“I better be careful around you.” Alex stepped back from her cautiously, giving her a wide berth. “You’re a goldfish mass murderer. I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

“Stop!” Gemma laughed. “I didn’t kill them on purpose! I was little. I think I overfed them. Out of love, though.”

“That’s even scarier,” he teased. “Do you plan to kill me with kindness?”

“Maybe.” She narrowed her eyes at him and tried to look menacing, making him laugh.

Alex walked close to her again. His hand brushed against hers, and Gemma took the opportunity to slip her fingers through his. He didn’t comment on it, but he gave her hand the slightest squeeze. Warm tingles swirled inside her, and Gemma tried not to smile too widely at the effect from that simple touch.

“So goldfish are out,” Alex said. “What about teddy bears? Would stuffed animals be safe around you?”

“Probably,” she allowed. “But you don’t need to win me anything.”

“You want to walk around for a while?” Alex asked, looking down at her.

“Yeah.” She nodded, and he smiled.

“Okay. But if you want anything, just say the word, and I’m on it. I’ll win you anything your heart desires.”

Gemma didn’t want him to win her anything because that meant he would have to stop to play a game and let go of her hand. She was content to walk around all day with him. Just being with him delighted her in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

They’d walked a little farther down the midway when they came across Bernie McAllister. He stood in front of the game where the object was to pop balloons with a dart to win a prize. Despite the heat, he wore a sweater, and he squinted at the balloons below his gray eyebrows.

“Mr. McAllister.” Gemma smiled and stopped when they got close to him. “What brings you here to the mainland?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, his voice lilting with a faded British accent. He pointed to the balloons with his plastic darts. “I’ve been coming to the Founder’s Day Picnic for fifty-four years and winning cheap junk from these games. I wasn’t about to miss this one.”

“I see.” Gemma laughed.

“And what about you, Miss Fisher?” Bernie asked, looking at Alex and then back at her. “Does your father know you’re out with a boy?”

“Yeah, he knows,” Gemma assured him and squeezed Alex’s hand.

“He better.” Bernie gave them a stern look until Alex lowered his eyes. “I still remember when you were this big”—he held his hand up to his knee—“and you thought boys were gross.” He paused to appraise her and smile. “You kids grow up so fast.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s how it goes.” He waved his hand, brushing off her apology. “How is your father? Is he here?”

“No, he’s at home today.” Gemma’s smile faltered. Her father rarely came out to stuff like this anymore, not since her mom’s car accident. “He’s doing good, though.”