Page 56 of Small Town Swoo
“Ari, you weren’t even legal,” he pointed out. “You’d never had sex before. We were in mydad’shouse, and mysisterwas sleeping down the hall. Believe me, I tried to reason away all those things, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be that guy.” He glanced at me. “No matter how much I wanted to.”
“I guess that makes me feel a little better,” I said, the past rearranging itself slightly in my head. “I was convinced you turned me down because I wasn’t pretty or sexy enough for you.”
“I was just trying to be a good guy.”
“Your dad raised you right, Dashiel Buckley.” Grinning, I reached over and patted his leg. “I should really take those devil horns off your headshot.”
“After last night, maybe you should leave them.” Then he reached for the volume on the stereo and turned it up.
Fifteen minutes later, we were still in the middle of nowhere. “Where on earth are we going to dinner around here?” I asked when Dash turned off the highway.
He smiled. “Your first clue is coming up.”
That’s when I spotted the Ferris wheel. As we got closer, I saw a Superloop and Zipper against the blue sky. Then a sign for the Spring Carnival appeared, directing cars to turn right for parking. When Dash turned right, I clapped my hands. “Are we going to the carnival?”
“I wanted you to have your favorites today. Funnel cakes and corn dogs, right?”
“Don’t forget deep-fried junk food on a stick,” I said gleefully. “This is a perfect way to celebrate. Thank you!”
Dash paid for parking and we found a spot. After we got out of the car, he tugged a baseball cap on his head and slipped on a pair of sunglasses, making himself less recognizable. And while part of me liked the idea that people would see us together and look at me with envy—if DashielBuckley likes her, she must be someone—another part wanted him all to myself.
We walked across the matted grass and weeds toward the fairgrounds. “I didn’t think about getting dirty,” he said, looking at the dust already collecting on my black pants. “Is this okay?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t care about a little dirt.” I inhaled the scent of fried dough, grilled hot dogs, and fresh popcorn. Music from the carousel drifted toward us, punctuated by screams from riders on the Superloop or Zipper. Colorful neon signs and strings of party lights glowed in the afternoon sun. I twirled in circles, arms out, face to the sky. “This is the best day ever!”
He laughed at my exuberance. “I’m glad.”
After Dash bought us wristbands, we decided to hit all the thrill rides first. He was recognized every time we waited in line and sometimes as we walked from one attraction to the next, gamely posing for selfies and signing everything from phone cases to popcorn boxes. After about an hour, we wandered over to the food stands and got some dinner—cheesesteak for Dash and a corn dog for me, a basket of fried pickles to share, and a couple cans of Vernor’s. We carried everything over to a picnic table inside the tent and managed to eat without being approached by fans.
“You know what you should do?” he asked, cracking open his ginger ale.
“What?” I popped a fried pickle in my mouth, savoring its salty crisp outside and firm, tangy inside.
“A food truck. You could do catering for parties, special events, weddings, street fairs—anything.”
“I’ve thought about it. It won’t work.” I ate another fried pickle.
“Why not?”
“It’s a huge investment up front and no guarantee it will pay off.”
“Have you even looked into it?”
I opened my ginger ale. “Not in detail.”
“You could even keep it connected to Moe’s, but do different things.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Moe’s on the Go.”
“My parents would never go for it, Dash. They wouldn’t understand the appeal. And they’d see it as a distraction from the ‘real Moe’s.’” I made little air quotes with my fingers.
“You could teach them about the concept. How food trucks are the new shiny thing.”
“They hate new shiny things,” I reminded him. “Plus, food trucks are like fifty grand at a minimum. I don’t have fifty grand.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I do.”
“No.” I dipped my corn dog in mustard. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?”
