The Ferris wheel was the centerpiece of the fair, its colorful lights flickering against the dusky sky like fireflies. The line was long, but I didn’t mind. It gave me time to watch Betty, who was clutching her new stuffed bear like it was a shield.
She looked out of place here, in the best way. While everyone else was loud and chaotic, she was quiet, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the last rays of the sun painted the sky in gold and orange. I couldn’t resist raising my camera, the shutter clicking softly as I captured the moment.
“Brent,” she said, turning to glare at me. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” I said innocently, lowering the camera.
“Taking pictures of me,” she said, her cheeks tinged pink.
I grinned. “Can’t help it. You’re photogenic.”
“I’m not, I’m so big,” she muttered, looking away.
“Betty,” I said, stepping closer. “You just don’t see what I see.”
She didn’t respond, but the way her grip tightened on the bear told me I’d hit a nerve.
When we finally got on the Ferris wheel, we ended up squished together in the small seat, the bear taking up most of the space between us. As the wheel began to turn, Betty relaxed, her eyes widening as she took in the view.
“Wow,” she whispered, her breath fogging up the chilly glass of the cab.
I watched her instead of the view, snapping another picture when she wasn’t looking.
“Why do you even like photography now?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Because it shows people what they don’t notice,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Like the way your hair catches the light or the way you look when you’re not overthinking everything.”
She turned to me, her expression unreadable. “Brent...”
Before she could say more, the ride jolted to a stop, and the spell was broken.