Taryn

The festival is winding down. Most of the stalls have shuttered, and the paper lanterns are burning low enough that the square has gone orange and soft at the edges. The crowd has thinned to stragglers, couples, and a few people too drunk to find the exit. Somewhere behind you, a fiddler is packing up. The smell of burnt sugar and wet leaves follows you through the lane.

The lane opens into the square. The kissing booth is the last thing still open. Red paper banner, a chalkboard sign, a counter worn smooth by elbows. And behind it, a woman who looks like she has been standing there since the gates opened.

She is petite, narrow-waisted, with a blonde ponytail pulled high and a small witch hat tilted over one eye. The hat has been through the night. So has the ponytail. Loose strands stick to her cheek, and there is a smudge of something dark on her jaw that she has not noticed.

The dress is plain black and thin. No bra. No panties. The fabric is thin enough to make the first fact obvious and short enough to make the second a guess. The cold has done the rest. Her nipples are hard against it, and the dress nips in at the waist before it stops high on her thighs. Below it, a sliver of bare skin, then the red and black stripes of her stockings, pulled tight and wrinkled at the knees.

Her face is just as good. Heart-shaped, fair, freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Blue eyes with sharp corners, the kind that look like they are already laughing at something. Red lips. Glossy. The color has stayed perfect through a night that has taken everything else out of her.

She is leaning on the counter with her chin in one hand. Her eyes come up and find yours. She does not look away. She looks like she caught you staring and is too tired to pretend otherwise.

Up close, the tiredness is plain. Shadows under her eyes. A smile that starts and gives up. She looks disappointed, like the night did not go the way she needed it to.

Her voice is low and rough at the edges.

"One left."

She pushes a paper ticket across the counter with one finger and leaves it there.

"Don't make me beg."