Page 5 of Carnival’s Playground

"Grace ain't in my job description." He hands me the clipboard, finally meeting my eyes. "Let's see if you're worth the trouble of learning your name."

We start at the main mast, working our way through the rigging like Dutch is testing whether I actually know rope from decoration. I check load lines, inspect the truss connections, run my hands along cable I didn't string myself and don't trust yet. Dutch watches with his arms crossed, saying nothing, which somehow feels worse than if he were talking.

"This tie off's wrong," I point out, gesturing at a knot near the second support beam. "Whoever did this was thinking about speed, not weight distribution."

"That'd be Petey," Dutch mutters, like it explains everything, and honestly, after yesterday's fog machine, it kind of does.

"Petey's gonna get somebody killed one of these days," I counter as I start reworking the knot, fingers moving through motions I've done a thousand times in a thousand different towns.

"Yep, he will, and then we'll hire somebody new who ties knots exactly the same way, because that's how this business works." Dutch watches me finish, nods once like I passed some invisible test. "You know your way around a rig. Where'd you learn?"

"Here and there." I don't offer more, and he doesn't push, just makes a note on his clipboard and moves us toward the next section of rigging.

We spend the better part of two hours going through every inch of the big top's suspension system, checking generators tucked behind the tent, making sure the lighting rig won't short out the first time somebody flips a switch during opening night. It's good work. Familiar work. The kind that lets my head go quiet the way it hasn't in longer than I care to admit.

"You'll do," Dutch finally admits, near the end of the walkthrough, like the words cost him something. "Don't make me regret hiring you sight unseen off a phone call from a man in Louisiana."

"Wouldn't dream of it." I hand the clipboard back, and he grunts something that might be approval before wandering off toward the office trailer.

I head for the prop trailer next, sheet metal loaded on a hand truck I borrowed from the equipment yard, torch and welding gear stacked on top. Avery's already there, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, surrounded by the sad remains of her glass pumpkin collection like she's holding a wake.

"You're late," she criticizes without looking up, echoing Dutch word for word, which makes me wonder if the whole crew's been coordinating on how to greet me.

"Popular opinion today." I set the hand truck down and start unloading the sheet metal. "Dutch already got his dig in. You want in line, or you got something original?"

"I got plenty original, but I'm saving it for when your pumpkin frames turn out ugly." She finally glances at the sheet metal, eyebrow raised. "That's thin gauge. You sure that'll hold shape once you start cutting?"

"It'll hold shape fine, long as I brace the corners right." I lay a sheet flat across the workbench, grab a marker, and start freehandedly sketching the pumpkin outline. "You worried about my metalwork, or just looking for something to complain about?"

"Can't it be both?" She leans against the workbench, close enough that I catch the smell of her, something like cinnamon and machine oil, an odd combination that somehow works. "I've watched you fix two things now. Doesn't mean I trust you with a torch around anything I care about."

"Careful," I warn, testing the torch flame before bringing it down toward the metal. "Statements like that almost sound like a compliment buried under all that sass."

"Don't get used to it." She watches me work, arms crossed, and I can feel her eyes on my hands the whole time, which does something to my concentration I'm not proud of.

The first pumpkin frame takes shape slowly, carefully, the torch cutting through metal in a curve that's close enough to round without looking mechanical. Avery hands me tools before I ask for them, like she's paying more attention than she lets on, anticipating what I need next.

"You're better at this than you let on," I observe, without looking up, focused on the cut.

"I told you, I've been watching you fix things on the sly." She shrugs, though there's something almost proud in her voice. "Doesn't take a genius to hand somebody a pair of pliers."

"Still." I glance up, catch her eyes before she looks away, quick, like she got caught at something. "Most people don't pay that close attention unless they're interested."

"I'm interested in not having a garbage display for opening night. That's the whole extent of my interest." She grabs another sheet of metal, sets it on the workbench like she's changing the subject on purpose. "Cut this one. I want to see if you can do two in a row without them looking identical. Real pumpkins have personality. Lopsided. Uneven. Not some assembly line nonsense."

"Bossy," I state, saying it the same way she said it to me yesterday, testing whether she catches the callback.

She does, judging by the way her mouth twitches like she's fighting a smile. "Efficient. There's a difference."

We work through the afternoon, three pumpkin frames taking shape under the torch while Avery critiques every curve, every uneven edge, pushing me to make each one distinct. By the fourth frame, we've fallen into a rhythm, her handing me tools before I ask, me adjusting the shape based on her nod or headshake without either of us saying much at all.

It's the generators that break the rhythm.

"Somebody wired these wrong," I observe, glancing up from my work, eyeing the extension cords running from the generator bank toward the haunt tent, watching the way they cross paths in a manner that makes my skin crawl. "That's a fire hazard, running that many amps through cords that thin."

"That's Petey's setup." Avery follows my gaze, frowning. "He wired the whole lighting circuit for the haunt walk yesterday. Said it'd hold."

"It'll hold until it doesn't, and then somebody's tent's on fire during opening night." I set the torch down, wiping my hands on a rag. "I need to redo this before tonight, or nobody's running the haunt walk safely tomorrow."