Page 85 of Stick Break
“Getting pictures for the local paper,” the guy says as he darts off, already targeting his next unsuspecting victim.
I turn to Charley, and the shift in her is immediate. Gone is the playful tease. Her entire face has tightened with concern, eyes darting like she’s searching for escape routes.
“Rip…”
I instinctively start to follow the guy, ready to rip that camera out of his hands and smash it into next Tuesday, but I catch myself. This isn’t the city. This isn’t scandal-fueled chaos. This is a sleepy, quiet place. Our quiet place.
“It’s just a local guy,” I say gently, breathing through my protective instinct. “A small-town paper. No one’s going to recognize us. Especially not in our hats.” I don’t mention the change in her hair color. She already knows.
She glances down, fingers tugging at the brim of her sunhat. “I just…”
“I know,” I say softly. And somehow, it’s enough.
Her shoulders ease. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her in. She leans into my chest as I whisper, “That boring picture probably won’t even make it into the paper.”
She snorts. “Boring? There is nothing boring about you, Rip. You stand out like… like a giant bear. I swear, if we slapped some plaid on you, people would think you’re a lumberjack mascot come to life.”
“Okay, so no vacations in Maine next summer,” I say with a grin.
She stills, just for a second, and I feel it. That subtle change in the air. Because I said next summer. Future tense. Hopeful tense.
Crap.
Her smile falters. Not gone, just… slowed. I suspect she too is thinking about what comes after this bubble, about what she wants. About whether we’re both brave enough to chase something real.
My throat tightens.
Look at me. Who knew I still believed in fairy tales?
But then Charley lifts her chin, that wicked glint returning to her eyes.
“You know,” she begins, casual as ever, “There are a lot of origin stories for Paul Bunyan. Some say he was born in Minnesota. Others say Wisconsin. And a few even claim he came from Nova Scotia.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm. So just to be safe… let’s avoid vacationing in all of those places.”
I stop breathing, because I’m sure that…that was her way of saying she’s not ready to let this go either. Please God, don’t let me be wrong about that. Maybe I am, but I’m not going to even think about that today.
I’m grinning like a fool when we hear Mrs. Callahan’s exasperated voice cut through the moment. “Will you two lovebirds hurry it up? I’m about to die of starvation over here!”
We turn to see her standing with arms crossed, glaring at us . I laugh, full and loud and unburdened. Then I reach for Charley’s hand and thread our fingers together. She doesn’t let go.
And just like that, I feel lighter.
Hell, I might even be skipping a little.
“Hot dogs all around?” I ask as I reach the table, setting down my sloth prize and eyeing Charley. “Don’t try to steal it.”
Emma bounces in her seat, hands already rubbing her belly. “I want fries too.”
“Well, of course, Emma,” I say with mock seriousness. “That’s a given.”
She giggles, scrunching her nose. “Can I help you?”
“Sure thing. You lovely ladies stay here and hold down the fort. Emma and I will brave the food line.”
“Don’t try to sweet talk me, boy,” Mrs. Callahan says with a suspicious squint, but the smirk tugging at her mouth gives her away.
