“Where are we going?”

“Ask me something about me.”

“Well, you know where we’re going.”

He chuckles, keeping his focus on the road. “It’s a surprise. Next question.”

“How long have we been dating?”

“Two years,” he says. “I know. A long time, right?”

“How did we get together?”

“Hooked up at a party. I’d liked you for a while and finally wore you down.”

“How romantic,” I remark sarcastically, though I’m not all that surprised. There were loads of photos of us intoxicated and all over each other hung up in my bedroom. The scene isn’t that hard to picture—I can easily conjure blurry images of a high school party and the sixteen-year-old versions of Damien and me falling over each other. I wonder what it was that made me give in.

“Modern love,” he agrees, and I laugh.

“Right.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

He pulls the car into a parking lot, and I realize I’ve forgotten to pay attention to where we were going. Light catches my eye in the side mirror, and I look over my shoulder to see a Ferris wheel across the street, placed in the middle of a bustling fair. Music, laughter, and shouts reach my ears, and I’m sure it’s going to feel like sensory overload once we get closer, but from here, it’s easy to appreciate the spectacle.

I look at Damien to find that he’s watching me expectantly, gauging my reaction.

“Pretty good surprise?” he asks.

I nod. “Pretty good surprise.”

“They have this festival every year to help with the seasonal depression,” he quips, stepping onto the pavement.

Minutes later, we’re in the middle of it all, strolling alongside the carnival booths. Kids with painted faces are running around, followed by frantic parents bringing up the rear, while middle schoolers laugh about it to their friends. I have a ball of pink cotton candy in my hand, and Damien is working on a candy apple. The ghost of a headache forming pulses in my temple, but I ignore it.

We pass by a dart-throwing game and Damien stops, turning to me.

“Can I win you a teddy bear?”

“You can play, but I don’t want the bear.”

“Aw, come on,” he protests, dropping his shoulders. “I thought it would be cute.”

“If I want something, I’ll try to win it myself. The game is the fun part.”

As I begin to meander down the aisle, he walks close enough that our arms brush, and I’m a bit surprised by how numb I am to the gesture. Damien is an attractive, sweet guy who’s clearly very into me, and we’ve been together before, so I don’t know why being with him doesn’t stir up anything inside of me. Not a single butterfly.