Page 37 of Catch the Sun

“Fall Fling?” she echoes, her voice dripping with as much enthusiasm as a cat offered a bath. “Somehow I’ve led you to believe that I enjoy dancing, social gatherings, and wearing dresses. I’m sorry for that.”

“What do you enjoy these days? Do you still love books, butterflies, and orange Popsicles?”

“Nice try.” She glances back down at the water, though her resolve seems shaken. “And for the record, I never agreed to being friends.”

The Fall Fling was a stretch, I know. I had no intention of going either, but I also had no intention of going to that bonfire. She made it better.

She made it fun.

I continue to step forward until I’m close enough to get a whiff of citrus andhoneysuckles. Ella looks up at me as I approach, her wide green eyes panning to my face. I offer a smile to soften her steel. “I thought my list was effective. It wasn’t as detailed as the bullet points you listed off back at the clearing the other day, but I felt good about it.”

She blinks up at me before letting out a breath that sounds like surrender. “You’re obnoxiously persistent,” she mutters. “Skipping stones, huh?”

“Pro,” I confirm.

“Jonah tried to teach me how to do that, but I could never get it. I didn’t have the touch. Eventually, we started collecting sticks to toss over bridges.” She holds up two knotty branches. “Pooh sticks.”

I make a face. “Sounds gross.”

Her lips twitch, a prelude to the laugh I’m desperate to hear. Ella doesn’t really laugh and she hardly ever smiles. I’ve caught her smirking a few times but never a full-fledged grin. There were no dimples, no sparkling flash of teeth. Only a flicker of buried happiness clawing to the surface.

And maybe it’s silly, but I’m determined to be the cause of that dimpled, toothy grin.

Real, genuine belly laughter would be a plus.

“It’s from Winnie the Pooh,” Ella explains. “Each person drops a stick over the upstream side of a bridge and the one whose stick first appears on the downstream side is the winner. My brother and I used to—” Looking away, she swallows. “I played it when I was a kid.”

I glance at the two sticks in her hand. “But you’re playing alone.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“That’s no fun.”

Her head pops up, jade eyes narrowing. “It doesn’t need to be fun,” she says. “Fun is a privilege. Fun is the result of good, wholesome living.” She pivots back to the bridge rail and stares down into the water, any trace of that would-be smile stolen by a sweet life gone sour. “I’m just trying to survive at this point.”

Melancholy threatens the fragile moment, so I do my best to hang on to the levity still within reach. Extending a hand to her, I open my palm. “Can I play with you?”

Her eyes fixate on my hand before her gaze travels up the length of my arm and settles on my face.

My smile stretches, calling for hers.

“Okay.” Ella doesn’t smile, but she does hand me a stick. “We need to align them just right, then drop them at the same time.”

“Got it.” I move in right beside her until our shoulders brush together. Her tangerine top is a formfitting V-neck and her shorts are faded denim. Our hips bump. I look down at her, at the way her throat works, and at the way she stiffens slightly but doesn’t inch away from me. The sun still bathes her hair in a rosy glow, making it hard to concentrate on the simple task of releasing a stick. I clear my throat and lean over the guardrail, holding out my arm. “All right. Tell me when.”

She mimics my stance, nose to water. “Okay…now.”

We drop the sticks and watch them flutter to the stream below. The moment they break the surface with a small splash, Ella snatches my wrist and hauls me toward the opposite side of the bridge. Her fingers curl around me, and the feel of her dainty palm on my skin has me stumbling as I follow. We make it to the other side and peer over the rail, watching as both sticks emerge a few seconds later. They’re neck and neck, side by side. I should probably keep watching to see which one prevails, but her hand is still loosely holding my wrist, so I look at her instead. Anticipation glitters in her eyes as she stares over the ledge. She squeezes me a little and I don’t think she even realizes it.

I startle when she points down below with her free hand and announces, “I won.”

Enthusiasm laces her tone.

Excitement skips across her face like a skillfully tossed stone across water.

I don’t bother to look at the competing sticks. I’m too transfixed on her face as a smile blooms. I’m enchanted by that sun on her hair and how it softens her, warms her. Makes her look like she was made for it, just like I remember thinking it did that afternoon in the park.

I murmur gently, without thinking, “Nice job, Sunny.”

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