Page 61 of Just A Little Joy

“I’m kind of cold,” he said, voice small but cheery. “Could we get hot chocolate?”

He said it like it was a big ask. I didn’t like that, didn’t like the carefulness. So I pulled one of his hands free and held it. Even inhis gloves, I could tell his fingers were cold and twitchy before he settled.

Little asks from him always landed big with me because I knew how hard he worked to not want too much.

We barely made it a few steps before we heard a high-pitched squeal.

“Hi.”

We turned. A kid stood there like she’d appeared out of thin air. Maybe nine. Maybe ten. Braids tied off with these tiny Christmas bells that chimed so lightly it felt like something out of a storybook. She smelled like peppermint gum and watermelon, which was…uh…an interesting combo. Her sweater was full-on ugly but cute. A Christmas tree with beaded glitter and kittens and rainbows. She owned it, but it was a lot to look at.

“You’re my favorite player,” she said all in one breath. Her cheeks were so red that I worried she might combust. “My coach says teams need players like you more than superstars because superstars get tired and you don’t.”

Damn, this kid knew an angle. My agent could have used her. “Your coach sounds pretty smart.” I nodded at her braids. “You gonna tell your coach she’s out here getting quoted like scripture? She probably deserves to know.”

She shook her head. Her bells made this little sad jingle that hit me harder than I expected. “She’s not my coach anymore.”

Before I could say anything, the kid’s gaze dropped to mine and Casey’s joined hands, then back up to Casey like she was trying to catalog him.

“Who are you?”

“Casey,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Maddie.” She gave him a slow blink, thoughtful in a blunt way only kids pull off. “Are you his boyfriend?”

Casey made a strangled noise, which would’ve been funnier if I didn’t also want to pull him behind me and shield him from the entire world.

“He’s a little shy,” I said. “And he hasn’t agreed to be my boyfriend. Yet.”

Her eyebrows scrunched. “Well, he should.”

That’s when her mom materialized from the crowd like a woman who had sprinted through every shop on Water Street and was one bad second from fainting.

“Maddie!” Her voice cracked. “You scared me half to death. You cannot run off like that.”

“It’s not my fault,” Maddie said. “I saw him.” And she pointed at me like I’d summoned her with a beacon.

Her mom looked up. Saw me. Went still like she’d been unplugged. “Oh my god. I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “She’s all right.”

“It is absolutely not fine,” she whispered. “Maddie, you can’t sprint across the street?—”

“Mom,” Maddie said, rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t tip over, “I already told him you think he’s cute, but I don’t. And Casey won’t agree to be his boyfriend, and he should because he’s my favorite player.”

Kids always read people quicker than adults, and the way she lit up made something proud flicker in my chest.

Hearing someone else say it aloud pushed a truth I was already dancing around.

The Casey in question looked like he might evaporate.

Her mom made a noise that sounded like despair and apology wrapped together. “I should’ve known… You’re the one person she’d run off toward.”

“Maddie,” I said, keeping my voice warm, “that’s dangerous. Cars don’t always see little people.”

Protective instinct hit before thought, same as it always did around Casey.

“I looked both ways,” she said with that stubborn chin jut kids perfect early.