Page 83 of Stick Break
We laugh and just like that, with my hand in Emma’s, I start skipping with her toward the Ferris wheel—light as air, like something’s finally been lifted off me. Like joy isn’t something I have to borrow anymore. It’s just… here.
And then I realize I left Rip with Betsy.
Oh, crap.
I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see him sweating bullets while Betsy grills him on wedding timelines and reproductive plans. But instead, they’re deep in conversation—really talking.
She’s nodding, arms crossed. He’s animated, hands moving like he’s trying to explain something important.
And that surprises me.
What the heck are they talking about so passionately?
21
Rip
“Come on, Rip! I want the kitty cat,” Emma says, bouncing on her toes as I grip the toy gun like it’s Game seven of the playoffs. I aim at the bullseye target, trying to get the red dot to climb, but the damn thing jerks like a wild bronco. I can land a puck tape-to-tape at full speed, no problem. But this? This carnival contraption is a different beast.
My time runs out with a sad little splutter from the water stream, and the bell stays silent. The guy beside me fist-pumps and hands a plushie to his grinning daughter.
“These things are totally rigged,” I mutter, stepping back in defeat.
Charley arches an eyebrow and gives me a teasing shrug. “Mind if I show you how it’s done, superstar?”
I wave her forward with exaggerated chivalry. “Be my guest.”
Mrs. Callahan, who’s standing beside me, shoots me a dry look like I just embarrassed the entire male species. “I could’ve nailed that thing blindfolded back in my day,” she says, bobbing her head proudly.
I chuckle, but my stomach twists. Not because of her sass. But because of the conversation we had earlier. One that’s still gnawing at the edges of my mind . I rub a hand over my jaw and shake it off. Not now. Today is for sunshine and ice cream and pretending life is uncomplicated.
The buzzer goes off, and Charley snaps into action. She grips the plastic gun with that same fierce determination I’ve seen when she belts out high notes that make stadiums hold their breath.
“You’re doing it, Charley! You’re doing it!” Emma squeals beside me, grabbing my shirt in excitement and tugging. “That’s the kitty I want, Rip. Right there.”
Charley leans in, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. Could she be any more adorable. The bell dings. Victory.
Emma explodes in excitement. “She did it. She really did it.”
Charley flashes the kind of triumphant smile that makes my chest tighten, and not in the competitive way. She motions Emma over and bends down, conspiratorially whispering in her ear. Emma giggles and nods like a little accomplice.
A moment later, the booth guy pulls down a ridiculous stuffed animal—a sloth wearing a superhero cape—and hands it over.
Charley turns to me with wide, innocent eyes. “For you,” she says, biting back a smirk. “Because you were a little… slow on the draw.”
I laugh, even as I groan and hold the sloth by one floppy arm. “Really? I had my heart set on that pink unicorn.”
Emma arches. “Okay, let me try again,” she says, cracking her knuckles.
“I was kidding,” I chuckle. “Besides, I think I just got the best prize.”
Charley arches a brow, playful and mysterious, her cheeks pink from the sun—or maybe something else. “Oh, the sloth?”
I take a slow step toward her, eyes locked on hers. “No,” I murmur, voice dipping low. “The girl who gave it to me.”
“Well, you can sweet talk me later. Right now I have a kitty to win.”
My God, could I love this woman anymore?
