Page 89 of The Pucking Date
I watch her get ready with the kind of focus usually reserved for game tape. She pulls on jeans and a simple T-shirt, and I have to grip the sheets to keep myself from dragging her back to bed.
“You keep looking at me like that, we’re never leaving this room,” she says, but she’s smiling as she slides her feet into flats.
“That’s not the threat you think it is, Red.”
An hour later, we’re finally dressed and wandering Main Street. The late afternoon sun turns everything golden, tourists drifting between shops with relaxed vacation energy. Jessica threads her fingers through mine, reaching for me without hesitation. I don’t say a word and just hold her hand tight.
She stops at every other window, pointing out things—an antique lamp, a painting of mountains, a leather journal that “Sophie would love.” I watch her. The way the light catches in her hair. How she unconsciously leans into me when she laughs.
“You’re not even looking,” she accuses, catching me staring.
“I’m looking at what matters.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush. “Smooth talker.”
“Honest.”
We’re browsing a cluttered boutique when a child’s wail cuts through the peaceful afternoon. A little girl, maybe four, pigtails askew and face panicked, is standing alone near a display of books. Her bottom lip trembles, arms hugging her chest.
“Mama?” she cries, spinning in a slow, panicked circle. “Where’s Mama?”
There aren’t many people in the store. The clerk looks up, startled, and scans the space with his gaze. I step closer, crouch down a few feet from the girl.
“Hey there, sugar,” I say softly. “You lookin’ for your mama?”
She nods fast with her eyes full of fresh tears.
“I bet she’s still in the store,” I tell her gently. She sniffles, rivulets of tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Mamas don’t leave without their kids,” I reassure her softly.
The girl’s breathing evens out a little. She stops turning.
“What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“Well, Miss Emma, I’m Finn. When I was little, I got lost in a store once too. My mama found me in two minutes flat. Mamas have a radar for their babies.”
Just then, a woman rushes into view from the back of the shop, toddler in one arm, purse half falling off her shoulder.
“Emma! Baby, there you are.”
The girl runs to her. The mom drops to her knees, clutching both kids tight. She looks up at me, a little breathless.
“Thank you. I was chasing him,” she shifts the squirming toddler, “and turned around, and she was just…gone.”
“She did great,” I say, smiling. “She knew to stay put.”
I stand and turn to find Jessica watching the scene unfold. Her arms are loose at her sides, but there’s something soft in her face. “What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. That was…really good.”
“My sister’s got twins,” I say with a shrug. “I’ve had some training.”
Jessica’s expression shifts. “For real?”
“Three-year-old wrecking balls. Brody and Cian. I’m obsessed with ’em.”
