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Fran isn’t sure how she got into this as she watches people sit down at a long, tarp covered table with a string of cherry pies. Her neighbor had asked her to come to the carnival and after a bad week at work she thought she deserved a bit of a treat, she could at least drown her sorrows in a funnel cake. She really didn't think much of it. They're neighbors, friendly but not quite friends although he's proven helpful on occasion.
Her neighbor can't possibly be interested in her. Phillip looks like he belongs in the cover of GQ, he's loud and brash and has a different girlfriend every month. She knows this because she’d seen several dramatic arguments as they exited the building in a huff and he pursued them out to their car.
Phillip always apologized for whatever heated display Fran witnessed, of either kind, and was nice enough to help carry in, and assemble, her new coffee table last month. The two hours he spent in her apartment made her realize that it’d been a while since she’d seen a girlfriend, new or otherwise. Now she wonders if she was supposed to be next in line as she stands watching him take off his shirt in a rather dramatic display of prowess, waggling his eyebrows at her as if she was supposed to find all of this endearing and not embarrassing. Let alone a little terrifying.
Perhaps she is, in some twisted sense, meant to sate his boredom because when the words, ‘If I win do I get a kiss?,’ came out of his mouth five minutes ago she was a little too dumbfounded to answer. She just stood there with her jaw agape as he signed up, unable to protest.
Now as the MC talked about previous winners and their best times her stomach twisted into knots. She didn’t want him to win, did she? After all, Phillip is messy without the promise of cherry filling covering his body. He always seems to be rushing in the morning, his sports car is ridiculous considering he lives in a place that experiences winter, and he has a different girl on his arm, and in his bed, every month.
Except the last two. Which she decides is a very unhelpful thought.
Why is that time so significant to her? She decides it’s only because she had started seeing and immediately broken up with Robert in the weeks prior. A breakup Phillip had witnessed the aftermath of as she got out of Robert’s car. She wonders if he heard them arguing, he's almost been hovering since. She tries not to think about how he’d heard her crying, she knows that the walls are too thin for him not to hear such a thing.
Maybe that’s why he’d offered to help assemble her coffee table. Pity. Or perhaps, commiseration. After all, if anyone is familiar with break-ups it is Phillip Altman.
Fran is so lost in her thoughts that she jumps when the horn blows to start the contest and she watches in terror as Phillip dives in with an open maw. It’s all at once mesmerizing and horrifying as he buries his face into the ruby red filled pie. It looks bloody and he bites and eats with a gusto that makes her think of darker things. She thinks of his teeth sinking into flesh, her own even. She only considers that he could possibly win as he’s lifting his head from the pie plate with his arms raised in victory, the bell ringing to signify to the others that the contest has been won.
Phillip gets up from his seat, pie crust and filling falling from his face and lap as he stands, the MC holding his arm up like he’s just won a boxing match. Phillip doesn’t even take the towel that is offered to him, just climbs over the table sending more mess to the grass before coming directly over to her.
Fran is frozen, she can’t move and without a word he wraps her up, dips her back and kisses her with a mouth that tastes of cherries and a beard that is gooey. The crowd of course cheers, while Fran braces her hands on his shoulders because she’s worried she might fall. Except she doesn’t fall, he pulls her back upright, gives her another peck on the lips, leaving her covered in cherry pie as he goes and claims his prize and takes pictures. One of the event hosts is nice enough to hand her a wet wipe, although it barely manages to clean her face. She frowns down at her dress that now has blood red and pink stains all over it. She imagines herself covered with ants. Maybe they’ll devour her and she won't have to deal with the fallout of a relationship with her neighbor.
Phillip returns a moment later, taking her hand with his sticky one and leads her to the bathrooms.
“Here, I brought you something clean to wear,” he says, handing her what is clearly one of his own shirts and basketball shorts.
“Oh. You planned this?”
“Kinda,” he says, looking sheepish.
“Why?”
He shrugs before batting away a fly. “Go change and we can talk about it over a corn dog or something.”
“You're still hungry?”
He snorts. “Just go change,” he huffs, clearly amused as he gives her a pat to her bottom.
She scowls at him but is itching to remove her dirty dress and a corn dog actually sounds good, especially if he’s buying.
When she comes back out he’s waiting, taking her dress from her and putting it in his drawstring bag he brought.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes. What is this?”
“A date, preferably.”
“A date? You couldn’t just ask me out the regular way?”
He throws her a wry smile. “I did ask you out on a real date.”
“When?”
“Three days ago when I asked you to come here.”
Her eyes go wide and she wishes the earth would swallow her whole.
“Why? What did you think this was?” He asks, his eyes flicking over her in amusement.
“Just— I thought—”
He grins at her, as if to let her off the hook before taking her hand and guiding her towards the fairway.
“Is it okay that this is a date?” he asks, dipping to keep the question between them in the crowd.
She looks up and considers him a moment.
“If we break up in a month you're going to have to be the one that moves.”
“Ouch, so little faith,” he feigns a wound. “But fair. Although, I think I'm going into this differently, if that counts for anything.”
“Why?” She asks insistently.
“Let's just say the two hours I spent assembling your coffee table was the best two hours I've had in a long time.”
She wonders if it would save them the trouble if she just bought all new furniture. But she doesn’t get the thought out as he stops at one of the food stand windows, pulling out his wallet.
“You can't be hungry already?” she asks in astonishment, wondering how she'll even afford to feed him if she treats.
He scoffs. “I'm not. But you probably are.”
She lets him buy the corn dog and doesn't complain when he insists on the funnel cake she comments on.
“Are you up for the whole carnival experience?” He asks when he takes her plates.
“You really want to spend a whole day here?” She asks, surprised that he hasn't asked to take her home, which is how she assumes most of his dates start and end.
“Figure it'll be fun to win you a big stuffed unicorn or something.”
“Seems a little corny for you.”
“What? I love corny,” he tells her, leaning into her space and kissing her cheek.
She decides to play along, allowing herself to have a little fun.
“Okay, but only if we can go through the fun house later,” she tells him.
“Perfect. What about the tunnel of love, too?”
She blushes, unsure of his meaning.
“Come on now. I can't win the pie eating contest without going to the love tunnel,” he says pointing at the ride, even though he arches h
is brow in amusement.
She rolls her eyes and bites her lip.
“Fine. Love tunnel it'll be then.”