“You’re dressing up as the Grim Reaper this weekend, aren’t you? Or the killer from the Saw movies.”

She laughs, then leans into me, still walking, and looks up at me through her lashes. “You wanna play a little game?”

I fight my laugh, but she bats her eyelashes, and I can’t hold it in anymore. I shake my head and loop my arm around her shoulders, squeezing her gently. Damn—she’s crazy. She is so crazy, and I’m totally screwed, because I like it.

“I think I’m good,” I reply. “I don’t do games.”

“Just fake relationships.”

“I do what I’m told,” I skirt around her statement. “And if that’s it, then, yes.”

She laughs again. “Yes, okay. Aidan Burke does what he’s told. Are you trying to convince me or you?”

“Both of us, probably. I don’t think I’ve done what I was told since I was four, and even then it was probably touch and go.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever done it. But then again, neither have I, so I guess that’s something we have in common. Because, you know, it helps to have something in common with your boyfriend.” She winks. “And, by the way, it’s very touching,” she taps my hand, “but I don’t think there are any cameras here, so you don’t have to be perfect tonight.”

“One, two . . .” I mutter as I see the top of Tate’s head and a camera approximately ten feet away from him.

“Aw, crap,” Jessie groans. “Do they shoot you on the toilet, too? Or do they allow you that moment of privacy?”

“Pretty sure they caught one of us in a Porta Potty once,” I admit. “Kye didn’t lock the door properly. One hit and it flew open.”

“I can’t imagine who did that,” she drawls.

“Actually, it was Tate. I just videoed it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know. It’s why you like me.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Didn’t sound like that two hours ago.” I grin, pulling her into me as she shoves me away. She sighs, shaking her head against my shoulder, just as Tate hits the bull’s-eye and the game attendant hands him a goldfish.

“Yay, Tay! Uncy Tay, Uncy Tay!” Mila shrieks, clapping her hands in her stroller. She grabs the top of the bag, lifting it up so she can stare at the bright orange fish swimming around and around inside it.

“Good job,” I tell him, looking from the fish to him. “How much did that cost?”

“Twenty bucks,” Tate grumbles. “Coulda bought ten for that at the store. And the damn bowl.”

Sofie elbows him. “Don’t be grumpy. You’re the one that gave in to her!”

“Not that anyone is surprised,” Ella mutters, shaking her head. “Seriously. He’s made of cotton balls where she’s concerned.”

“We all are,” I remind her. “She’s so lucky to have three such awesome uncles who indulge her every whim.”

Jessie snorts, and Sofie rolls her eyes. “Luck. Yeah, that’s it.”

“A burr!” Mila interrupts, pointing enthusiastically to another stall. “My want burr!”

“What’s a burr?” Jessie asks.

“Bear,” Sofie sighs. “Mila, baby, you’ve got tons of bears.”

Mila looks at her, her bottom lip wobbling. “My want burr,” she whispers, eyes wide.

“You have tons,” Sofie repeats, holding her stance.

Tate fidgets, and Ella puts her hand over his eyes so he can’t see Mila.

Mila’s jaw trembles. “Pink burr,” she whispers again.

Jessie looks at me, her lips curving slowly into a smile, and I look up. “I’ll get you a burr,” I say, looking at Mila.

“Pink burr!”

“Yeah, I’ll get you the pink burr.”

“Aidan!” Sofie slaps her forehead. “I said no!”

“Sorry, Mom. She’s just too cute!”

“Y’all spoil her.”

“Little girls are meant to be spoiled,” I justify, pulling my wallet out of my pocket and handing Mila ten bucks. “Let’s go get you a bear. But you’re paying!”

“Otay.” She grins, still clutching her goldfish, and Conner pushes the stroller over to the stand.

“Softie,” Jessie mumbles, nudging me.

“Not what you said earlier,” I mumble back, nudging her, too.

Her answering nudge is a hell of a lot harder than the first one, and I laugh. Damn, pissing her off is so much fun.

I laugh as we follow Conner and the stroller past the brightening lights of rides swooping high into the darkening sky. The calls of the Hook a Duck stall operators fill the air, mingling with the music, and the scents of fries and candy apples and cotton candy fill the air in an almost sickly combination.

“A pink burr!” Mila says, waving the money at the guy behind the stall.

“It’s two fifty a go,” he tells her. “You want four?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh! Lotsa burrs!” she says, giggling.

“Take it,” I say to him, grabbing the ball and looking at the cans. Shit, I was never good at this when I was a kid. And this stall is hit them all or no prize.

I throw the ball and hit the top can off, but my next two miss completely. I throw the final ball and hit the stack right in the middle, but I’m left with four cans standing. I take the second go, too, and the same thing happens. I miss with at least one ball, which is exactly how Tate ends up taking the third turn. He hits a can with all four balls, but there’s two left.

“Oh, move!” Jessie shoves us both out of the way and snatches the ball from Tate. One by one, she throws the balls, knocking cans down methodically. When she has one ball left for four cans, I shake my head, because only three of them are stacked.

She mutters a curse under her breath and aims, releasing the ball with a lot of force, more than should be right for such a slim chick. But her ball spins forward and barrels into three of the cans, and one hits the fourth. It wobbles on the ledge, and Jessie whispers several “come ons” before the can stabilizes and stays there.

She digs into the pocket of her shorts. “Crap. I forgot my wallet. And phone. And everything. This is your fault.” She looks at me accusingly.

I laugh and toss her my wallet.

“Oh, sure. You can throw this but not balls at cans.” She rolls her eyes and hands the guy five dollars. Just as well, because she doesn’t get them all on her second try either. “Y’all glue these to the ledge?” she asks the guy, who just grins in response. “Bastards,” she mutters.

“Dollar,” Mila demands, hand out.

Jessie throws all four balls in quick succession, and on her third try, she nails it. The guy laughs and hands her the largest bear they have, and Jessie turns to Mila. “How about the pink bear instead?”

Mila screams. “Ahhh, Jessie! You best!”

Jessie hands her the bear and kisses the top of her head, then looks at Sofie. “Don’t say I never do anythin’ for you.”

“I have no idea where that’s gonna go,” she replies, dropping her eyes to the bear that’s currently squashing the goldfish.

“Ahhh,” Mila coos. “Ahhh, burr.”

Jessie smiles. It’s not just any smile though. It’s a different kinda smile—one I’ve never seen her smile before, and that sounds so fucking stupid, because a smile is a smile, but I swear to God, if she smiled this kind of smile every day, I’d probably be in love with her right now.

That smile that makes you stop and notice. Warm and soft and gentle, but so full of love and adoration that there’s nothing you can do but mirror it. Except I can’t even do that. All I can do is stand and look at her, her red hair flowing over her shoulders and her tattoos on full show, her eyes wide and her smile bright. I can just look at her.

Like looking at her is the easiest thing I’ve done in a long time—and I think it just might be.

Sofie says something about fries or rides and everyone turns away. Except me. Because I’m still looking at Jessie like a fucking lovesick fool, even though I’m not, but damn, one more smile like that, and I probably will be.

Tate and Ella scoot past Jessie, and finally, she looks at me. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turns her face toward mine, her smile disappearing and her hand lingering by the side of her jaw.