please? No sprinkles?” he said to the high school girl behind the next table.

Kate nodded, swallowing a mouthful of spun sugar. So, now that he thinks I'm a pig… “How's the booth going?” she asked.

He took the apple from the girl, passing over two dollars. Kate couldn't help

notice the lingering look she gave Peter. Back off, girly, she thought.

“Booth is going well. I'm taking a break to help set up the dunk tank.”

Wait, dunk tank? This was going to be easy. “Oh. Are you, uh, the guest of

honor?” she asked.

He pointed at his chest? “Me? No way. My students would destroy me.”

“Yeah, but, it's for charity, remember?”

A boy, a student, bopped up. “Mr. C, someone said you were getting in?”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Kate. Now it was her turn to point at her chest. “It wasn't me,” she said, laughing. “But I think it's a great idea, don't you?” She directed this to the boy, who grinned and nodded.

“C'mon, Mr. C. It's only a little water,” he coaxed.

A new set of students showed up.

“Yeah, c'mon, Mr. C,” Kate said. “Mis-ter C, Mis-ter C,” she began

chanting, making sure not to make eye contact with Peter.

The students picked up the chant. “Mis-ter C! Mis-ter C! Mis-ter C!”

Peter opened his mouth, then stepped back, bringing his hands up in

surrender. “Okay, okay, you hooligans, I'll do it.”

A cheer went up. There was that schoolboy look of his, and her heart did a

little jig.

“Geez, it's not enough I have to make sure you don't blow up the lab, you want to drown me, too?”

The students laughed, then jostled around him, moving him towards the

booth.

Kate followed. “Oh, Peter, I'm so proud of you,” she said in her best fawning

frontier woman voice.

“Save it, sister. And don't you get any ideas.”

“Me?” she said.

“Yeah, you. You've got a mean streak.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been working on my curve ball lately.”

“You probably couldn't even get it to the target, much less hit it.”

A taunt? Okay, buddy. She put her hand in her pocket, felt the wad of cash

she'd put there, then grinned. “I've got a roll of twenties that says otherwise.”

“Well, you can take your roll of twenties and—”

He couldn't finish, as he was being dragged towards the tank.

She had a last glimpse of him as he took off his button-down shirt and gave a

crooked smile and—was that a wink?

Oh, she was absolutely, positively getting in on this action.

* * *

“You sure you can make it from there?” Peter taunted from the tank. “Maybe you should step a little closer.”

“Maybe you should take a deep breath,” Kate called back, then let loose with

her first pitch.

The ball sailed wide and thunked harmlessly into the canvas backdrop.

The crowd gathered around the dunk tank groaned a collective oh!

“You throw like a girl!” Peter called through cupped hands. He was sitting on his perch in the tank, legs dangling.

“I am a girl, you idiot,” Kate yelled, winging the second ball.

This one hit square on the protective plastic in front of Peter's face with an

echoing thwack. He recoiled instinctively, grabbing the seat. Way off, but oh so satisfying.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” she called, batting her eyes.

He shook his head. “Not since you wore that Frida Kahlo costume in fourth

grade.” He made a slashing gesture across his forehead, mouthing the word unibrow.