Chapter 3

The air in the vintage photo booth was thick, heavy with the scent of old velvet and the faint, metallic tang of the flash mechanism. It was a cramped, intimate box of shadows and dim amber light, far removed from the chaotic symphony of the carnival outside. I could hear the distant, tinny music of the ferris wheel and the shrieks of children, but inside, the world had shrunk down to the six feet of space between us. The curtain, a heavy damask fabric worn thin at the hem, was drawn shut, creating a private cocoon. I was sitting on the wooden stool, my legs crossed at the ankle, trying to ignore the way my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. He stood in front of me, his silhouette blocking out the weak light that filtered through the cracks in the curtain. He was still wearing the same crisp white shirt from earlier, though the top button was undone now, revealing a hint of the pale skin of his throat. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, searching my face with a intensity that made my skin prickle. "Look at me, baby girl,"