By a Charm and a Curse(55)
I take off my glasses and wipe the smudges away with the hem of my shirt. “Maybe ten minutes ago? Sorry.”
He waves an impatient hand and goes back to fiddling around with the buttons on his shirt, trying to decide how many should stay buttoned and how many shouldn’t. “I was saying that you should try to have some fun tonight. Enjoy the carnival. Act like a normal human being.”
I grunt noncommittally.
“This is a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ situation, man.” He straps a belt studded with knives around his waist. “No hiding out in Emma’s wagon all night. Stop acting like a sad-sack, morose bastard. Besides. After all that bullshit with the car, you need to relax. You and Emma both.”
“Are you going to give me shit if I don’t?”
“You had better believe it.”
I sigh and pull myself up. “Fine. And button that last button. You look like the bastard child of a Vegas lounge act and a grocery store romance novel cover.”
The night is crisp, the kind of cold that stings at the inside of your nose and burns your lungs. Immediately my thoughts go to Emma and how cold she must be, how hard it’ll be for her to hide the twitching. How all I want right now is to be with her. How that’s all I ever want, really. And then I know what I want to do.
I race through the crowds, fast enough that the lights of the rides and booths blur into gold and pink streaks. The ringing that accompanies prizes being won and the happy shrieks of laughter from children loud in my ears as I run to my destination.
The tumblers, Lorenzo atop Antonio’s shoulders atop Fabrizio’s, walk down the crowded alley near the twins’ tent. The column of brothers sways side to side as Fabrizo takes his careful steps. Antonio’s hands clasp onto Lorenzo’s ankles firmly, and Lorenzo tosses flyers for their show onto the crowd below. Would it have killed them to just walk through the crowds like normal people?
Fabrizio stops in front of a string of golden bulbs crossing from one cotton candy tent to the hot dog tent across the way. Instead of simply climbing down, Lorenzo flings his remaining flyers into the night and propels himself from his brother’s shoulders, tucking into a neat ball as he clears the lights and landing lightly on his feet. Not to be outdone, Antonio reaches down and grabs onto Fabrizio’s shoulders with his hands. Bending his arms at the elbows, he shoves off and flies over the lights as well, touching down on the ground and straightening with a flourish of his arms. Applause covers up all the other carnival noises, and a couple nearby murmurs about making sure to see the tumblers’ next performance. I restrain myself from rolling my eyes.
Emma’s mind is nowhere near the box. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell, so this carpenter’s apprentice has an easy time of it. It’s in the way she’s got her chin propped against her hand, and her eyes follow a loud group of girls as they walk past without giving her booth a second glance. It’s in the way her rounded shoulders scream dejection, and her mouth is halfway to a pout.
The golden light that fills the box makes her seem soft and hazy as an old photograph. Like she moves through a world of caramel-colored air. She sees me across the way, and her eyes go wide, as does her smile.
As though attracted to her thousand-watt smile, a young man starts rooting through his pockets for change, but Emma quickly grabs a card and drops it into the tray before he can get much farther. She shoos him away with her slender fingers even as he’s plucking the card from the tray below, her eyes on me the whole time.
I’m nervous, though I don’t know why. But as I reach into my pocket for the card, my fingers fumble, and I nearly drop it. I have one of her blanks, except I’ve written my own message on it.
As she reaches back to open the door, I shake my head at her just a tiny bit. I hold my card to the glass for her to read, and her smile blooms into a grin. I feel sure of her answer, but still, I worry as she reads the eight words I’ve written there.
Emmaline King, I think I’ve fallen for you.
The wind tugs the card out of my tentative grip, and I have to be quick to catch it before it flies down the alley. When I look up, she’s gone, the booth dark. But when I turn, there she is, waiting for me. She holds out a hand for me to take.
“Is that card a prediction, or a statement of fact?” Emma asks, her eyes alight with happiness.
I slip my hand into hers, trying to press my warmth into her as I twine our fingers together. My other hand goes to her face, cradling her neck so I can bring her forehead to mine and look into her eyes. “It is most certainly a statement of fact.”
Her grin is a thing of beauty. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen for you, too.”
My heart swells at the words, and for a brief second I can’t tell if my feet are planted on the ground or if they’re hovering a few inches above it. I want so much to kiss her, to show her how much her confession means to me, but she doesn’t move toward me, and I want to respect her wishes. So instead I just hold her a few seconds longer, memorizing the way the curve of her cheek fits neatly into the palm of my hand, and how the tip of her nose feels pressed to mine.
When I’m finally able to let her go, I decide to not just take Marcel’s advice—to see the carnival for the wonder that it is—but to also show Emma all the little things that the regular tourists never see, unless they’re really, really paying attention. The sky is still in that place between dusk and evening, peaches and pinks and light blues muddled with lavender and navy, and ribbons of clouds splay out from behind the setting sun like someone dragged their fingers through them.