“All I’ll say is that it’s a local delicacy, and as a visitor to the town, it’s only right that you experience it.”

Amy’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly is the surprise, Ryan?”

“It could be anything. They take a mystery ingredient and fry it in batter. You don’t find out what it is until you bite into it.”

“Are you for real?”

His lips curled into a smile. “Yep.”

“And that’s what you’re having?”

“That’s what we’re having.”

“Ugh, um . . . I’m not sure.”

“Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

She felt her stomach turn. “Can I have a clue at least? What kind of things could they use? You know, hypothetically?”

“I’m not sure you understand the meaning of the word surprise!” The line shifted; they were only a few feet from the counter. “Now, before I order, I do need to ask you a couple of questions. Are you allergic to anything?”

“No.”

“And on a scale of one to ten, how adventurous would you say you are with food?”

“Is negative one hundred a valid answer?”

“It’s not.”

“Oh God.” Amy craned her neck and tried to catch a whiff or a glimpse or anything, but the frying station was guarded behind a plastic wall. All she could hear was the sizzle of hot oil. “Is it too late to go back on our deal and buy myself a corn dog instead?”

“Of course, if that’s what you really want, but then I’d ask you to think of what would happen next—the regret you would have, the questions, the lifetime of endless wondering, all because of that one day in Seabrook when you didn’t trust me enough to buy you that Deep-Fried Surprise.”

She rolled her eyes. “All right, okay, order it. But if it’s something gross—like, really gross—well, I can’t promise what will happen.”

After placing their order, they joined a semicircle waiting around a small window. Amy watched with jealousy as others went to the counter when their numbers were called and walked away with deliciously plain-looking fare. When their turn came, they were presented with a fistful of napkins and two hockey-puck-sized creations coated in layers of glistening golden batter so dense that you’d need to have X-ray vision to see what might be lurking inside.

“Come on,” Ryan said, “let’s find somewhere to sit.”

That, however, was easier said than done—every park bench was occupied, as were all the spots along the edge of the fountain. Ryan glanced at the Ferris wheel and spotted empty carriages. A minute later they were seated and buckled in.

“You’re okay with this?” he asked as a steel bar lowered over their laps. The giant wheel began to turn, lifting their carriage toward the sky.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Last time we were up high, you looked a little green.”