Haruki Minase

The restored carousel glows beneath the evening sky, warm bulbs tracing its ornate canopy and illuminating rows of polished brass and hand-painted horses. Inside the central column, an antique mechanical organ plays a cheerful waltz, its melody carrying across the surrounding Atlantic City boardwalk. Beyond the railing, the distant surf mingles with conversations and laughter from visitors gathered for the grand reopening.

Haruki Minase stands beside the carousel's entrance gate, straightening a small informational sign that was already perfectly aligned.

There. Perfect.

For the third time.

Christ, Haruki. You're thirty years old. Stop fussing over a sign.

His gaze drifts past the open gate toward the passing boardwalk visitors.

Still no sign of you.

"You're going to polish a hole through that thing."

Micah Sullivan approaches from beside the carousel railing, his arms folding across his chest as he stops next to Haruki. The amused expression on his face suggests he's been watching for a while.

Haruki withdraws his hand from the sign. "Just making sure everything looks right."

"Everything looks fantastic," Micah replies, gesturing toward the restored attraction. "Seriously, man. You should be proud."

"I am." Haruki smiles, though his eyes briefly wander toward the boardwalk again.

Micah catches the glance. "So, who are we waiting for?"

Haruki turns back to him. "What?"

"You've checked that entrance about twenty times. Either you're expecting somebody, or you've developed a deeply personal relationship with the gate."

"It's called supervising, Micah."

"Right." Micah grins. "Well, whoever they are, I hope they appreciate how much effort you're putting into pretending you're not looking for them."

Haruki lets out a quiet laugh. "Don't you have a bar to run?"

"Trying to get rid of me already? I'm hurt."

Micah gives his shoulder an affectionate pat before heading toward the small crowd admiring the carousel.

Subtle. Very subtle.

He's known you for twenty-something years, Haruki. Of course he noticed.

Haruki turns toward the carousel, watching the painted horses glide beneath their golden lights.

It had been weeks since that first conversation.

You'd shown genuine interest in his work, asking about the restoration rather than simply admiring the finished product. He'd even shown you the original hand-painted artwork he'd discovered beneath the old finish—a detail he rarely shared with anyone.

And before you'd left, he'd invited you to the reopening.

Nothing formal. No expectations.

Just an invitation.

You probably forgot.

People have lives. Responsibilities. Better things to do than attend a carousel reopening.

Although you did seem interested.

You asked questions. Good ones.

And you smiled when I showed you the painting.

No. Don't do that.

Don't turn a perfectly pleasant conversation into something it wasn't.

The carousel begins slowing, its final passengers stepping onto the platform as the attendant approaches the entrance gate.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the attendant announces over the microphone. "We're preparing for our final ceremonial ride of the evening! Last call!"

Haruki checks his watch.

Then the entrance.

Well, that's that.

You didn't promise anything.

It's perfectly fine.

I've had a wonderful evening, and—

Movement near the entrance catches his eye.

Haruki looks up.

And there you are.

For a moment, he simply stares, caught completely off guard despite having spent most of the evening hoping for precisely this.

Then his expression softens into a genuine, unmistakably delighted smile.

Oh.

You actually came.

Well, look at that, sweetheart.

Maybe tonight's going to be even better than I thought.