“Oh, but you don’t have to do anything for this one, my dear. All you have to do is watch.”

He tugs at my hand, and together, we climb down the wooden bleachers and make our way to a little, grassy hill that overlooks an empty field.

“This looks pretty good,” he says, coming to a stop.

He eyes the grass and then sits down. I do the same and sit down right next to him, as people gradually gather around us.

“What are we waiting for?” I whisper, after a little while.

He simply smiles at me. “You’ll see.”

Just then, a high-pitched scream and a fiery line shoot from the earth to the starry sky. And suddenly, a burst of color explodes against a black backdrop and lights up the patch of grass where we sit. A loud thud follows, and then another scream and another fiery line shoot to the sky.

I find Jorgen’s eyes. He takes my hand and laces his fingers in mine as if my hand belongs in his, and then I return my attention to the sky. I’m not sure what I like more: the dancing lights or the way his large, rough hand seems to swallow mine.

One by one, blues and whites and reds and golds shoot to the sky, burst and then fall toward the earth like bits of dust and disappear. It goes on like this until at last there’s a thunderous stream of colors soaring to the heavens all at once. It looks as if the field in front of us is bursting into one big firework. I try to make my eyes as wide as I can to soak in all the madness. Then, just like that, it’s black again.

I glance up at Jorgen, and I don’t even need a mirror to know there’s a childish excitement written all over my face. It’s stupid and probably goofy-looking, but I don’t care. “I like fireworks.”

He lowers his head and chuckles to himself. “Good. Me too.”

I watch him lean back on the ground and fold his hands behind his head. He makes himself comfortable in the grass, and then, his eyes meet mine. Those baby blues seem to tempt me first right before he reaches for my arm and gently pulls me down next to him.

“You can’t leave the fair without lookin’ at the stars.”

I let him guide me down onto the warm, little spikes of grass as I make a mental note: that’s six things to do at the county fair.

He stretches out his arm and pats his bicep. “Pillow.”

I shoot him a curious glance.

“I know it’s hard, but it’s all I’ve got.”

I start to laugh as I gently rest my head onto his arm. And when I’m settled in, he pulls me closer to him and kisses my forehead. And immediately, my laughter fades.

“Did you…,” I start and then stop. “Did you just… kiss me?”

There’s a moment where I swear there’s not a single emotion written on his face. Then gradually, his lips start to turn up.

“No,” he whispers.

I cock my head to the side. “I think you did.”

“No,” he says again, shaking his head.

By now, I’m completely and utterly mesmerized by the sea in his eyes and the all-consuming thought of his lips on mine.

“This is a kiss, Miss Cross,” he says, cradling the back of my head in his hand and pulling me closer to his lips.

I search his hooded eyes searching mine until his eyelids close and I can’t see the sea anymore. I don’t move. I just close my eyes and pray for his lips to touch mine. It seems like an eternity waiting, but then I feel him, and I instantly melt. I melt into his soft, tender lips. I melt into the way he tastes, and in this moment, I’m completely his. I move my lips over his, and I feel his hand move across my jaw. He pulls me closer to him, and I let him. I let him control me, and the way he does it is so gentle and strong and sexy and perfect, and yet, I feel a rebellious tear pressing against my eyelid, threatening to escape.

Our lips eventually break, even though I’m not sure I want them to yet. He pulls my body into his and wraps his strong arms around me. I feel his hard muscles press against my soft skin. My heart dances in my chest, and a wide smile scurries to my happy lips, but soon, I’m reminded of the tear in my eye. I’m not sure why it’s there. Maybe it’s because I’m so happy or maybe it’s because I’m a little sad. I push it back, back as far as I can, though, and bury it in the deepest part of my mind. I’m happy tonight.

And suddenly, I sense his lips near my ear, and then, I feel his breaths touch my skin. It gives me goose bumps and sends excited chills down my spine.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Ada.” His voice is a whisper, and the way he says my name makes it sound as if it’s the prettiest name in all the world.

I take a second and let his seductive, soft words soak into my pores.

“I’m happy I’m here too,” I whisper in my next breath.

It’s quiet then, to where all you can here are some tree frogs singing and a couple crickets chirping in the background.

“You know,” he says, softly, breaking the silence, “my mom and dad met here almost thirty years ago.”

“Really?” I ask, snuggling closer to him.

“Yeah, my dad said he took one look at my mom and knew he was gonna spend the rest of his life with her.”

He stops, and I can hear him smile before he continues. “The story goes she was eatin’ a funnel cake with her friends, and my dad marched right up to her and told her he was going to marry her.”

He pauses. “This is the part in the story where my mom takes over. She says the only thing my dad left with that night was the powdered sugar from her funnel cake all over his shirt.”

He squeezes me closer to him. “My dad, however, will tell you a different story.”

I run my finger gently over his chest, making little swirls on his tee shirt. “What does he say?” I ask.

His chest rises slowly and then falls. “He’ll tell you he left that night with my mom’s heart.”

I smile at his words. “Well, what do you think?”

A low, soft chuckle fills the air before he speaks. “Don’t ever tell my mom, but I think my dad’s got the right story.”

My finger stops grazing his chest. “That’s really sweet, Jorgen.”

“Yeah, well, I told you he was a sentimental old fart.”

I laugh softly into his muscles. Something tells me the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

I feel Jorgen’s arms wrap tighter around my body then, and he holds me for several perfect moments, until he starts to pull away and then stops.

“What’s that?”

I follow his stare to the top of my hip, and then I see it, staring back at me. A wave of air tunnels through my lungs and then pushes forcefully past my lips. I can’t help but think if it were just a little darker, he might not have ever noticed it.

“Another stupid idea,” I mumble.

“You have a tattoo?”

He finds my eyes and just flashes me a curious, mischievous smile. “Just an A?” he asks.

I glance at the small tattoo. It is just an A—in black ink. No hearts. No frilly flowers. Just the letter A.

“I was just a kid,” I say.

“For Ada?” he asks.

I shake my head, and he cocks his to the side.

“Ant…eater?” he asks again before I can stop him.

“No,” I say, starting to laugh.

“Aardvark?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Antelope?”

I can’t stop giggling as I bury my head into his hard chest. “No,” I say.

His finger regains my attention when I feel its tip lightly tracing the A, and soon, my laughter fades. I love that little A, but sometimes I wish it weren’t there. I wish it weren’t there to remind me — to make me sad. Without warning, I feel a sigh fall from my lips.

“It used to mean something,” I say. “But now it just stands for always, as in permanent — something I can never wash away.”

He follows a trail with his fingertips from the tattoo to my waist to the side of my ribs, then to my shoulders and finally to my lips.

“I like it,” he says, simply. “It’s part of you.”

I try to smile. He’s right, but what he doesn’t know is that even without the tattoo, the A is still part of me.