Page 118 of Reach Around

Every light breeze makes the letters twitch. Every creak of the cherry picker has me rechecking knots. Every second without Joely makes me wonder if this was all too much—or not enough.

But I wait. Because this time, I’m not running.

This time, I’m all in.

The chug of Sleetwood Mac gets louder, echoing off Main Street like a slow-motion parade float driven by a man who’s never obeyed a single traffic sign. The Zamboni shudders to a stop at the curb, hazard lights blinking, and Virgil leans out the window like he’s about to toss candy at a parade.

I’m already jogging over, heart pounding. Joely’s perched up there, cast and all, trying to look casual, but I can see the stubborn set of her jaw. No way am I letting her try to jump down on her own.

“Don’t even think about it,” I call, climbing up the step before she can argue. She rolls her eyes, but there’s relief in the way her fingers curl into my jacket when I scoop her up—careful with her cast, careful with all of her.

“I could’ve managed, Foster,” she mutters, cheeks flushed.

“Not a chance,” I say, grinning as I carry her down and set her gently in the snow—like she’s the most important thing I’ve ever handled. Which, let’s be real, she is.

Virgil leans out the Zamboni window. “Drop her, and I’ll make sure Sleetwood Mac haunts your dreams.”

Joely throws him a salute from the safety of my arms. “Next sign’s got your name on it, Virg. Finally, the recognition you deserve.”

“You sure you don’t want a police escort, Parnell?” Virgil deadpans, voice carrying through the air. “Not sure I trust this particular Foster. But at least you got VIP drop-off for your meeting with the Slammer’s resident HO. Sleetwood Mac demands a tip, Foster—cash or whiskey, your choice.”

He winks, throws the Zamboni into gear, and rumbles off. I keep my arm around her, just in case she tries to prove a point. Truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of being the guy who gets to carry her.

I help her under the sign, hand on the small of her back like she’s glass and I’ve just realized how badly I want to take care of her. She leans against me, and I swear I’m not even cold anymore.

“You gonna answer me officially?” I ask, nudging her with my shoulder.

Joely lifts her eyes to the sign one more time and then back to me. “You went all out for this.”

I shrug. “Minimal climbing. Maximum romantic impact. And I figured if I fell off the cherry picker, at least you’d be there to supervise my ER visit, since you know your way around the place.”

She chuckles, and the sound hits me like a shot of whiskey—warm, sharp, unforgettable.

“Is that a yes?” I press, half-teasing, half-holding-my-breath.

Joely turns to face me, tugging lightly at the front of my jacket until I’m inches from her.

“I’ve been your girl since the third grade,” she says softly. “But yes, I’ll be your girlfriend officially.”

And damn if that doesn’t knock the wind right out of me.

I can’t help it. I pull her in, slow this time, forehead to forehead, like we’re sixteen again and both terrified to make the first move. “I know it’s just a word, but it matters, Jojo. I want everyone to know. I want you to know.”

She grins, lips trembling just a little. “You planning on making a big Facebook announcement, Foster? Maybe a slideshow? A skywriter?”

“I’d do it,” I say, dead serious. “Don’t test me. I already risked death by cherry picker for this.”

Joely laughs, but there’s a wet shine in her eyes. “You’re such a dork. But you’re my dork. And I’m all in, okay? Like, stupid in. Like, buy-matching-flannel-and-post-cringey-couple-pics in.”

I tilt her chin so she has to see my face. “Promise?”

She lifts her hand, pinky extended, just like we used to do on the playground. “Promise.”

I link my pinky with hers and, for a second, I’m back to being that clueless kid who didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. Only now I do.

“Be my everything, Joely,” I whisper, barely loud enough for the wind to hear. “Not just my girlfriend. Be my person. My first call, my last text, my ‘who gets the last slice of pizza’ forever.”

She pulls me close, buries her face in my jacket. “Only if you promise to always pick me up when I fall off ladders. And occasionally bring me snacks.”

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