“Date?” She choked on the bite in her mouth. A blush carried up her neck, adding a red tint to her entire face.
It felt like an overreaction. It felt like a rejection.Everyone always left. It was better to be alone.
I flexed my fingers on the crust and kept my voice even. “Would that really be so bad?”
“I don’t date,” she said.
I gave her a chance to elaborate. She didn’t.
The upbeat harmonizing sound of fiddles and banjo grew louder as we walked. I wanted to ask her why she didn’t date. But I had no right to judge or to pry.
I said, “A future pizza eating appointment then.”
“I’ll mark it in my calendar.” She gave me a quick grin.
We finished our pizza and delivered the trash to the appropriate bins.
“This way.” Morgan grabbed my wrist and dragged me through increasingly crowded pathways. Sticky caramel corn and rough gravel crunched under our shoes. The sounds of mountain music grew louder. The path opened to a gathering area where musicians played on a small stage for a cheering crowd.
“What about now?” she asked. “Remembering anything?”
I wished I was, I really did.
“What am I supposed to remember?” I asked.
