Page 13 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
"It's beautiful," Scarlet murmured.
"It is," I agreed, though I was looking at her profile against the sky.
We reached the top, and with a grinding noise, the wheel stopped.
"Ladies and gentlemen," crackled a voice from below, "we're experiencing a brief technical difficulty. Please remain seated. We'll have you moving again shortly."
Scarlet laughed, fidgeting with her bandana. "Stranded at the top of a Ferris wheel. How cliché is that?"
"Completely," I agreed, feeling the tension between us shift into something warmer, more dangerous.
She angled herself toward me, her blue eyes reflecting the sky. "Burke?"
"Hmm?"
"Last night at dinner..." She hesitated. "When we were in the kitchen, did you almost...?"
My pulse quickened. "Did I almost what?"
"Kiss me," she whispered.
Everything outside our car faded to background noise. The distant carnival music, the chatter from below, the operator's voice on the loudspeaker—all secondary to Scarlet's question hanging in the air between us.
"Yes," I admitted.
She leaned closer. "Why didn't you?"
"Because..." I swallowed. "Because this is supposed to be pretend."
Her gaze locked with mine. "And if it wasn't?"
In the space of a heartbeat, the distance between us narrowed, her breath warm against my lips. My hand found hers, our fingers intertwining.
The Ferris wheel jerked into motion, breaking the spell. We pulled back, both slightly breathless despite nothing having happened.
"They always start it at the worst moment," Scarlet said with a nervous laugh.
By the time we reached the bottom, the moment had passed, though something had fundamentally shifted between us. As we walked away from the ride, Scarlet spotted a photo booth decorated with carnival-themed props.
"We should get some pictures," she said, pulling me toward it. "For MeeMaw. To make this look real."
The booth was small, forcing us to sit pressed together on the narrow bench. The stuffy warmth inside amplified the faint chemical smell of photo paper. Scarlet grabbed a sequined cowboy hat from a hook and placed it on my head.
"Perfect," she declared, selecting a feather boa for herself.
The camera counted down. For the first picture, we smiled normally. For the second, Scarlet made a silly face while I pretended to look stern. For the third, I draped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"One more," the automated voice announced.
I leaned to kiss Scarlet's cheek—a safe, boyfriend-like gesture. At the last second, she turned her head, and our lips met in a brief, electric touch. The flash went off, capturing the moment.
We separated, both flustered. Scarlet's cheeks were pink, but she giggled, breaking the tension.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Reflex."
"Right," I answered, my lips still tingling. "Reflex."
Outside the booth, we collected our strip of photos. There we were: smiling, silly, close, and finally—kissing. We looked like a real couple, happy and natural together.
