Catching Whitney (6 page)

“Have you lived here all your life?”

“Yes. I was born here and have never lived anywhere else. It’s a small town, but it’s cozy and safe. I like it.” I pause a moment. “What do you think of our little town? I know you haven’t been here long, but what is your impression so far?”

He scratches his chin. “It’s nice. I’m used to bigger cities, but I think I’m adjusting fairly well. I like the slower pace.”

We pass a corn dog stand, and the smells cause my stomach to complain audibly. If Aidan notices the loud grumbling, he’s gentleman enough not to mention it. But, he does mention grabbing lunch.

“I know it’s a little early for lunch, but would you like to eat now? I’ll admit I skipped breakfast, and I’m starting to feel it.”

I could have kissed him then and there. It’s very kind of him to pretend he’s hungry so we can eat now. Or it’s coincidence that we both skipped breakfast. Either way, I am happy to agree with his suggestion, so I nod. “Yes, that sounds good.”

He stops and surveys the variety of food offerings. “What would you prefer?”

“I’m really fine with anything. I’m pretty sure any of these items would kill us if eaten on a regular basis, so choose your poison and I’ll happily join you.”

“Ah, we’re a regular Romeo and Juliet then. Are you going to see if I die first? Or will you just dive right in with me?” He gives me a teasing wink.

“Oh no. I’ll let you eat a bite or two first. If you don’t die, I’ll eat with you. If you do expire, I’ll just sneak away and look for the beer vendor.”

He clutches his chest. “Oh, you wound me! You’d have beer without me?”

I can’t hold back my smile. “I promise I’ll drink one in your memory.”

“Thank you. That makes me feel much better.” His words drip with teasing sarcasm, and I find myself relaxing. This might be okay. If we can keep our friendship like this—like it was before we had sex—then maybe we can pretend like it never happened and just enjoy hanging out now and then. I think I’d like that very much. I work to remember the evening without the stop at the hotel room, but it’s almost impossible to blot out. Maybe it will just take time.

Aidan’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Whitney? Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Why?”

He chuckles softly. “Because I’ve asked you twice if you’d prefer corn dogs or hamburgers and you didn’t seem to hear me.” His eyes roam over my face. “Where did you go? What were you thinking about?”

I blush, and I’m afraid he now knows exactly where I went. “I’d like corn dogs.” My mind screams at me that corn dogs are too phallic. I won’t be able to eat one in front of him without embarrassing myself with mental images I’m better off forgetting. “No! I mean I’d like a hamburger!” My sudden change has him raising one of his perfect eyebrows at me.

“Okay. Hamburgers it is.” He takes my hand in his and pulls me to the right side of the path that leads to the 4-H hamburger stand. I try not to balk at the hand holding. Do friends hold hands? I can’t remember. I see the younger kids do it all the time, and it means nothing. This can’t be all that different, right? But my heart is telling me otherwise. I can feel that it’s meaningful, even if I can’t explain it. Once we reach the stand I make sure I let go and step back a bit. He doesn’t try to take my hand again, but I sense he’s disappointed. Maybe I’m just being silly. I don’t really know anymore.

Aidan orders two hamburger plates, and then we sit at the picnic tables nearby. In minutes, a teen in a green t-shirt brings our food to us, along with two bottles of water.

“Thanks for lunch, Aidan. It’s very nice.”

He looks at me, but doesn’t crack a smile. “You’re welcome.” He takes a few bites of burger before he speaks again. “I think it’s amazing that I ended up moving to the same town you live in. The odds of that happening are pretty astounding, actually. Do you think it’s fate?”

I chew a bite of French fry slowly and consider his question. “I don’t think I believe in fate. It’s just coincidence.” My mind races at the possible implications of fate somehow taking an interest in us. Fate and I don’t understand each other. In fact, I think if fate really exists, it’s been out to get me for years. I prefer not to believe.

Aidan takes a swig of his water and wipes his mouth. “That’s possible, I guess. But I don’t really believe in coincidence either.” He gives me another contemplative look before returning to what is left of his burger.

“So if it is fate, just what does that mean?” I ask cautiously.

“I suppose it means we are meant to know each other. Be in each other’s lives somehow.”

I swallow another bite of burger, but it seems to stick going down. I take a big drink of water and try to think of an appropriate response. “So we were meant to be friends?”

He blinks a couple of times, then slowly nods. “Yes. I think that’s likely the case.” I don’t respond so he continues on. “We get along well and have fun - at least we did the last time we hung out.” One corner of his mouth lifts in a small smirk, and I once again have to hide a blush. We did a lot of things the last time we hung out, and the last half of them were not things friends do to one another.

“Yeah, we did. The bar and the pancakes were pretty fun.” I purposely leave out the rest.

“Yes,” he says in a quieter voice.

We finish our meals in silence as we people watch. Excitable children and patient parents make their way through the ever-growing crowds. The ticket booth line has grown considerably since we sat down for lunch.

Aidan turns toward me. “Do you enjoy the rides?”

“I do. Most of them anyway. There’s a few I’m not too crazy about.”

“Which rides scare you?”

“Scared? Me? No, it’s not that. I just prefer my head stay above my feet. It’s a personal preference.”

He laughs. “I see. So you aren’t opposed to some less spinny rides?”

“If it doesn’t dump me upside down, I’m good.”

He picks up his trash, then holds his hand out for mine. I hand him my plate, and he tosses them both in the nearby bin. “Well, Miss Dawson, looks like it’s time to continue the tour. Where do we go next?”

I look around and consider our next stop. “I guess we could take a ride on the Ferris Wheel. You can see most of the grounds from there, and I could point out anything that looks interesting.”

He smiles. “Sure, sounds like a good idea.”

We stand in line for our tickets, and Aidan refuses to let me pay for mine. In fact, buys a large roll of them. “I can use the leftovers when I bring Caleb here tomorrow.”

I nod. That makes perfect sense. “Where is Caleb today?”

Aidan tears off the tickets we’ll need as we walk to the Ferris Wheel. “He’s with Rebecca. She promised to take him to the museum today.”

He doesn’t offer any more information, like who Rebecca is, so I work to tamp down my disappointment. It’s not like it’s my business, so I can’t understand why it bothers me so much to hear her name again.

The line for the ride is relatively short, so it’s not long before we are seated in a bright yellow cart and moving our way up the wheel. The space is a little snug, so no matter how much I try, I can’t seem to avoid my thigh touching his. The heat this one little touch causes is enough to set my jeans on fire. My brain files away the idea that someone should make flame-retardant panties. Now there’s a thought that belongs in a vault of things that should never be said in front of Aidan.

We reach the top, and I can’t stop the stupid grin that forms on my face. I love it up here. The views are amazing, the sky is a gorgeous shade of blue, and there’s a light breeze blowing past us. It’s kind of cool, but feels good just the same.

I notice Aidan looking around, and I decide to break the silence. “See anything you’d like to explore further?”

He smirks, then presses his lips together. I can only imagine what he was planning to say. He twists his torso a bit to face me fully. “I see a lot that I’d like to explore.” He stretches his neck out a bit as we start to move again and looks around me at some of the booths on the midway. “A few games might be fun.”

I smile. “You realize those are all pretty much impossible to win, right?”

His smile widens, and there is a gleam in his eye that makes me wonder what he’s up to. “Sure, but if it were easy, then it wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

I’m no longer sure we’re still talking about midway games.

As I stand in front of the dart game, I focus my aim and pray I don’t mortally wound someone. It’s not that I can’t throw in a straight line. I can, to an extent. But something about these darts feel a little kamikaze. No matter how hard I try to throw them at the correct target, they tend to veer off in random directions. I’m wondering if they are purposefully designed to be difficult. I start thinking about the science behind such a manipulation and get distracted.

Aidan interrupts my thoughts. “Are you afraid they’ll come back to attack you?” I can hear the laughter in his tone.

I turn, pointing one of the metal tips at his nose. “No, but I am concerned that my next throw might be the one that sends someone to the emergency room.” I hand him the remaining darts. “Here, you do it.”

He shakes his head but takes my place in front of the balloons. His first throw lands just left of a large red balloon. I smile a bit, feeling justified that it’s not just me. He throws again and this time the dart lands between two blue and green balloons. This time, I don’t even try to hide my grin.

“Not so easy, huh?” I’m secretly happy that either we both suck at darts, or the game is rigged so we both look like we suck. Either way, I’m not alone in my suckage.

He gives me a wink, then turns back to the balloons. He takes an extra moment to adjust his aim and then throws. The dart hits a bright pink balloon, and the resulting pop almost makes me jump. I obviously didn’t expect him to hit something.

He points to a small yellow duck. “I’ll take that one.”

The game operator hands him his prize, and I mentally concede that he’s pretty damn cute when he wins something. I don’t want to admit that to myself, let alone out loud, but the thought is already there. He turns and hands the duck to me.

“Oh no. I can’t take that. You won it. Give it to Caleb.”

He pushes the duck in my direction again. “Nah, Caleb doesn’t like ducks. Besides, I won them with your darts, so it’s your prize. I just helped.”

“Oh, well, thank you then.” I accept the cute furry squeak toy and look it over. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but it’s adorable. Maybe it’ll look cute on my desk.
Sure, Whitney. Put it on your desk, so you can look at it often and think about Aidan when you need to be concentrating. Brilliant idea.
Okay, so maybe not on my desk.

It’s small enough that it fits in the front pocket of my jeans, so I slip it in and look expectantly at Aidan. “Now what?”

He looks around. “Did I see a ball throwing game somewhere?”

I nod and point down the midway. “I believe it’s over there.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me alongside him while we maneuver through the crowd of people between us and the game he’s searching for. I notice a few familiar faces as we pass and they take a noted interest in our joined hands. I smile weakly as I’m being propelled forward, praying they don’t read anything into the relationship that isn’t there. We stop in front of a black and white striped booth that was made to resemble and old baseball uniform. There are pictures of baseball legends in various places inside the walls and in the middle there are targets similar to those of a dunk tank. In this game, the player is expected to hit the target a minimum of three times to win a small prize. Hitting the target all five times results in a large prize.

Aidan smiles at me. “This almost isn’t fair. I probably shouldn’t play.”

“You’re probably right. You’d be too good at it, and they’d accuse you of cheating.” I manage to keep a straight face while I drown my words in sarcasm.

“Oh, you don’t think I can do it, huh?”

“I’m sure you can hit it all three times, but all five? I don’t know.”

His growing smirk is full of mischief. “Let’s bet on it. If I win, you have to go through the fun house with me. If you win, I owe you dinner.” He hands the game operator some money.

Without thinking, I blurt out, “You’re on.” This is when my brain reminds me that he used to be a semi-pro ball player.
This is a bad idea.

As he’s preparing to throw the first ball, I place my hand on his arm. “Wait. What position did you play in the minors?”

He shrugs. “Oh, I was just the pitcher.”

“Great. I should probably have insisted on a blindfold then. I think you are taking advantage of me here.”

He laughs. “Hey, you agreed. No take backs. But, if it makes you feel any better, my injury was to my rotator cuff, so I can’t throw like I used to.”

I start to say “good”, but I stop myself before it escapes my lips. That would be horribly insensitive. His injury cost him his career; I can’t even pretend to be happy about that.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it. That must be difficult for you. Should you even try this? Will it injure you further?” My question and concern are genuine, but that’s not how he interprets it.