Bob stood at the wharf, watching the waves lap gently against the wooden pillars below. The salty ocean breeze tugged at his shirt, bringing with it the familiar smells of fried food, fish, and sunscreen—typical for a sunny weekend afternoon in Wonder Wharf. The kind of day that Bob usually spent with his family, taking the kids on the rides and indulging in funnel cakes or fried clams. But today? Today was different.
Today, he was here with Jimmy Pesto.
Not that Bob had expected things to go this way. The whole thing had started as a joke when he casually mentioned to Linda that he was taking the kids to the wharf when washing their sidewalk off from Gene's latest burgersuit snafu. He had dropped every single burger and managed to crush the patties rather than pick a single one up. Thought to be fair, Louise had been yelling "KILL THEM" at her brother. The poor boy had been caught up in everything.
Jimmy, ever the opportunist, overheard the plan while walking a pair of regulars outside and immediately invited himself along. "It's a dad date," he'd said with a wink, which made Bob cringe but, somehow, agree.
Linda, stuck running the restaurant for the day, had taken it in stride. "You boys have fun," she'd said, blowing Bob a kiss as she tied her apron and prepared for the lunch rush. Bob had nodded, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that came with leaving her behind to handle things. But he had to admit, after a few weeks of stress, it felt good to be out in the sun with the kids—even if Jimmy Pesto was tagging along.
"Dad! Can I get a giant turkey leg?" Gene's voice cut through Bob's thoughts, and he turned to see his son standing next to one of the many food carts that lined the wharf. Gene had already spotted the oversized turkey legs rotating on spits, glistening in the sunlight. His eyes were wide with excitement, his stomach no doubt already growling.
"We just got here, Gene," Bob said with a sigh, though he wasn't surprised. "Let's do some rides first, then we can talk about food."
"But Dad, I need the fuel! The rides are intense! Plus, I need to build my leg-eating stamina for life," Gene argued, puffing out his stomach dramatically.
Before Bob could answer, Jimmy swaggered over, dragging his twins—Ollie and Andy—by the hands. "Come on, Belcher, let the boy have his turkey leg. It's a dad date! We're supposed to indulge them. Right, boys?" He gave the twins a nod, and they immediately chimed in with their usual over-the-top enthusiasm.
"Yeah, let him eat the leg, Bob!" Ollie cried.
"We love turkey legs!" Andy added, echoing his brother.
Bob looked at Jimmy, then back at Gene, who was giving him his best puppy-dog eyes. Tina and Louise were a little further ahead, already sizing up the rides with their usual blend of enthusiasm and sarcasm. He sighed, knowing he was outnumbered. "Alright, fine. But just one, Gene."
"Woohoo!" Gene cheered, rushing to the cart with the speed of a kid on a mission. "I want the biggest one you've got!"
Jimmy clapped Bob on the back, grinning from ear to ear. "See? You're loosening up already, Belcher. This is gonna be a great day. You, me, the kids—what could go wrong?"
Bob grimaced, though he couldn't help but feel a little lighter. It was hard to stay annoyed when the sun was shining, the kids were happy, and—surprisingly—Jimmy wasn't being a complete jerk for once. And he was already pulling out a wad of cash.
There were some perks to being his rival's pocket.
Jimmy thumbed through the bills like he was some kind of high-roller at a casino, eyeing the various food stalls and vendors lining the wharf. "Alright, kids!" Jimmy called, waving the money in the air like it was confetti. "Who wants some snacks? Funnel cakes, churros, corn dogs—whatever you want, it's on me!"
Gene's head snapped toward Jimmy so fast it was a miracle he didn't give himself whiplash. "Did you say corn dogs?! Jimmy Pesto, I take back 30% of the bad things I've said about you!"
Louise sidled up to Bob, grinning wickedly. "Looks like Jimmy's buying his way into our hearts, huh, Dad? Guess it's not the worst thing."
Bob sighed, watching as the kids immediately rushed toward the nearest food stall, giddy with the promise of free snacks. Tina stayed behind for a moment, raising an eyebrow at her dad. "Are you sure you're okay with this, Dad? I mean, he's kind of… well, you know."
"Yeah, Tina, I know," Bob muttered, glancing over at Jimmy, who was already charming one of the vendors into giving him a discount on a whole tray of funnel cakes. "But… it's fine. I think I'm just trying to go with it today. For the kids."
Tina tilted her head, giving him a look that said she knew exactly what he was trying to convince himself of before she wandered off to join her siblings, Bob found himself standing next to Jimmy once again, who had somehow managed to secure enough food to feed a small army. A tray of golden, powdered-sugar-covered funnel cakes balanced precariously on one hand while a dozen corn dogs rested in the other.
"Here we go, Belcher!" Jimmy declared, looking far too pleased with himself. "I told you, today's on me. Nothing but the best for our little dad date."
Bob winced at the phrase, but accepted the corn dog Jimmy thrust toward him. "Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," Jimmy said, flashing a grin. "Seriously, don't mention it. It'll ruin my reputation if people find out I'm treating my rival's kids."
Bob smirked despite himself, taking a bite of the corn dog as he watched the kids dive into their snacks with glee. For a moment, everything felt weirdly… normal. It was still strange, being here with Jimmy, but it wasn't the usual antagonism or petty competition. They were just two dads with their kids, enjoying a day at the wharf. And honestly, that was a lot better than Bob had expected.
But then, of course, Jimmy decided to up the stakes.
"Alright, Belcher," Jimmy said, wiping powdered sugar from his hands with the exaggerated flair of a man about to deliver a challenge. "You've had your fun. Now it's time for us to show these kids how it's done."
Bob raised an eyebrow. "Show them what, exactly?"
Jimmy waved toward the row of carnival games lining the wharf. "Duh. The games! You think I'm just gonna let the day end without proving I'm better at everything? Come on, Belcher, let's make this a competition. You and me. The winner gets—"
Bob groaned. "Jimmy, I don't—"
"—the respect of our children and the glory of being the ultimate dad!" Jimmy declared, cutting Bob off. "Plus, I want that giant stuffed bear. The one with the chef's hat."
Bob followed Jimmy's gaze to one of the game booths, where an absurdly large stuffed bear sat atop the prize shelf. It was wearing a chef's hat and apron, a spatula in one paw and a comically oversized burger in the other. The thing was ridiculous—at least four feet tall, and completely impractical.
"You seriously want that thing?" Bob asked, half-laughing. "What are you even going to do with it?"
Jimmy grinned. "That's not the point, Belcher. The point is I'm gonna win it, and when I do, I'm gonna make sure you know it."
Bob rolled his eyes, but the competitive spark had already been lit. He knew Jimmy wouldn't drop this until they'd gone through every ridiculous carnival game on the boardwalk. And honestly, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. A little harmless competition wouldn't hurt, right?
"Alright," Bob said, shaking his head in reluctant agreement. "Fine. But don't complain when I wipe the floor with you."
Jimmy barked out a laugh. "You? Beat me? You wish."
They started with the classic ring toss. The booth was lit by string lights that flickered in the afternoon sun, casting a warm glow over the neatly stacked bottles that gleamed with a freshly polished shine. Bob wasn't particularly great at the game, but he managed to snag a few points early on, the rings bouncing and clattering before miraculously landing over the necks of a few bottles. The satisfying clink rang out, and Tina clapped politely from the sidelines, her smile soft as she called, "Good job, Dad."
Jimmy, on the other hand, was having no such luck. His rings bounced off the bottles with frustrating consistency, clattering to the ground with a dull thud each time. Gene, ever the enthusiastic cheerleader, was hopping from foot to foot, holding a half-eaten turkey leg in one hand and waving with the other. "Go, Dad! You can do it! But if you can't, Mr. Pesto, at least don't disgrace the family name!" Gene shouted between bites, his face smeared with barbecue sauce.
Bob chuckled, focusing as he took aim with his next ring, steadying his hand before tossing. It spun through the air, wobbling slightly before landing perfectly over a bottle. The booth attendant raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised as he handed Bob another point marker.
"That's beginner's luck, Belcher!" Jimmy grumbled, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally insulted him. He readied his next toss, winding up dramatically as though he were about to make the game-winning pitch at the World Series. The ring soared through the air—and bounced hopelessly off the rim of a bottle, rolling off to the side with a pitiful thud.
Louise, standing beside Tina, stifled a yawn. "Yeah, I'm done watching this," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is like watching two old men try to throw frisbees at a nursing home."
Bob glanced over, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Thanks for the support, Louis."
"Yeah, yeah, you're doing great, Dad. Really." Louise rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "But I'm not spending my entire day watching Mr. Pesto make a fool of himself." She turned toward Jimmy, raising an eyebrow. "How about it, Pesto? You want me to stay here and watch you lose, or you wanna help fund my escape?"
Jimmy blinked, momentarily distracted from his latest failure. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Louise sidled up to him, casually leaning on the side of the booth. "Give me some cash. I'll hit the rides, buy some cotton candy, and you won't have to endure my brutally honest commentary for the next hour."
Jimmy opened his mouth to argue, but one look at Louise's raised eyebrow and he knew he was beat. He fumbled for his wallet, flipping it open with a dramatic sigh as he pulled out a few crumpled bills. "Alright, alright, here. But if you spend it all in one place, don't come crying to me."
Louise snatched the bills with a grin. "Pleasure doing business with you."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Bob called after her as she disappeared into the crowd, waving the bills like a victory flag.
Tina, ever the quiet observer, glanced between her dad and Jimmy before giving Bob a small, supportive smile. "I think you're doing great, Dad."
Bob smiled back at her, grateful for Tina's understated enthusiasm. "Thanks, Tina. At least someone believes in me."
Jimmy, meanwhile, wasn't giving up on his attempt to win. He furrowed his brow, huffing as he picked up another ring. "Alright, this time, I've got it."
"Yeah, sure, Mr. Pesto," Tina said softly, blinking slowly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Gene had started chanting at this point, his voice alternating between bites of his turkey leg. "Dad's gonna win! Dad's gonna win! Jimmy's gonna lose! Jimmy's gonna looose!"
Jimmy shot Gene an annoyed glance before throwing his final ring. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc—and bounced harmlessly off the bottles once again.
Bob grinned, pulling Tina into a small celebratory fist bump as the booth attendant handed him a tiny plastic dolphin as a prize. "Well, I guess that's that."
Jimmy groaned loudly, running a hand through his perfectly slicked-back hair. "This is rigged. No way those bottles are spaced legally."
"Right," Bob said, smirking. "I'm sure it's a conspiracy."
Tina nodded sagely, her eyes never leaving the plastic dolphin her dad had won. "That's the only logical explanation."
Jimmy huffed, already pulling Bob toward the next booth, this time one with large, colorful water guns lined up across the counter. "Alright, Belcher. Let's see how you do with a real game. The water gun race."
Bob raised an eyebrow, but before he could protest, Gene had already scrambled to grab one of the brightly colored water guns. "Ooh, this one! Dad, you gotta pick the pink one. It's a proven fact that pink is the fastest color."
Bob glanced at the neon-pink gun and shrugged. "Alright, Gene. If you say so."
They all lined up, the kids chattering with excitement as the attendant explained the rules. The goal was simple: aim the water gun at the target and fill the balloon until it popped. First balloon to burst wins.
"Ready, Belcher?" Jimmy asked, holding his water gun with the same intensity he'd had back at the ring toss.
Bob grinned. "You bet."
The buzzer sounded, and both men fired their water guns at the small targets in front of them, streams of water hitting the clowns' mouths and causing the balloons above them to inflate. Bob's focus narrowed in on the target, and he felt a small rush of adrenaline as his balloon began to swell.
Jimmy, meanwhile, was firing wildly, missing the target more often than not. His balloon barely inflated, but he kept muttering to himself, convinced he could still pull it off.
"Go, Dad!" Gene cheered, waving his turkey leg like a banner.
Tina watched with mild interest, her eyes flicking between the two competitors. "I think you've got this one, Dad."
Bob's balloon grew larger and larger, and with one final squeeze of the trigger, the balloon popped with a loud bang, sending a spray of water into the air. The kids cheered, and Bob raised his hands in triumph.
Jimmy groaned, shaking his head as his balloon remained sadly intact. "I'm telling you, these games are rigged."
Bob laughed, wiping a bit of water from his face. "Sure, Jimmy. That's definitely it."
The booth attendant handed Bob a small plastic trophy in the shape of a water gun, and Gene immediately snatched it up, holding it high above his head. "Victory is ours!"
As they moved on to the next booth, Bob couldn't help but feel a little more relaxed. For all of Jimmy's boasting and antics, today was turning out to be more fun than he'd anticipated. The sun was warm, the kids were entertained, and—shockingly—Jimmy wasn't driving him completely insane. It was a strange, almost surreal shift in their dynamic, and Bob found himself easing into the day with an unexpected sense of enjoyment.
The next booth was one of those classic "knock down the bottles" setups. Three wooden pyramids of bottles stood at the end of a long counter, and the objective was simple: knock them all down with a single throw to win the big prize. And of course, the biggest prize hanging overhead was the giant chef bear Jimmy had been eyeing since they'd arrived at the wharf.
"Alright, kids," Bob said, turning toward Gene and Tina, who were still buzzing from the last game. "Why don't you two go check out the arcade or something for a bit? I'll meet you over there."
Tina blinked. "You sure, Dad?"
Bob nodded, giving them a reassuring smile. "Yeah, go on. I've got this."
Gene saluted dramatically with the small plastic trophy still in his hand. "Don't worry, Dad. We'll be back with high scores and a ton of arcade tickets! Viva la corn dogs!"
The two kids scampered off, leaving Bob alone with Jimmy, who was eyeing the knock-down bottles with the same level of determination as a pro athlete about to enter a championship game.
"You're sending the kids away?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why, Belcher, you afraid they'll see you lose this time?"
Bob smirked, stepping up to the counter and rolling his shoulders to loosen up. "Nah, I just don't want them to see you embarrass yourself when I show you how it's done."
Jimmy huffed, but his grin didn't waver. "Big talk from a guy who barely survived the ring toss."
Ignoring him, Bob reached for one of the heavy baseballs on the counter, weighing it in his hand. It was heavier than it looked, and he knew these games were rigged to make things harder, but he'd been on a roll all day, and he wasn't about to let Jimmy take the win on this one.
With a quick glance at the rows of bottles, Bob took aim and let the ball fly. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc, slamming into the pyramid with a satisfying crash. Bottles toppled, clattering to the ground as Bob's ball took down the entire stack in one clean hit.
Jimmy blinked, clearly surprised, but quickly recovered. "Beginner's luck," he muttered, stepping up to take his shot.
Bob crossed his arms, grinning. "Whatever you say, Jimmy."
Jimmy hefted the ball, squinting down the length of the booth as if he were calculating angles. His first throw missed the mark entirely, ricocheting off the side of the pyramid and knocking only a couple of bottles askew. He frowned, already reaching for the next ball.
The second throw was better, knocking down a few more bottles, but still nowhere near a clean win. Jimmy swore under his breath, his brow furrowed in frustration as he prepared for his third and final throw.
"Don't choke, Pesto," Bob teased.
Jimmy narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath, and hurled the last ball with everything he had. It slammed into the center pyramid, knocking most of the bottles to the floor—most, but not all. One stubborn bottle at the top wobbled precariously before settling back into place.
"Seriously?" Jimmy threw his hands in the air, glaring at the bottle as if sheer willpower would knock it down. "That's cheating! These games are rigged!"
Bob chuckled, clapping Jimmy on the back. "Nice try."
The booth attendant, a bored-looking teenager, didn't even look up from his phone. "You guys wanna go again or what?"
Jimmy crossed his arms, looking irritated. "How much for the bear?"
The attendant finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"The bear," Jimmy said, gesturing to the giant chef bear hanging above them. "How much?"
The kid blinked, clearly confused. "Uh… I don't think you can just buy it."
Jimmy pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and pulling out a few large bills. "Sure I can."
The kid stared at the cash, his expression somewhere between disbelief and apathy. "Uh… I guess...?"
Bob watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and surprise. Only Jimmy Pesto would try to flat-out buy a carnival prize after losing the game. But then again, it was very on brand for him.
The booth attendant shrugged, pocketing the money with a casual indifference. "Alright, whatever. Here." He grabbed a pole, knocking the giant bear down from its perch and handing it over to Jimmy, who looked far too proud of himself for having blatantly bypassed the rules.
"Here it is!" Jimmy declared, hoisting the oversized stuffed bear into the air like it was the Holy Grail. "The ultimate prize!"
Bob shook his head, chuckling. "You really just bought that thing?"
Jimmy shrugged, grinning. "What can I say? When you want something, you gotta go for it."
The kids reappeared just as Jimmy was handing the bear to Bob. Gene's eyes went wide as saucers when he saw the massive toy. "Whoa! Dad! You won the bear?"
Bob opened his mouth to correct him, but before he could say anything, Jimmy gave him a quick nudge, his face turning slightly red. "Yeah, Belcher here knocked down all the bottles. Won a ton of tickets. It's all his."
Bob glanced at Jimmy, surprised. For a moment, there was no smug grin, no teasing remarks—just a quiet, almost bashful look. It was a rare moment of humility, and Bob couldn't help but smile.
"Yep," Bob said, holding the bear out to Gene and Tina. "Won it fair and square."
Gene let out a loud whoop, grabbing onto one of the bear's giant arms and dragging it over to Tina, who looked slightly embarrassed but amused nonetheless. "This thing is huge!" Gene said, trying to wrestle it into a hug. "It's like a dad-sized bear!"
Tina raised an eyebrow. "I think it's bigger than Dad."
"Don't break it before we get home, Gene," Bob warned, though he couldn't help but laugh as Gene tried to sit the bear up on the ground, failing miserably as it flopped over.
Jimmy crossed his arms, smirking again but with a softer edge this time. "Well, Belcher, I guess this makes you the king of the carnival."
Bob grinned. "Guess so."
And with that, Bob hoisted the giant chef bear onto his shoulder, the kids buzzing around him, and he and Jimmy continued down the wharf—two dads who, for once, weren't rivals but something closer to friends.
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Jimmy leaned in again, his lips brushing against Bob's ear, his voice a low murmur. "You don't have to fight it anymore."
Bob's breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Jimmy could hear it. He should have stopped this. He should have shoved Jimmy away, should have done anything but stand there like a deer in headlights. But his body wasn't listening, and before he knew it, he found himself leaning into the kiss—just slightly—like some part of him was finally giving in.
The world around them seemed to blur, the sounds of the carnival fading into the background, the colorful lights dimming as all of Bob's focus narrowed on the man in front of him. Jimmy's lips were soft, his touch warm, and for a brief, dizzying moment, Bob kissed him back.
It felt… strangely natural. Wrong, but natural. Like he'd crossed some invisible line, and now there was no going back. His hands, still hovering at his sides, finally moved of their own accord, fingers brushing against Jimmy's waist as if testing the waters.