Page 13 of Second Chance for the Grump

“Wanna play?” Rowan asked.

“Really?” I pointed at the game. “You don’t strike me as the carnival game type of guy.”

He laughed. “I’m not.”

“Then why would we⁠—”

“I’m a great thrower.” He dropped my hand and pointed at the row of stuffed animals hanging behind the worker. “Pick a prize.”

“Rowan, don’t be silly.” Those things cost triple what you could just buy them online for.

Rowan grabbed some cash from his wallet and handed it to the worker. “Pick one or you’re getting the big black bat.”

I rolled my eyes. The bat was kind of cool. But I then pointed toward the same stuffed ghost the little girl had earlier. “That one.”

The teenager in charge lifted an eyebrow skeptically as Rowan grabbed three baseballs from him. “You get three tries to take them all down, but you’ve got to do it from behind the white line.”

Rowan gave a single nod as he took a step toward the white line the kid pointed at.

He stared at the milk bottles the same way he said I’d been staring at the Ferris wheel, as if he had a personal grudge against them.

With a quick inhale, he threw the first ball, knocking down almost everything.

The second cleared the bottom left, and the third ball took down the rest before striking the back wall hard enough that I jumped.

Then I burst out laughing.

The once skeptical teenager stared at Rowan and then at me. “Have you considered professional baseball?”

Rowan chuckled. “Think I’m a little old for that.”

He grabbed the stuffed ghost and handed it to me as if it was no big deal. “There.”

I hugged the ridiculous thing against my chest, doing my best to curb my smile. It didn’t work. “You didn’t have to, but thank you. I love him.”

“I know,” he said and jerked his chin back to where we’d been standing before. “You had your eye on the one earlier, like you wanted to steal it from her.”

My mouth fell open. “I did not look like that.”

He smiled, and something warm spread through me. I refused to name or acknowledge the emotion.

Rowan grabbed my hand again—without asking—and we kept walking.

For another two games, neither of us spoke, and the carnival sounds filled our silence. The creak of nearby rides, with laughter and screams of thrill cutting over the spooky Halloween music, set an interesting backdrop that fit us perfectly.

But slowly, that deep ache I’d been trying to ignore filtered to the top again.

Charlie.

My dog loved the fall fest. He loved to be walked on a leash among people. He loved all of the festivals, but this one was his favorite.

It felt wrong to be enjoying the time without him here.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Rowan asked, noticing my shift in mood.

I squeezed the ghost more. “Charlie loves the festival, and he’d fight me for this ghost.”

He loved to sleep on giant stuffed animals. I bought him a new teddy bear every Valentine’s Day.