Page 51 of Carnival’s Playground

His large, warm hand covers mine in my lap. "Straw is softer than the gravel lots I usually sleep on. Have you ever actually ridden this thing before?"

I lean my head against his leather sleeve as the wagon rolls past the illuminated big top. "Six seasons on this circuit, and I have spent every single Halloween inside a generator shed making sure the breakers didn't melt. This is my very first hay ride."

He whispers against my hair, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. "Tragic. We're going to make sure it's a damn good one."

The wagon rolls slowly past the edge of the carnival midway, cutting out into the dark perimeter field where the crew has strung carved jack-o'-lanterns along every wooden fence post. The glowing pumpkin faces grin through the mist, their flickering candlelight dancing across the dry grass. From the nearby mesquite brush, a hidden loudspeaker emits a hilariously awful, distorted audio track of synthesized wind and wailing spirits that sounds remarkably like a sick animal.

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. "What in the world is that sound effect? It sounds like an asthmatic heifer trying to sing opera."

The deep rumble in his chest tells me he's grinning. "Petey and I spent three hours mixing that audio track last Tuesday."

"That explains everything. Pure amateur hour."

He pulls me across his lap until my back is pressed flat against his chest, his arms locking around my ribs. "Watch your mouth, spitfire."

We rattle along the boundary fence in peaceful, comfortable warmth, watching the distant lights of the Ferris wheel spin slowly against the starry Texas sky. For the first time since I stepped foot into Grimwood Crossing, the world feels completely right.

When the wagon finally circles back to the main gates twenty minutes later, Carnival hops down first into the dirt and catches me by the waist as I slide down after him, setting my boots gently on the ground.

His gray eyes flash with a wicked challenge. "Haunted maze next?"

I arch an eyebrow. "You helped wire the pneumatics in that maze, Carnival. You know where every single fake ghoul is hiding."

He rests his hand at the small of my back as we head toward the black canvas entrance. "Knowing where they are doesn't mean I'm immune to fear. I'm a sensitive soul."

I laugh, stepping past the velvet queue ropes into the dark corridor. "You're about as sensitive as a cast-iron skillet."

The maze is pitch black, illuminated only by intermittent flashes of deep purple and strobe lights buried in the false drywall corners. Thick, sweet-smelling fog rolls across our work boots, swirling around the hanging rubber skeletons and plastic chains. We take the first sharp left turn, navigating the narrow plywood hallway. Suddenly, a performer dressed in a blood-spattered butcher apron leaps out from a hidden alcove, violently revving a real chainsaw with the cutting chain removed. The engine screeches like a banshee, the exhaust coughing blue smoke. Carnival flinches hard, swearing loudly under his breath as he instinctively shoves me behind his broad frame, his hand dropping toward his boot knife before his brain catches up with his eyes.

I double over in the middle of the hallway, clutching my stomach as hysterical laughter rips out of my throat. I gasp, wiping tears from my eyes. "Oh my God! You completely jumped! The big, bad biker jumped out of his boots over a weed-whacker motor!"

His jaw tightens with wounded alpha pride, though the dark smirk on his face ruins the effect. "I did not jump. I established a tactical defensive posture."

I tug on his hand. "You jumped three feet in the air, Wyatt! I felt the floorboards shake!"

He wraps his arm around my neck and hauls me into his side as we push deeper into the twisting maze. "Keep laughing, woman."

Two turns later, a mechanical demon prop springs from the ceiling on a steel arm, flashing crimson LED eyes and roaring through a hidden amplifier directly in front of my face. I don't even blink. I just reach up, casually adjust the rubber mask's crooked horn, and keep walking.

Carnival stares at me in complete disbelief. "How the hell did that not scare you at all?"

I toss my hair over my shoulder. "I built that pneumatic piston with my own two hands last season. I know its stroke length down to the quarter-inch."

He chuckles, pulling me to a stop in the dim shadows of the final corridor. "You're completely impossible, Avery."

I look up into his dark, handsome face. "That's why you love me, biker."

The teasing humor in his eyes softens into something profound, unyielding, and completely timeless. He cups my face with his large, calloused hands, leaning down until his warm breath brushes across my lips.

"Damn right I do." He kisses me right there beneath the glowing Halloween lights, sealing our future together in the heart of the circus we saved. We make it through the last stretch of the maze laughing so hard we're both breathless, stumbling out into the cool night air near the exit gate, and Carnival pulls me in against his chest without a word, resting his chin on top of my head. "This is nice. Just being here. Not fixing something."

I warn, though my voice comes out soft instead of sharp. "Don't get used to it. Tomorrow we're back to fixing things."

"I know. Tonight, though."

"Tonight," I agree. We grab funnel cake from the stand near the midway, sugar dusting both our jackets, and find a spot on the grassy rise behind the big top where we can see the main stage without fighting the crowd for a view. Carnival spreads his jacket out on the ground and I settle into the curve of his side, his arm looping around me automatically now, like it's just what we do. I watch the crew light the final set of torches along the stage perimeter. "Last show of the season. Feels weird."

"Good weird or bad weird?" he asks.