Page 73 of Switching Skates
Gesturing toward the entrance, I murmur, “After you, Sunset.”
She strolls past me with a smirk on her lips, flipping her hair over her shoulder and handing me her purse.
Hooking it over my arm, I chuckle. “You know you didn’t need to bring this, right? Over my dead body are you paying for anything tonight.”
She stays silent, and I bite down on my bottom lip, loving that I just left her speechless. And now she has no choice because I have her wallet.
A kid jumps out in front of us, oblivious to the world around him, and I pull Daphne into me to stop them from colliding.
The kid glances up at us, and his eyes burst out of his head. “Sorry!”
I chuckle. “It’s okay.”
He runs back to his mom, who looks over at us apologetically.
The fair has always been a staple of this small town, and I’ve gone every year I’ve been here. But this is the first time I’ve ever brought a date.
Usually, it’s just us guys, getting drunk and competing at overpriced games for shitty prizes.
We walk to the gated entrance, her slightly ahead of me.
I pay for our day passes and twirl her under my arm as we stroll under the hanging twinkle lights draped across the twenty-foot-wide walkway, booths on both sides.
Knowing she more than likely can’t eat anything here, I might have arranged something special ahead of time.
“This way.” I grab her hand and pull her closer to me as we weave through the crowd of people.
Her fingers intertwine with mine, and I nearly forget about the task at hand.
“Where are we going?” she shouts up at me, and I shake my head softly as I look down at her.
“You’ll see.” Guiding her down the fairway of endless food tents and stands, I spot the one I’m looking for.
A teammate’s parents actually travel fair to fair, selling their famous funnel cakes, which are absolutelynotgluten-free.
However, they did let me stash a cooler there and an airtight-sealed container kept in one of their clean and empty warmers just for tonight for this special occasion.
Getting in their line like every other normal customer, Daphne and I wait. She impatiently looks up at me and asks what we’re doing. I ignore her every time.
When there are three people left in line, I hand her my wallet and her purse.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom quickly. Will you just order for me? Surprise me,” I tell her and take off before she can protest or ask too many questions.
“Mason! What the hell?” she shouts at me as I walk between tents a few stands down and loop back around to the back of the stand she’s at.
Mr. Hampton is waiting at the back door for me with a smile on his round face. “Hey, Mason. Everything’s ready for you. We haven’t touched anything.”
Sneaking up into their stand, I crouch-walk toward the front, where Daphne will be ordering. Mr. Hampton hands me one of their extra hats and an apron, sealed in new packaging, which I quickly slip on.
Squatting, I wait for Mrs. Hampton’s cue to come over, and a moment later, she snaps her fingers twice behind her back, and I make my move.
I stand up and walk over to the window, having to duck a little so as to not hit my head on the ceiling.
Leaning down, I look out of the window and find Daphne fumbling in her purse.
“What can I get for you, ma’am?” I use a clear customer-service voice.
Her head snaps up to me, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and lips parted. A laugh bubbles out of her. “What the heck are you doing in there?”
