Singe (16 page)

“We’ll see,” Addie promises. It’s an unofficial tradition, the cousins doing the rides together, even though she and Phillip are grown-up, Jenn’s noticeably absent, and Danielle and Kristine have declared themselves too cool for the midway. Right now both girls are over by the cotton candy booth with their friends, scraping letters off their
Bonaventure Italian Festival
tattoos to make swear words.

Phillip catches Dante’s kicking sneakers in both hands. “We have to say hi to Father Ricci first,” he says firmly. Not for the first time, Addie thinks he sounds exactly like their dad.

Dante makes a soft noise of protest, but he doesn’t complain—it’s the first night of the fair, which is always more about honoring Christ and thy neighbor than it is about Dippin’ Dots or pogo sticks. Every year the festival opens on a Sunday, and every year it gets treated as an extension of the Mass itself. As the week progresses, things will get less holy, the center of worship shifting from Bonaventure’s stained-glass steeple to the top of the Ferris wheel, but not on the first night. The first night is all prayers and pillars of the community. Even baby Dante knows that.

Which is why Addie wanted to meet Eli on a
different
night, when the chances of running into one of the parish Fathers would be at their lowest.

It didn’t so much work out that way. “I’ll just pop by tomorrow,” he said yesterday at work, both of them hosing down the engine. “S’easiest, you know? I’m on schedule for a double this week.” Addie grit her teeth and agreed like it was no big deal.

Fat chance.

Her phone buzzes impatiently at seven o’clock sharp:
Just got here,
he informs her,
by the Scrambler. Where you at?

Meet you there,
she keys in as fast as she can, then turns to Phillip, who’s gearing up to try and win Paulina a goldfish at the kiddie pool game. “You guys good here for a second?” she asks. Marina’s got Dante in her arms now. Addie can just picture what they’ll be like this time next year, the whole nuclear package. “I just have to run and say hi to somebody real quick.” And okay, that’s a little bit of an understatement, maybe, but the last thing Addie wants is for this to turn into a Manzella family spectacle, the aunts getting wind of her having a date and next thing they’re asking when’s the wedding.

Not that this is a date.

Because it isn’t.

Addie finds him right where he said he’d be, leaning against the ticket booth in shorts and a soft-looking blue button down, sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows and his skin that clear summer-honey tan between the scars. He looks—okay, he looks hot.

“You look hot,” Eli says, staring at her appraisingly. Addie turns her head so his peck hello lands on her cheek. “Oh, I see how it is,” he tells her, grinning. “Relax, princess, I’m not trying to get you behind the life-size Stations of the Cross. I am appreciating your ass in that dress though.”

“Uh-huh.” It’s a maxi, this clingy black jersey thing Jenn told her to wear. Jenn herself hasn’t been to the fair since her own Stations of the Cross debacle, going on ten years now. It still makes Addie sad, even though Jenn swears she doesn’t mind. The summer Jenn was kicked out, Addie stood at the ring toss booth for four hours until she finally won the biggest prize on the rack, a soft purple armadillo Jenn used to covet back when they were too small to understand the games were rigged. They were still rigged in 2005, of course, which is how Addie knows her dad must have had a word with the carnies. She wishes he’d had a word with Gram about Jenn staying instead.

“Yeah,” she tells Eli, wiping her hands against her thin skirt. “Let’s stay away from all religious monuments, how about.”

“How about,” Eli echoes. He sticks his hand inside his pocket and jangles some change, looking hopeful. “Gonna let me pay for your ticket?”

Addie holds up her green paper wristband wordlessly.

Eli laughs, flashing sheepish white teeth. “Really not gonna let me mind my manners, huh?” he says, slipping into line behind a couple of preteens.

Addie waits while he sorts out his ticket, trying to decide what on earth to do with him. Bring him to meet Phillip and the kids, probably. Phillip doesn’t ask questions, and with any luck no one else will either. Of course, if Danielle and Kristine spot him… Addie blows out a breath, listening to him turn down the in-parish discount. He’s too damn obvious, is the problem.

She’s just considering stashing him away on a ride, cousins’ night be damned, when she looks up and sees her dad striding toward them. Addie feels herself blanch. She hasn’t introduced a boy to her dad since the eleventh grade, when he insisted on giving Joe Ciavolella the world’s most humiliating third degree in their dining room before he’d let Joe take her to winter formal. Addie still cringes when she thinks about it.

“Hi, Dad!” she says now, loud and a little manic. Maybe he just won’t notice she’s with a guy? It feels stupid to still be so embarrassed by the idea of him knowing she’s dating somebody, but there you have it.

Again, not that this is a date.

“Adelaide,” her dad says, bending to kiss her on one flushed cheek. He’s wearing khakis and a polo shirt, starched all the way down to his boat shoes. Addie doesn’t think she’s ever seen her father sweat. “Grant, yes?” he asks Eli when Addie makes no move to introduce them, a lift of his eyebrows in Addie’s direction to let her know her lapse of manners isn’t lost on him. “You’re at Eleven.”

Which—oh
shit.
Addie had been so worried about being seen with a guy period she had forgotten there were very specific department regs forbidding her dating
this
guy. Her heart drops.

Eli clearly isn’t bothered. “Eli Grant, sir,” he says eagerly, offering his hand to shake. Ugh, he’s so charming. Addie hates it, except for the part where she kind of really doesn’t at all.

“Eli,” David repeats, covering Eli’s palm and giving him the official Chief’s handshake, two slow pumps. He and Eli are about the same height. “Eli Grant of Company Eleven. Are you also a member of Saint Bonaventure’s, Eli?”

Addie sends her nails deep into the skin of her palm.

But Eli just smiles. “Nah,” he says. “Never could turn down a good funfair though.” His grin is as easy as the sun. Addie finds herself absurdly glad for his collared shirt and friendly face, his close-toed loafers. She told him this was a church function, and it seems like he listened.

David nods. “No arguments here,” he agrees.

And—miraculously, incredibly—that’s that. With no further prompting, the conversation drifts harmlessly away toward the fire service and the controversy surrounding Addie’s father’s replacement, whether or not promoting from the outside is good for the department. Addie divides her time between listening intently for hiccups and keeping a sharp lookout for other family members. But it turns out Eli doesn’t need her help. He talks about the merits of rewarding those who work their way up through the ranks. David mentions the dangers of tradition. They seem to like each other.

“You don’t want the wagons circled too tight,” Addie’s dad concludes. “But then, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

For the first time, Eli looks uncertain. “Sir?”

“You aren’t from Western Mass, am I right?” David says, voicing a suspicion Addie’s had but never articulated. Immediately, her ears prick up. “What brought you to our department?”

There’s a half-second of hesitation before Eli responds, like for that moment he’s forgotten he’s never met a situation he couldn’t bullshit his way out of. Then he grins. “More fires to fight here,” he says cheerfully, then steers the conversation right back around to last year’s response stats. Addie has to admit, he’s good.

Her dad finally lets her off the hook a couple of minutes later, muttering about finding Addie’s mom, who’s volunteering at the sausage and peppers booth on the far side of the field. “Jesus Christ, I need a beer,” Addie huffs when he’s gone. Her whole body feels limp with relief.

Eli laughs. “I thought I did okay,” he says, slipping his hand into hers and squeezing. “But it’s nice to know you’re still the Manzella who’s least impressed with me. Good to be sure where I stand.”

“Uh-huh,” Addie agrees, but she squeezes his hand back.

He buys her the beer, plus a hot dog to go with it. They run into her brother and the kids on the midway, and Eli wins Dante a plush blue frog with sickly yellow spots that both of them think is hilarious. Later, on the Ferris wheel, he presses the world’s most chaste kiss against Addie’s bottom lip.

“That okay?” he asks afterwards, pulling back a few inches. His face is his
let me take you to dinner
face, all dark, steady eyes.

Addie breathes. Their car has stopped three from the top, the bottommost few still loading. Already the noises from the midway have faded, just snatches of laughter and children yelling, the soft ding of the Scrambler from way down below. They might as well be alone. Each of the Ferris wheel cars has a tall, padded headrest that curls partway around the sides.

Very deliberately, Addie slouches down in her seat.

After a second, Eli slouches down too.

They make out like that for a quick handful of minutes, hidden from view as the car jerks toward the top. Eli’s kisses are messy and hot, sliding off the edge of Addie’s mouth. By the time all the cars are loaded, his palm is halfway up her skirt.

“Okay, okay,” she huffs, yanking herself upright as the wheel starts to turn for real. Her lips feel buzzy. “That’s enough. Quit while you’re ahead.”

Eli grins. “Oh, I’m ahead, princess.” For the rest of the ride he keeps his hand tucked between her ass and the seat, thumb rubbing along the notch where her spine becomes her tailbone. Addie can feel each individual stroke through her dress.

“Where
are
you from, anyway?” she asks later as they share a cloud of sticky cotton candy. “Where were you born?”

Eli smirks, nipping off a chunk with his teeth. “New Hampshire,” he tells her.

“New Hampshire,” Addie repeats, trying to picture him there—if he wore a lot of L.L. Bean and a big down vest all the time. “Hmm.” Then, “Oh shit,” she says, when she catches sight of the watch on Eli’s wrist as he reaches for another wad of spun sugar. She didn’t think there was any way she’d lost track of the time quite so hard. “I gotta go.”

Eli blinks at her. “You do, huh?” he asks, licking his thumb speculatively. “What, you turn into a pumpkin?”

“No, I just—” Addie hesitates. God, it’s a stupid idea to even entertain, she fully expected to be rid of him way before now, but. She takes a deep breath and just says it. “You wanna come meet my cousin Jenn?”

For a second Eli doesn’t say anything, this slow, sly grin spreading across his handsome face. Then he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I really do.”

Jenn’s parked in a booth at a Greek diner not far from Route 7, a big plate glass window in front and black-and-white linoleum floors. Her eyes widen when she sees Addie isn’t alone. “Well,
hey
,” she says, holding out one long elegant arm to shake hands with Eli. “How was the fair?”

“Fine,” Addie says, resisting the urge to blush as she drops into the booth. Her stomach swims with sugar and beer. “Still no tethered balloon rides.”

“Nineteen ninety-eight will live on in our memories,” Jenn proclaims, nudging her purse out of the way while keeping a firm hold of Eli’s hand. Her grin is cat-canary pleased. “
Hi
, I’m Jenn.”

Eli smiles winningly. “Hi, Jenn, I’m Eli. The fair was great.”

“Eli works at Eleven with me,” Addie supplies unnecessarily. She slips off her sandal and tucks her foot up under her in the booth, toes pressing urgently at Jenn’s side. “But really he’s from New Hampshire.”

“Born and raised.” Eli sits down in the booth across from them, turning the menu over in his hands. He doesn’t look nervous at all. “So, Jenn, what do you do?”

As far as conversation starters go, it’s a good one. Jenn immediately launches into an explanation of her design business, the T-shirt line and how she’s trying to break into Boston stores, her latest set of sketches that focus on the blueprints for famous American landmarks. Addie orders egg-lemon soup with rice even though she’s not hungry, and on second thought a side of home fries. Eli gets a tuna melt and another beer. Their waitress is an older woman with dark salt-and-pepper hair and a truly unimpressed expression. She takes one look at Addie and recommends the coffee.

“Greek coffee,” she clarifies, whisking away their menus with nicotine-stained fingers. “But the kitchen is closing in a minute, so order now.”

The coffee is thick and dark and chewy. Addie chugs it while Eli and Jenn discuss screen-printing, then gets up to go the bathroom as soon as the food arrives. It’s not until she’s actually walking into a stall that she realizes Jenn followed her.

“What the heck are you doing?” Addie gasps, hand on the door. “No way, go back right now. He’s going to think we’re talking about him!”

“We aren’t,” says Jenn shortly, hunching down against the row of sinks and crossing her arms. “Although I do admit he is a fine-looking man.”

Something about the way Jenn’s curled in on herself makes Addie nervous. “Okay,” she says, edging closer. “What are we talking about then?”

Jenn shakes her head. Then she starts to cry. “Addie,” she says, sagging back against the metal stall door. “My mom isn’t coming to the wedding.”