Bella

When you live in a small town, little things matter. The smell of sugary confections, salty fries, and the whirring of thrown together rides may be inconsequential to some, but to me, stuck in the middle of super rural Lake County, Florida, it’s the highlight of my life when the carnival rolls into town.

For one, I have a gig playing a fortune teller, which means I’ll have a little extra cash in my empty pockets.

Two, I get the night off from ringing up soda and chips at my boring gas station job. And three, I get to pretend to not be me for a few hours and escape into a world where people stare back at me with hope and excitement in their eyes.

I don’t have a super fantastic costume to wear—this is fortune telling on a slim budget, people—but I do have a flowy, black dress I borrowed from Rebecca, my co-worker. My dark hair is left long and wild, falling in soft waves past my shoulders. Since this is a special occasion, I used a little makeup to give my hazel eyes a dramatic smoky effect. I’d say I definitely look the part; the reflection staring back at me could pass for at least twenty-one.

The only thing authentic about my role is my deck of cards. I pull the small mahogany box that holds my most prized possession from under my bed. It once belonged to the only responsible, loving person in my life: my grandma, Ophelia. I smile running my finger across the scarred lid. Memories of sitting on the front porch of her old farmhouse while she scattered these cards around, flipping them over and telling me my future, fly out when I open the box.

She was a wild spirit who believed in magic. And me. Our card was always the Three of Cups. She used to laugh because the number three seemed to follow me around. Literally. My birthday is the third. Grandma Ophelia told me it meant I was lucky, because in the bible it’s the Trinity of wholeness. Like coming full circle. I’m not really a religious person, but I still like the notion.

I tuck the cards in my tote bag, slide on my red flip flops—they’ll have to do—and set out on foot to the carnival. The humid August Florida air is like walking through a sauna, the wet just clings to you. When I leave here, I’m definitely going somewhere with winter. Somewhere with snow and chapped red noses from the cold.

I hustle through the streets and past the long line of cars waiting to park at the fairgrounds. Everything is alive and bright. I know mostly everyone here under the buzzing lights of tents and rides. My manager, Hardy, is no longer the old man who yells at punk teens to get out of his goddamn store when they make a mess at the Slurpee machine. He’s now a jovial clown with floppy shoes and balloons for kids. The downside to the carnival is definitely the creepy as hell clowns. There’s something sinister about their pasty white faces and exaggerated bright red smiles. No offense to clowns, but if the big floppy shoe fits.

Once I check in at the gate, I walk the short distance to my designated booth and step inside the small dark tent, illuminated softly by a string of white Christmas lights. I prop my sign next to my table and chair.

BELLA’S FORTUNES

$3

It doesn’t take long for a group of boys I went to high school with to start making trouble. One of the guys, Charlie Miller, is, how do I put this politely, an asshole. He swipes my cards.

I hold out my hand. “Give them back.”

“You’re supposed to be able to tell the future, right? Do I give them back or don’t I, Bella?”

“Those were my grandma’s cards. I want them back.” I extend my hand further but it does nothing to move him.

“I’d say your future says you give them back,” a deep male voice says from behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see the new cop. It’s been three weeks since our run in and to my disappointment, that time didn’t change how downright gorgeous he is nor the fact he’s a cop. Wintery blue eyes focus on Charlie.

“If I were you I’d give the girl her cards back.”

That’s all it takes for Charlie to toss the stack of tarot cards on the table and leave.

“Thanks.” I smile. “You saved me.”

He watches me for a moment, his eyes roving over my outfit. “Technically, I saved your cards, not you.”

My cheeks heat under his scrutiny. “Well, these cards are very important to me, so in a sense, you saved me.”

He peers around the tent. “Do you really know how to read cards?”

“Maybe.” I motion for him to sit. “Here, please, let me give you a free reading,” I wink, “for saving me.”

“I could be that guy and make a joke about ‘didn’t you see me coming,’” he says, taking a seat in the flimsy folding chair.

“Good thing you’re not that guy, or I’d have to say ‘that’s what she said,’” I reply back.

He laughs a bit at my corny joke, and I swallow as I take him all in. Magic. Ha. You couldn’t tell me in this moment it doesn’t exist. This man was made from a wish. Someone looked up at the sky one night, closed their eyes and brought him to life.

I blink, trying to clear the stars from my head, and hold out my hand. “Here, let me see.”

He places his large hand on mine, palm side up. His attention is fierce under the soft glow of the lights, as if this silly card reading is worth more than the three bucks I charge.

“I’m not very good at palm reading,” I trace the lines of his hand, “but I was taught what the lines mean.”

“What do mine say?”

I trail my finger through the dip of his palm, skating slowly over his warm skin. “This is your life line.” I glimpse up and grin a little. “Yours is really long.”

He chuckles. “That’s what she said.”

I laugh a little, going back to his hand, heart racing, as I try to ignore how his playful charm makes him even more attractive. “Yes. It's as long as your heart line. I was told it means…” I hesitate, “you’re a good lover.”

He smiles. “Who told you that?”

I keep hold of his hand. “My senile grandmother.”

He grins, and even though there’s loud music, whirring rides, and barkers shouting through the haze of the fair, all I see, all I hear, is him.

“Maybe we should see if the cards agree,” he suggests, nodding to the pile.

I reluctantly let go of his hand to release the cards from their constricting rubber band and spread them across the table. “Turn over one card.”

He flips over a card with a sword. “Ah, the ace of swords. This means a decision is going to be made that affects your life but is ultimately out of your control.”

He lifts one of his perfectly arched brows and nods. “Do I get another?”

“Two more,” I instruct, making sure he has the luck of three on his side. His eyes carefully scan the cards, his chiseled jaw taut as he debates which to choose, before he finally flips over a card with a nude man and woman. He peeks up at me, raising his brow again, but this time that damn adorable dimple is back in the pocket of his cheek.

Heat rises on my cheeks again. “The lovers,” I tell him. “This is the ultimate love card, symbolizing a unique bond and deep connection between two people.”

He turns his gaze back on me full force, his brows pulled together with doubt, as he says low, “Do you believe in this stuff? That it actually comes true?”

“I plead the fifth,” I say, avoiding his question. “You get one more card.” I urge him on, but he shakes his head.

“I think I want to leave it at that. Seems like a good place to stop.”

“But three is a lucky number. Do you really want to take a chance with your future?” I tap the table for him to pick another, and he watches me a moment before flipping over a third card. My stomach clenches as I silently stare at the bad omen.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

I fake a smile and shake my head. “I just forgot what it was for a second. Um, it means you’ll rescue someone,” I lie. “See, the white knight on the horse.”

He rises from his chair. “I guess I’ve fulfilled part of my destiny tonight then, haven’t I?”

“I guess you have.” I swallow hard. “Thank you, again.”

He nods, and I watch as he strides through the stifling crowd like a sharp knife through butter. People fall away from him as he approaches, as if he owns that kind of power to part the seas.

The next four hours, I read fortunes until my replacement arrives, and then, not ready to go home yet, I walk around through a haze of delicious food smells. My stomach rumbles, because I haven’t eaten anything today, so I scope out the concession stands. Funky Town Funnel Cakes has hot orders, ready and waiting, in the window and no one does them better, so I weave between the people and grab an order.

I pick off bites off the sweet treat as I walk the length of the carnival and stop at the giant Ferris wheel. Every year, I watch it turn but don’t ride. Looks like this year will be the same.

I finish off my funnel cake and chuck my paper plate in the nearby trash can. As I twist around, I bump chests with a man. Now familiar blue eyes gaze down at me. “Having any fun tonight or is it all about working?” I ask.

“Just doing one final walk through before I leave.” He looks over at the wheel. “You going to ride that thing?”

“Someday,” I answer. “It’ll have to stay on the bucket list because I’m a little … no … I’m really scared of heights. Can’t lie.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “Come on.”

He steps up to the Ferris wheel and goes right for the guy manning the ride, slips him some cash and motions to me. A little stunned, I gawk at the towering contraption. He looks so beautiful standing next to the object of my fear. I let his magnetic pull guide my feet to him. We are put on the ride right away. I clasp my hands down on the steel bar and take a deep breath.

“Sometimes you have to just do it,” he says, his ocean-blue eyes gleaming under the crackling bulbs framing the wheel.

“You should work for Nike,” I say, my voice a faint whisper as we climb higher. He half-smiles.

The ride jolts forward as it begins to turn, and I clasp on for dear life. I brave looking over at him and he’s staring at me as we lift toward the stars.

A lock of hair blows across my face, but I am not letting go of this bar. “Would you mind moving my hair?”

He carefully reaches out to tuck it behind my ear.

“Thank you,” I manage to say.

“I foresee,” he muses, with a wry smile, “you being a lot of trouble.”

“I could say the same about you.” My heart races from how he stares at me, almost like he’s going to lean in and kiss me. That would be absurd. But not as absurd as the fact, I really want him to. In this magical place, I want to believe in things like love at first sight, white knights, and happy endings. He doesn’t kiss me, though, and the ride ends much too soon.

We climb down, and I still feel high.

“You can check that off,” he says as we walk away.

“That was amazing,” I realize, now that my feet are on solid ground.

The vendors are closing up and the music stops as we hit the end of the midway and all the magic fades into the darkness of night as we exit. A group of guys whistle low at me as they walk past. Evan glares in their direction, looking unamused by their juvenile antics.

“Future leaders of America right there,” I say, commenting on the boys.

“Did you date one of them?” he asks.

“I don’t date boys from Lake County, or any other county for that matter.”

“To think I saved you,” he jokes.

I smile at him. “Details are important. I said boys …”

Evan captures his bottom lip for a moment, and I glance down briefly because his stare makes my stomach flop. He looks out at the smattering of vehicles left in the field. “Where’s your car?”

I point to my feet. “They get great gas mileage.”

He strokes his hand through his chaotic raven hair. “I could give you a ride if you’d like.”

“That’s ok. I’m not far. I’ll walk.”

Part of me doesn’t want him to know I live on the poor side of town, in a run-down trailer, with my mother and whatever guys she’s sleeping with this week, but the other part wants a little more time with this man.

“I’ll drive you,” he says.

I agree and let him lead me to his truck, a black Ford F-150 with dark-tinted windows. I’d be lying if I said it didn't smell incredible inside. New, like leather. But also, like him. Like whatever he washes with and was born with. That smell you can’t describe on a baby’s head—unequivocally unique and intoxicating. Plus, his truck’s clean. Like, super clean. I’m not really used to anyone being so meticulous about anything, but hey, cleanliness is next to Godliness, so I’ll take it.

The short ride is silent as he navigates the empty streets, and I feel the need to fill it with chatter. His New York ball cap sits on the seat between us. “Have you been to New York?”

“I lived there.”

“Lucky. I’ve never been anywhere outside of Florida. Do you travel a lot?”

“When I was younger.”

I look over at him. “How cool. To other countries?”

“I’ve been many places. Yes.”

“Then how the heck did a guy like you end up in a place like boring Lake County?”

He darts his eyes to me like for the first time tonight he’s unsure of me. “Long story.”

His lights illuminate the shabby trailer I live in with my mom as he pulls in my driveway. Embarrassment rifles its way to the forefront and I hop out to escape it, hoping he won’t take too much in before I can end this night. Standing outside his truck is a little like turning back into pre-party Cinderella after the spell wore off and she was ripped from a horse-drawn carriage and reduced to a ripped dress, missing one shoe.

“Thanks again,” I tell him.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he says before I shut the door.

He waits until I’m inside before leaving.

To my surprise, my mom’s still awake. She peeps through the curtains in our living room as I step inside. “Who was that?” she asks, her curious brown eyes narrowing on me.

I don’t dare tell her it was a cop. “Just a guy I met at the carnival.”

“A stranger? You let a strange man drive you home?”

Ha. Like she’s one to judge. She’s been bringing ‘strange’ men into our house nearly my whole life. I let it go, though.

“I’m tired, Mom. I’m going to bed.”

She calls after me as I head down the narrow hallway, “Did you make any money tonight?” and then a string of things about what she needs money for, none of them important or good, of course. I close my door and let her voice fade out, climb into my twin-sized bed and close my eyes, thinking of Ferris wheels and eyes so blue and magnetic I feel connected to him even though he’s long gone.

I might be young, but I’m not naive enough to ignore the signs that fate keeps putting him in my path. There’s a troublesome bright red flag of course—the third card he flipped. Evan might be leading a good life as a cop, probably living on the better side of town like his fellow officers, but something very bad looms over Evan Lacuna. The card of Death.