Page 93 of Beautiful Collide

There are some faces I’ve never seen before standing about, trying to figure out where to sit.

“Excuse me, dear,” the older man says.

He’s standing next to an older woman and a younger girl, probably in her late teens. The parents seem overwhelmed. The pretty young blonde is too busy taking selfies on her phone to notice.

“Yes?” I move closer to them. The woman is petite and has a warm, welcoming smile. She holds her purse close to her chest like she’s afraid someone will steal it.

“I was wondering if you can tell me where our seats are?” the woman says. “We’re not exactly sure where we’re supposed to sit.”

“Of course,” I answer. “Let me see your tickets.”

The young girl hands me her phone, where the tickets are. It makes sense; her parents give off boomer vibes. I look at her phone and see the seat number.

I gesture to the seat right behind me, a row back. “You’re right there.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” the man says, his voice tinged with relief. “We’ve never been to a game before.”

I smile and wait for them to sit before turning around to talk to them.

“Is there anything else you need? I’ll be happy to help.”

“I think we’re good,” the woman answers.

“Speak for yourself. I want food.” The young girl cuts in. “I just can’t leave these two.” She rolls her eyes. “They’re boomers,” she whispers to me.

I can’t help but laugh. “I can grab it for you,” I offer without thinking.

“We couldn’t ask you to do that,” the woman protests.

“Sure, we can, Mom. She offered.” The teen turns to me. “Think you can get me a hot dog? Oh, maybe a pretzel . . . shit, how do I pick?”

“Anna, we don’t talk like that.”

“Whatever, Mom. You let Hudson talk like that.”

Hudson?

She couldn’t mean my Hudson.

He’s not your Hudson. He’s not your anything.

The woman I now know as Hudson’s mom turns toward me. “We can’t ask you to get us food.”

“You’re not asking,” I say with a smile. “I’m offering. It’s no trouble.”

She smiles broadly, and I head out to grab the Wildes some snacks.

A few minutes later, I return with two hot dogs, a bag of popcorn, and sodas.

“You’re so sweet,” Hudson’s mom says. “Thank you, dear.”

“It’s nothing.” I take my seat. “Enjoy the game.”

The game starts, and it’s as if Hudson is playing even better than usual. His parents cheer, and I can’t help but cheer for him too.

“He’s so talented, isn’t he?” His dad beams as he points at Hudson. “Always has been since he was a kid.”

“He’s . . . an incredible player. Really gifted.” Despite my issues with him, he is one of the best players on the team.

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