“Miss?” he asked again.

I choked on a sob, feeling myself breaking again, when warm arms wrapped around me. I didn’t even know who they belonged to yet at the same time I somehow sensed him. I caved, leaning my weight back into his hard body, letting him hold me steady.

“She changed her mind.” I turned to meet Rhodes’ intense eyes and he pulled me into him, his arm tight around my shoulder. Something shifted in that moment — something small, almost too small to acknowledge. It was like the world tilted off its path just a millimeter, but I felt it shake everything inside me.

“Miss?” the man asked again. He seemed alarmed by the way Rhodes was staring at me. I can’t say he was alone in that sentiment.

I shook my head, pulling my gaze from Rhodes to him. “Sorry, I’m fine. Not as hungry as I thought.”

The man appraised us carefully, then shook his head. “Have a good night, folks.”

“Thank you,” I said softly as Rhodes tugged me away from the stand and in the opposite direction of the one I’d been walking in. He didn’t say anything else, but it was then that I realized he was holding my hand.

“Are you hungry?” he asked behind him as we walked. “Be honest.”

“Yes.”

He frowned as he looked back at me again. “You’ve been crying.”

I swallowed, eyes on my feet as I forced a weak smile and shrugged. He tightened the grip on my hand.

“Let’s go. I’ll make you food.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“So I’ll make breakfast.”

I almost giggled, but I couldn’t find the strength. He was pulling me toward the south exit, the opposite side of where I’d been trying to leave. I prayed we wouldn’t run into the group and thankfully, we didn’t. I was far from ready to face them. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to again.

“Why are you even here?” I asked as we walked. “I thought you were busy.”

He swallowed. “One of my clients wanted to meet here. I was on my way to find her when I saw you.”

A strange sickness rolled through me. “Why were you meeting a client here?”

He didn’t answer, and visions of him in the hot tub the night before hit me once again. I wanted to ask him more about it, but I didn’t have the energy, so I let it go. It wasn’t my business anyway, which he’d made clear the day before.

Just as we reached the gate, a huge confetti canon let loose announcing the final fireworks show. Small pieces of colorful paper started raining down over us and I pulled my hand free from Rhodes before retrieving my camera from my purse.

He turned and watched me carefully as I adjusted the lens and focus, snapping different shots of the kaleidoscope paper rain.

“What are you doing?” he asked after a moment.

I smiled. “Finding something beautiful in the chaos.”

Rhodes didn’t share my smile, but he didn’t pull me away, either. He stood and let me take photos until nearly every scrap of paper had fallen and the last firework exploded in the sky. When I reviewed the pictures on the screen, I shook my head.

There are some sights in life, some little moments, that never look as pretty in a picture as they do in real life. I couldn’t capture depth with my camera — not true depth, anyway — like the depth of the dark night sky that surrounded each rainbow-colored morsel as it fell in the bright firework light. I couldn’t record the way it felt when that soft tissue paper hit the skin on my tear-stained cheeks. Or the way my chest felt heavy as I snapped each photo knowing he was watching me. It was a breathtaking moment frozen in time by an unremarkable photograph.

But it would live brazen in my memory forever.

I rode on the back of Rhodes’ bike to his house, since Willow drove us to the fair and I didn’t have the Rover. It was terrifying and exhilarating and I was already a complete mess, so everything felt intensified as the wind whipped through the hair that hung lower than my helmet. He didn’t have an extra one, since he wasn’t exactly counting on running into me, so I wore his and he went without one, even though I tried to fight him on it. Rhodes seemed completely at ease with my arms wrapped around his middle, but I could feel the chiseled abs I’d yet to see beneath his shirt and it made it hard to catch a breath.

When we reached his apartment and he wheeled the bike inside his foyer, Rhodes flicked on a few lights before dipping into his bedroom. I stood by the kitchen island for a moment, looking around, wondering how I’d found myself back at his place. After a moment, my feet reminded me how much they hated me with a shooting pang and I slowly eased my way out of my wedges. Wiggling my toes, I groaned with relief as I stripped each shoe off and let them hit the floor. Rhodes appeared again and watched me with a shake of his head as he moved straight into the kitchen and pre-heated the oven.

“Why the hell did you wear those things to the fair, anyway?” He scowled, leaning up against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. He was dressed more casually now than when he picked me up, sporting a heather-gray t-shirt with PBHS Weightlifting written on the front in dark green and simple black basketball shorts. He was also wearing a flat-billed hat, which I’d never seen him wear before. It framed his face in a way that somehow made his defined jaw look even stronger — square, symmetrically perfect.

When I didn’t answer his question, recognition hit his eyes and he nodded. “Ah. I get it. You wore them for your ex, didn’t you?”

I cringed. “Willow’s idea.”

“Mm hmm,” he murmured under his breath. He was watching me more carefully than usual that night, questions that he wouldn’t say out loud hidden behind his gaze. The silence of his apartment wrapped around us as his eyes drifted down to the hem of my dress and back up to my mouth. I wanted to break the quiet, ask him why he was staring at me like that, but he turned too quickly and began grabbing ingredients from the fridge. “What’s your favorite fair food, Bug?”

I scrunched my nose. “I don’t know, probably corn dogs. And don’t call me Bug.”

“Why?” he asked, turning to drop an armful of food and seasonings on the counter in front of me. “Your friends call you gnat. It’s the same thing.”

I giggled. “It’s far from the same thing.”

“It’s similar,” he argued, pointing the fork he’d just pulled from the drawer at me. “And it made you smile, so you can guarantee I’ll be saying it again.” His eyes glistened and for the life of me I couldn’t figure him out. Last night, he was pissed at me and wrapped around an older woman in the hot tub. Not that he couldn’t be friendly with me and do the same thing, but still. He was different then — angry, distant. Now, he was grinning and making jokes. And cooking for me. Again.