Chapter 309: The Problem With Having a Pretty Ex

"Because you’ve been arguing with me for the last ten minutes, and you seem to be enjoying yourself."

I gave him my most offended look, the kind I usually reserved for students who tried to convince me that submitting an assignment three weeks late was a perfectly reasonable academic decision.

Damien glanced at me, took one look at my expression, and burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to contain himself.

I rolled my eyes and faced forward, determined not to let his amusement infect me, although the corners of my mouth betrayed me almost immediately.

I hated how much I had missed that sound.

I hated how easily it brought back memories of our university days, when we used to bicker over the most ridiculous things, from the proper way to prepare macaroni and cheese to whether Damien’s habit of reorganizing my study notes without permission qualified as an act of love or a serious violation of my personal rights.

Back then, I had thought we would have an endless supply of ordinary mornings like this one, with Damien walking beside me, making irritating comments and laughing whenever I threatened to throw something at him.

It was strange how something as simple as his laughter could make those memories feel so close that I almost forgot how much time had passed.

We stopped at the pharmacy first, where I picked up Frank’s medication and a few other things he had asked for, before heading to the grocery store to collect the rest of his shopping list.

Damien insisted on carrying the heavier bags, despite my repeated assurances that I was perfectly capable of doing so myself, and after a brief argument in which he calmly informed me that he knew I could carry them but would rather do it anyway, I decided to let him have his way.

It wasn’t worth wasting my remaining life-force arguing over a bag of potatoes, especially when I had already spent a considerable portion of the morning debating whether his existence within a three-foot radius of me should be considered a public nuisance.

We were almost finished when I remembered Dad’s mysterious emergency involving the television, so we made one final stop at the electronics store to purchase a replacement remote control.

I stood at the counter, staring at the receipt after paying, and felt a fresh wave of disbelief wash over me as I considered the dramatic way my father had described the situation.

He had made it sound as though the television had suffered a catastrophic malfunction that required immediate intervention, when in reality, the problem was apparently that he could no longer find the button that changed the channel.

I looked at the receipt again, just in case the numbers might somehow rearrange themselves into a more reasonable explanation. They didn’t.

"Dad’s emergency is the remote?" I asked, turning toward Damien with the receipt still in my hand.

He peeked over my shoulder, examining it with far more seriousness than the situation deserved. "He mentioned something was wrong with the television."

"Yes, and I was under the impression that we were dealing with a serious technical crisis. I thought the thing had stopped working altogether, or that it had started displaying the weather forecast in another language, or that the screen had spontaneously caught fire. Instead, we’ve bought a remote control that probably costs less than the amount of time I spent worrying about it."

Damien’s mouth twitched. "Perhaps he just wanted a new one."

"Then he could have said that instead of making it sound like the television needed emergency surgery."

"You’re going to tell him that, aren’t you?"

"Absolutely. I intend to demand a full explanation when we get home, preferably in the presence of a lawyer."

Damien laughed as he took the shopping bags from me, and we stepped outside into the warm late-morning sunshine.

I was still mentally preparing my cross-examination of Dad when I noticed a faint melody drifting through the street, barely audible over the noise of passing cars and people talking.

At first, I assumed it was coming from one of the shops, but as we continued walking, the music grew louder, accompanied by the distant chatter of a crowd and the unmistakable sound of someone enthusiastically announcing something through a microphone.

We rounded the corner, and I slowed to a stop when I saw the colorful banners hanging across the street ahead of us.

Beyond them, the town’s open grounds had been transformed into a lively collection of food stalls, game booths, small amusement rides, and strings of decorative lights that stretched between tall poles.

Workers were still putting the finishing touches on some of the attractions, while vendors arranged their displays and a few early visitors wandered between the stalls, enjoying the first taste of the festivities.

I stared at the scene for a moment before recognition finally settled in.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

Damien glanced from the carnival to me. "What?"

"The summer carnival. I completely forgot about it."

He looked toward the grounds again, taking in the colourful decorations and the cheerful crowd that was slowly beginning to gather. The summer carnival was practically a tradition in Crestview Bay, an annual celebration marking the arrival of a new season, and it had been part of my childhood for as long as I could remember.

Every year, the town would come alive with music, food, games, and enough flashing lights to make the entire place visible from space.

When I was younger, I used to look forward to it for weeks, mostly because it gave me an excuse to eat an unreasonable amount of fried food while convincing my father that winning a stuffed animal at a carnival game was a worthwhile financial investment.

Dad had always been terrible at those games, but he had never allowed that minor inconvenience to stop him from spending hard earned money on them just to make me happy.

I hadn’t attended in years, partly because university had swallowed most of my free time and partly because adulthood had apparently come with the unfortunate realization that food, rent, and electricity were more important than spending an entire afternoon trying to knock down plastic bottles with a ball.

Seeing the carnival again brought back a surprising amount of nostalgia, and I found myself watching the workers stringing up the lights with a small smile before I remembered that I was standing beside Damien Lockwood, who had a suspicious habit of turning perfectly ordinary outings into emotionally complicated experiences.

"Let’s check it out," he suggested.

I immediately shook my head. "No, we’ve got stuff to do."

"We’ve finished the errands."

"We have to go home."

"We can go home afterward."

"Damien, the carnival isn’t going anywhere."

"Exactly, so we have time to look around."

I stared at him, unimpressed by his logic, which was particularly annoying because it was technically correct. He glanced toward the entrance again before looking back at me, his expression calm and deceptively reasonable.

"Just five minutes," he said.

"No."

"Ten minutes, then."

"Absolutely not."

He smiled as though he had been expecting that answer. "Fifteen?"

"Are you negotiating with me or trying to purchase my attendance?"

"Would it work if I offered you something to eat?"

I narrowed my eyes. "That’s bribery, you fucker."

"Is it effective?"

"Unfortunately, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m agreeing."

"Of course not."

He sounded far too happy with himself, and I should have recognized that as a warning sign. Instead, I made the mistake of glancing back at the carnival, where the lights were beginning to glow against the daylight and the smell of freshly fried food was drifting through the air.

Somewhere inside, a child shrieked with excitement, followed by the sound of a game operator celebrating someone’s questionable victory, and the music seemed to grow louder as more people began arriving.

I sighed, already regretting the decision I hadn’t technically made yet. "Fine, but we’re just looking around."

"Of course."

"And we’re not staying long."

"Of course."

"And don’t start buying me ridiculous things."

Damien’s smile widened. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

I looked at him suspiciously. "You are a terrible liar."

"I haven’t lied about anything."

"That’s what makes you dangerous."

He laughed and followed me toward the entrance, and although I continued muttering about how easily my plans had been derailed, I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was looking forward to seeing the carnival again.