Page 41 of Sack

The boy turned his head, looking behind him. He pointed at a man standing a few feet away. “There.”

The man raised a hand in greeting and Colt did the same. Then he unclipped the marker attached to the collar of his shirt and motioned for the football. “I want you to promise me something, Bobby,” he said as he scrawled his name across the ball.

“Anything.”

Smiling, Colt handed the ball back. “Always follow your dreams no matter what they may be. Okay?”

“Okay!”

Colt stood and ruffled Bobby’s hair.

He watched the kid scamper back to his dad, talking wildly while waving the football. The man gave Colt another wave then the two disappeared into the crowd.

Colt dragged his gaze back to the entrance.

And there she was, standing off to the side, scanning the room. He weaved his way toward her.

Ivy spotted him before he reached her. She gave him a finger wave then slipped between two people and around another small group. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The insurance adjuster arrived just as I was about to leave—he was supposed to come yesterday but never showed up. Then he took forever adjusting, or whatever the heck they do, makingmelate. And you know how much I—”

“Ivy.” She stopped speaking and blinked up at him. “It’s okay. You didn’t miss anything important.”

“Oh, good.” She gave him a relieved smile.

They were only supposed to have a high of eighty and currently it didn’t feel warmer than mid-seventies, yet she wore shorts and a tee that solemnly swore she was up to no good. Old-school pink Converse covered her feet. Also, her hair was currently purple.

And after their weekend, he was also now privy to the fact she was a natural blonde.

“Wow, this place is slammed.” She stood on her tiptoes. “Oh, corn dogs. I’m starved.”

Colt pulled her camera case off her shoulder and took her arm to steer her through the crowd. “Come on, I’ll buy you one. And if you play your cards right, cotton candy after.”

“Make it a candied apple, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

They were stopped a few times on his quest to get Ivy fed. She rolled with it, taking her camera case back and sneaking a few candid shots. She even started a conversation with a little girl who was in line ahead of them.

Kneeling to the girl’s level, they chatted about hair and nail polish—Ivy’s was currently hot pink—heads bowed together, conspiring. Colt watched the scene until an unexpected tightening in his chest had him turning away. Yet another emotion to file in theDo Not Open ‘til After Retirementfolder. Ivy was making that folder mighty thick.

“Why does junk food always taste better at places like this?” Ivy had polished off her dog and was gnawing on the crunchy bit left on the stick as they strolled the perimeter of the gym.

It was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. “Probably because it’s a treat. I bet you’ve never eaten a corn dog at home.”

She pondered that a moment while she nibbled the last bit of batter then tossed the stick when they passed a trash can. “You’re right. I never have. Not even as a child.” She swiped her hands on her shorts. “The only time I’ve ever had a corn dog was at a fair or amusement park or the mall.”

They made another circuit of the gym so Ivy could take some pictures before Colt asked, “Do you want to get a few outside shots?” Half the parking lot had been turned into a midway packed with carnival games.

“I noticed this on my way in, but didn’t get a chance to see it all,” Ivy said as they walked down the aisle of games. “Who sets this up?”

“I have a great group of volunteers who donate their time when we do things like this.”

“This is a huge event. How often do you do it?”

“More so during the offseason. This will be the last one for a few months. I just don’t have time once the season starts.”

“Well, perfect timing for me then.” Ivy raised her camera and took a few shots. “I wonder what’s going on over there?”

Colt looked to where Ivy pointed. A large group had gathered around one of the carnival games, cheering and shouting. “I’m not sure. Let’s go find out.”

As they grew closer, the garbled noise turned more distinct, and he was able to make out chanted counting and shouts of encouragement among the hoots and whistles.

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