Page 86 of Stick Break
Then she reaches for Charley’s hand, gently turning it to get a better look at the ring on her finger, and just like that, my stomach knots. That earlier conversation with her comes roaring back, twisting me up inside. I watch them for one more second than I probably should. Charley’s soft expression, Mrs. Callahan’s knowing gaze, before Emma tugs on my hand.
“Come on, Rip. I’m about to die from starvation.”
I laugh, unable to help it. She sounds so much like her grandmother it’s unreal. Not that that’s a bad thing. Not at all. We head toward the hot dog stand, weaving through crowds and cotton candy clouds. I order a dozen dogs, because no way am I getting caught underestimating this crew, and Emma immediately gets to work collecting ketchup and mustard packets.
When she’s done, I hand her a tray of drinks. “You think you can carry those?”
She looks up at me with the same indignant glare I’ve seen a hundred times from Betsy Callahan. “Rip. I’m seven.”
I hold one hand up in surrender. “Right, right. My mistake. Clearly you’re a seasoned professional.”
With two big paper bags in my hands and Emma carefully balancing the tray of drinks and an armful of condiments, we start the walk back toward the tent. A few steps in, she lets out a dramatic sigh.
I glance over. “You okay?”
But she’s not looking at the tray. She’s looking at me. Eyes wide. Serious.
“Rip… when do you leave here?”
I blink. The question lands with more weight than I expect, like she’s not just asking for logistics, she’s asking about everything.
“In about a week,” I say softly.
She nods, eyes still locked on mine, as if she’s measuring that answer against something bigger. Then she looks away and walks on without saying another word.
And I realize, it’s not just Charley I’d have to say goodbye to if she doesn’t come back to Boston. It’s this whole world.
She sighs, her little shoulders rising and falling. “I love summers here. Spending time with Grandma is the bestest. But I love spending time with you and Charley too.”
My heart gives a little squeeze. “That’s great, Emma. Where’s home for you?” I ask, realizing, somewhat embarrassingly, I don’t actually know.
She points down the winding road ahead. “That way. My mom and dad work a lot, so I come stay with Grandma in the summer.”
“But you love it here,” I say, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” She smiles, then turns her attention to the drinks when they start to wobble in her tray. She’s got that concentrated, serious look on her face again. Then, out of nowhere, she hits me with it.
“Are you going to buy the cottage?”
I blink. For seven years old, this kid doesn’t hold back. “I’m not sure,” I say carefully, because what am I supposed to do? Tell her this whole engagement is pretend? That we’re living in some fairy tale? That outside this sun-soaked bubble, nothing’s been figured out?
But Emma isn’t done.
“Can you please buy the cottage?” she whines, drawing out the word in a way only a kid could. And just like that, my heart twists again.
Because here’s the truth. I want to buy the damn cottage. I want to fill it with laughter and late-night popcorn and morning coffee on the porch. I want all the memories. With…Charley.
“Let me think about it, okay?” I tell her. It’s the most honest thing I can say. I am thinking about it. About all of it. We reach the tent and I set down the bags just as my phone pings.
Charley glances down, the flicker in her eyes unmistakable. But I don’t look at my phone. I already know who it is.
“About time,” Mrs. Callahan huffs, tearing into the food like we kept her waiting an eternity.
As I ignore the message, my phone pings again.
Lyra.
And something hits me square in the chest. Thinking about Lyra doesn’t feel the same. In fact, it doesn’t feel like anything at all. No heat. No longing. Just…a hollow sort of pity. Not for me. For her. She’s always chasing the next story. Always desperate for her big break. Always one step away from something real. I feel bad for her, honestly. Because I don’t think she’s ever had what I have right now with Charley.
