Page 12

She froze, his words dropping into her heart like a stone in a still pool, radiating ripples of impact which wouldn’t stop until they had reshaped the entire surface.

His hands wrapped around hers, warm and firm, as she held the football.

His eyes, liquid and swimming and as deep as the ocean, caught her own.

Then they sparkled and cracked, and he grinned as he used one hand to pop the ball up out of her grip and effortlessly caught it with the other.

She shivered, and Gen pressed herself against Abby’s leg.

“One point to hit the biggest target, three points for the medium, and five points for the little one,” the kid behind the counter droned.

Scott nodded, fitting his hand around the football again. He squinted at the board, planted his feet, and flicked his wrist. Faster than Abby could track it, the football sailed through the largest hole. “One point, right?” The kid nodded, boredom written across his face.

Scott took the second football, eyed the target again, and threw. “Three points!” He said it even before the ball had made it to the target.

“Mmm-hmm.” The kid didn’t even glance up from his phone, thumb scrolling down the screen.

Scott took the last ball, lined up his throw, and let it spiral. As it left his fingers, he held himself completely still, waiting. “And that’s five.”

The kid glanced up, the first glimmer of interest catching in his expression. “Sorry, man. I missed it.”

“Aww, come on.” Dylan’s face fell, the promise of a potential prize wrenched from his grasp.

Scott shrugged. “It’s okay, I can do it again.”

He pulled another dollar from his pocket and set it on the counter. The kid put up three more footballs, but this time he watched as Scott stepped up to the line, drew his arm back, and released.

“Five points!” Dylan grabbed ahold of Abby’s hand and squeezed. “Watch, he’ll hit them all this time.”

The utter confidence in his tone didn’t waver. His dad could do it, end of story.

The kid nodded and put down his phone. A few other people stopped to watch, too.

Scott picked up the next ball and did it again. “Ten, right?”

“Yep, ten points. That’ll get you one of the medium prizes.” The kid pointed to a wall filled with oversized inflatable sledgehammers and stuffed animals much larger than Abby’s indeterminate toy.

“I play to win.” Scott glanced over his shoulder at Abby and grinned. “I think I see one up there that looks a bit like Gen.”

Certainly the size of Gen, the giant black dog had a heart between its front paws.

Abby laughed and shook her head. “Oh no, one Gen is enough for me!”

“I want a Gen,” Dylan announced.

“You have to hit the three or the five for that one, man,” the kid explained.

Scott waggled his eyebrows. “I think I can manage.”

He was poised. Assertive. He knew his own abilities when it came to his sport, his passion.

Abby smiled softly as he bantered with the kid. Several more people stopped, his enthusiasm catching, but beneath the easy-going exterior, Abby couldn’t miss the genuine love. He loved playing football. Loved it as much as he loved Dylan.

He clowned a bit more, chatting with his son, with the kid, and with a couple of people watching. Then, barely looking at the target, he turned and flicked his wrist. A cheer went up around them as the ball sailed neatly through the five-point target a third time.

He gave some high fives, then turned to the counter, where the kid had already brought down the over-sized stuffed dog. Several more people stepped up to the counter and a second worker scrambled to put up more footballs.

The kid leaned forward, half-hidden behind the enormous toy. “How’d you do it, man?”

Scott shrugged and smiled. “Got lucky, I guess.”

“Nah, man. The hole is only seven inches. No one gets that lucky.”

Scott winked. “I do.” He pulled the stuffed dog across the counter and presented it to Abby.

She tucked it under her arm, then wrapped both arms around it, then handed it back to Scott. “Here, you won it. You carry it.”

“I’ll carry it,” Dylan hollered, taking it from Abby, then shoving it into Scott’s arms. “Oops, gotta go. I see Neveah.”

He took off through the crowd, weaving between the other groups at a full run.

Abby glanced at Scott, whose lips were twitching in amusement. “Guess I’m carrying Gen Two, then. Hungry?”

Abby’s stomach growled as the scent of fried food drifted in the wind. “I could eat.”

“Come on,” Scott caught her hand. “If I know Dylan and Neveah, they’ll find us as soon as we sit down.”

Abby thought about tugging free, but the way he held on, firmly, but gently, reminded her of the way he’d held the football.

As though he wouldn’t let go until he chose to.

The pressure enveloped her fingers, safety and warmth traveling through them, up her arm, and lodging in her chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

He left her at a picnic table, the giant stuffed toy seated beside her, and she watched as he made a round of the food stalls. Sure enough, as he returned with two trays piled high with food, Dylan and a girl with deep umber skin and tightly curled coils bounded up to them.

“Thanks, Dad. I’m starved!”

“Thanks, Mr. Edwards,” the girl parroted.

“No problem. Is your brother around?”

“Jimmy’s in the dunk tank.” She shoved a fry into her mouth, then glanced side-long at Scott. “He said you were too scared to sign up.”

“Maybe we’ll have to make our way there next.”

“Abby, have you had garlic fries?” Dylan asked around the nest of fries poking out of his mouth at odd angles.

“Dylan, manners, son. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Dylan’s cheeks bulged, then he swallowed hard. “Sorry, sir.”

Abby grabbed a couple of fries loaded with minced garlic. “I love them.”

Dylan nodded decisively, as if he expected nothing less. “Good. Oh, there’s Mrs. Rosalind. I want to talk to her about Abby and Gen visiting.” He jumped to his feet, waved, then took off again.

“See ya later, Mr. Edwards.” Neveah shoved three more fries into her mouth, then ran after Dylan.

Gen leapt to her feet to follow, then settled back down when Abby didn’t move.

“You’d never be able to keep up, pup.” Scott scratched under her chin, earning a sigh of contentment from the dog.

Abby slid a slice of apple off a fruit skewer and handed it to him. “Here. Ask her to ‘Tell you a secret’.”

Scott leaned his head close to Gen and repeated the command. She poked her nose close to his ear and wuffled gently, then play growled, then wuffled some more. When she finished, she licked his cheek, and Scott gave up the bit of apple.

“What’d she say?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh, it’s a secret. I’ll tell you when it comes true.”

Abby frowned. “It’s a secret, not a wish.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Gen huffed, head tipping between them as they talked. She wuffled again, probably hoping for more apple, then flopped down into the grass.

“See, that’s that.” Scott brushed his hands together as if finishing a job. “You heard her: I can’t tell.”

Abby rolled her eyes, then smiled. “Don’t worry, she’ll tell me later.”

She missed his reply as Dylan returned, dragging his teacher behind him to coordinate a classroom visit, but Abby would swear Scott had muttered, “I hope so.”