Page 81 of Unraveling Rain
A long line snakes from her booth, and I’m not surprised. Granny’s the kind of person people naturally gravitate toward.
“Hey, Granny. How are you doing? Need anything?” Joss calls, cutting the line with a wave of apology.
Granny slowly turns toward us. “Hi, dear. I’m fine. Maybe you can find me a fan? I’m boiling like a hot potato in here.”
I chuckle under my breath. Classic Granny.
Joss turns to Miles. “Go grab the standing fan from home.”
He nods and heads off with Penny beside him.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask Joss as we continue to stroll the fairground.
“Oh, youhaveto try Rain’s berry lemonade,” she says excitedly.
Well, I’ll never say no to anything with Rain’s name on it.
As we head toward her booth, I start to notice people looking our way. I figure it’s because I’m walking next to the town’s matriarch—or maybe because I’m not exactly low-profile. Still, I’m not used to the attention.
A kid, probably around eight, steps into our path. His cap is slightly crooked, and he tugs it into place before looking up at Joss.
“Hello, Mrs. MacAllister.”
She greets him kindly, and he clears his throat.
“Well,” he begins, glancing nervously at me, “I was just wondering… are you really Xander González?”
I crouch down to his level and smile. “I sure am.”
His eyes light up, and he whips around to shout to his group of friends, “I told you! He’sThe Beast!”
The kids swarm, full of excitement, and I hear Joss laugh behind me, a hand over her chest.
“Xander, Xander,” one of them chants.
An adult steps forward, probably the boy’s dad, and clears his throat.
“Excuse me, Mr. González,” the kid says with a sheepish smile. ”Could you please sign my puck and take a picture with me?”
The sight of the puck makes my heart clench. I’ve been so focused on recovery—and Rain—I almost forgot what it felt like to connect with fans like this.
“Yes, of course. But please, call me Xander.”
The little boy jumps up and down as his dad hands me a Sharpie.
“Thank you so much, Xander. We are big Red Wolves fans,” the man adds.
“That’s awesome. Thank you for the support,” I say sincerely. “It means a lot.”
As I sign the puck, I look at the kid. “Who’s your favorite player?”
“You,” he says nervously.
Something in my chest tugs hard.
I hand the puck back and ruffle his hair. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I crouch down to pose for a picture.
“Maybe next time, I’ll make sure to bring some merch. I’m honored to be your favorite player.”
