Page 36 of Carnival’s Playground

"Your turn," he requests. "What's Avery's real story?"

"Born about forty miles from here," I reveal. "Dad ran off before I could walk, and Mom worked three jobs just to keep the lights on. I started running circus rigging when I was nineteen because it paid better than waitressing and I liked being outside."

"You ever think about leaving the circuit?" he asks.

"Sometimes," I admit. "But it's the only place I've ever felt like I belonged. Everybody's running from something. Nobody asks too many questions."

"Except me," he teases.

"Except you," I agree, smiling despite myself.

"What're you scared of?" he quietly asks, like the question actually matters to him.

I hesitate, turning my mug slow in my hands. Nobody's ever asked me that before, not straight out like this, and I don't know if I'm ready to answer it.

"Being left," I finally acknowledge. "Everybody in my life who's ever mattered has left eventually. Dad. A couple boyfriends who couldn't handle circus hours. Even friends, once the season ends, everybody scatters."

"I'm not everybody," Carnival firmly states.

"You're a nomad," I remind him, not unkindly. "It's kind of your whole thing."

"Was my whole thing," he corrects. "Told you last night, I'm not looking past Halloween trying to plan my exit."

"Words are easy," I point out, though there's no real edge in it, just honesty and the fear that comes with wanting to believe him.

"Then I'll keep showing you instead," he promises.

We sit quietly a while after that, sipping coffee, letting the conversation settle instead of chasing it further. His thumb traces slow circles against my shoulder, and I let myself lean into it, into him, into the strange steady comfort of a man who's spent his whole life leaving choosing to stay in my bed on a Tuesday morning like it's nothing. Like it's everything.

"What do you want?" I eventually ask. "Long term. Not circus talk. Life talk."

"Somewhere that feels like home," he admits. "Never had that. Figured I never would. Maybe a garage of my own someday, fixing bikes instead of just riding away from every problem on one."

"That's a damn good dream," I tell him, resting my chin against his bare shoulder.

"What about you, spitfire?" he asks, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip. "What does Avery want when the tents finally come down for good?"

"A patch of dirt somewhere quiet," I confess, the admission feeling raw in the dim light. My throat tightens around the words because I've never said them out loud before. "Somewhere I can put seeds in the ground and watch them grow instead of tearing down canvas before anything takes root. Maybe a dog that doesn't care about engine noise. Maybe a stubborn bastard who actually sticks around long enough to help me sink fence posts."

"I know how to build a fence," he offers, a slow grin pulling at his mouth.

"How convenient," I say as I throw his own words right back at him.

He chuckles, ducking his head to press a hard, lingering kiss against my temple.

A fist slams against the outside of the trailer door before either of us can say another word. Three heavy, impatient thumps rattle the thin aluminum skin.

"Avery," Dutch's gravelly voice barks through the metal casing of the camper. "Carnival. You two awake in there?" I snicker before groaning because there are no secrets to be kept around here. Dutch always has eyes on things, even when you’re trying to be incognito and not announce you’re bringing someone back to your trailer.

"Define awake, Dutch," I shout back, already swinging my legs out of the bunk and grabbing my jeans from the floor. My hands shake slightly as I yank the denim up.

"Get your asses dressed," Dutch commands through the panel. "Deputy Renn hauled ass back here with something off the trail cam footage. Says we need eyes on it immediately."

"Give us five minutes," Carnival calls out, his tone instantly shifting from lazy warmth to cold, sharp focus.

"You've got three," Dutch counters, his heavy boots already stomping down the metal steps.

I yank my work shirt over my head, twisting my messy blonde hair into a tight knot at the back of my neck while Carnival pulls on his heavy engineer boots. When he stands up, filling the narrow space between the bunk and the small counter, we lock eyes. The quiet, tender heat from a minute ago is still burning beneath our skin, but the harsh reality of the job is already clawing its way back in.