Free Candy-Coated Secrets by Cynthia Hickey

through Joe’s. He wore street clothes. A rare sight.
    “April!” I left Ethan to fork over the thirty dollars for two wristbands and waved frantically to my friend.
    She smiled and returned my wave then tugged Joe in our direction. As they drew closer, I held out my left hand and grinned as April squealed. “I didn’t think Ethan had such classy taste. Good job, big brother.”
    “Congratulations, buddy.” Joe pumped Ethan’s hand. “Taking the vows. Big step.”
    April rolled her eyes and pulled me aside. “I wish Joe would propose. We talk about marriage, but he wants the proposal to be special. When I least expect it, he says. I just want the ring on my finger.” She lifted my hand. “It’s gorgeous.”
    “He asked my uncle for permission then got on his knees.” I held my hand to the light. “Ethan had the ring designed special.”
    “Nice.” She leaned closer. “What’s this I hear about someone chasing you up the Ferris wheel?”
    “Not someone. A big fat hog.” I had difficulty dragging my attention away from my sparkling treasure and back to her. “It was the most frightening thing ever. A lot of snorting and grunting.” I shivered.
    “Why’d you hide on the Ferris wheel? Why not the restroom? Any building. You hate that ride.”
    “I wasn’t thinking clearly, all right? It’s difficult to think while you run for your life.”
    “You’re so dramatic. It was only a pig. Look, Joe’s ready, and Ethan’s waiting.” She gave me a quick hug. “Stay out of trouble. Let me know if you need anything.”
    At one time last year, I’d wanted April to be my sidekick, but she’d become too wrapped up in Joe. My fault, since I encouraged them to see each other. Even going so far as to trick Joe into taking April to the annual formal ball.
    With a shrug, I turned and took Ethan’s hand, enjoying the feel of my small hand wrapped in his large calloused one. Aunt Eunice is as nosy as I am. She’ll be a great sidekick. If she doesn’t lecture me to death each step of the way about the possible danger.
    “Let’s ride the Scrambler.” Ethan’s dimple winked. “That way you’ll be spun against me.”
    “I’ll squash you.”
    “But what a way to go. Come on, Tinkerbell. As your aunt would say, you don’t weigh more than a minute. You aren’t going to hurt me.”
    The ride twirled, the world spun in kaleidoscope colors, and I laughed until I cried. The tears dried almost instantly from the wind created as we whipped around. Ethan held me close against his side to prevent our banging together. I could have stayed like that all night, except for the inevitable nausea. Rides had a tendency to make me ill.
    “Win me something,” I suggested when the ride stopped. “Show me how strong you are. My stomach has to rest.”
    “The High Striker. Let’s go see if this old man still has what it takes.” Old man. He’d just turned thirty-three.
    We watched for a while as teenager after teenager attempted to bring the mallet down hard enough to send the puck up and ring the bell. Girls encouraged. Boys groaned. One young man built like a football player stopped and handed the mallet to Ethan.
    “Come on, Teach. Show us how it’s done.”
    Ethan took the mallet and swung to test its weight. “How’d you do?”
    “I haven’t yet. Waiting on you.” The young man grinned and flexed his muscles. “You might be stronger in the God department, Mr. Ethan, but I’m stronger in the brawn.”
    “Uh-huh. Get that wooden box built yet, David? I’ve been gone a month. You had plenty of time.” In addition to being youth pastor at our church, Ethan taught woodworking at the high school.
    “No, sir. I’ll get right on that this weekend.”
    “I’ll make you a deal.” Ethan handed me the mallet and offered his hand to the boy. “If I don’t ring this bell, and you do, I’ll give you full credit, and you won’t have to make the box. But I’ll see you in Sunday school every Sunday for a month.