“Wait, let me guess . . . run by Frank?”

“Correct, but don’t forget the Handsome!”

“Is there a reason for that? Or is Frank just not the modest type?”

“Little bit of both. Frank came third place in a competition way back in the late eighties—Most Eligible Bachelor in the Pacific Northwest—and from that day on, he’s been known around town simply as Handsome Frank. He’s even got his winning photo on the door of his shop—denim blazer, mullet, the works—it’s great, you should see it.”

Amy smiled. “And what about that one?”

“Ah, that one I know particularly well. That’s Rosie’s, our diner—Seabrook’s only diner—owned and run by Joe and Linda Petersen. It’s named after Joe’s grandmother, who first opened the doors back in—” Ryan’s voice suddenly died in his throat, not because he couldn’t remember the year but because he’d just realized who that man on the ground was.

“Ryan? Are you okay?”

With a sinking stomach, he peered over the railing of their carriage, and there, standing thirty feet below, waving and pointing a camera, was the father of the two boys who had just boarded a carriage: Tom Tippenworth.

“What’s wrong, Ryan? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If only, he thought.

If only.

23

23

Ryan twisted ninety degrees, nodded to Amy’s side of the carriage, and politely requested to swap sides.

“Do you mind?” he asked, “and quick, before we reach the ground.”

“Why?” she asked, tempted to lean across him so she could see for herself. “What’s down there? What did you see?”

“I just really would like to sit there.”

“But how?” Amy asked, who thought the idea of switching seats to be entirely impractical. They were squeezed together in a tiny carriage with a steel bar across their laps, swinging some fifty feet up in the air. This didn’t seem to bother Ryan, though, not judging by what he did next. Without any warning, he reached out, grabbed hold of the lap bar, gave it a shake, and wrestled it free from its locked position.

“Hey! Are you sure you should be doing that?”

To Amy’s astonishment he then swung the bar over their head and perched himself on the open edge of the carriage, motioning for her to slide over. The brazen act hadn’t gone unnoticed. By dislodging the bar, he’d set off a chain reaction: red lights were blinking, a siren was wailing, and the ride was beginning to slow.

“Okay,” she said, looking around, embarrassed, “you definitely weren’t allowed to do that.”

The occupants of the other carriages all turned their heads as the giant wheel ground to a halt.

“Hey! What’s going on up there!”