Page 80 of The One Night Dash
“I’d really like that.”
He picks me up, spins me around, and sweetly kisses me on my … waddle.
When he sets me down, I notice Mom heading our way, a smile on her face from ear to ear.
I don’t know if I’m ready for this, but Dash, he’s ready for anything.
“Noelle, you … won?” She laughs as she hugs me.
“I’m not sure about that.” I hug her back then step back and motion to Dash. “Mom, this is Dash. Dash?—”
“Call me Maryanne.” She smiles and … hugs him?
He hugs her back, unbothered, and actually smiling. “I’m Dash, your daughter’s boyfriend. Sorry for crashing the trot.”
“Crashing it?” She laughs as she swings her backpack around and starts rifling through it. “If I knew you were coming, I’d have gotten you a shirt.” And then …
“Oh God, Mom, no, don’t?—”
“Are you kidding me?” Dash grins, taking the hat and strapping it on. “This is epic.”
Then my mother, Maryanne Holland, pulls out a tutu. “I have an extra one of these, too, but you don’t have to accept?—”
“Accept it? I’d be honored.” He takes it and steps right into it. “This is awesome.”
Mom smiles at me. “I like him.”
“I do, too.”
She cups my cheek. “If he hurts you, I will kill him and throw him off a boat and into a pool of sharks to dispose of the evidence.”
Dash doesn’t laugh; he looks at her and says, “A man is only as good as his word, and I give you mine. She’s going to be treated like a queen.”
Mom’s face softens. “It’s hard not to believe the word of a man who removes his shoes at the door when he enters a house at three in the morning.”
“Oh my God.” I palm my face.
“Ethan tried to claim them as his, went so far as to take them to his room, but a mother always knows when her little turkeys are trying to pull a fast one.” She winks at me, and her smile shifts to Dash. “You’re welcome anytime.” She nods to the stage. “Mayor Tully is about to announce this year’s winners. Let’s join the boys and Rick.”
Mayor Tully, a woman with a full figure, carries herself with the confidence all women should have, even while wearing a pilgrim’s hat. She steps up to the mic, clipboard in one hand, like she’s about to give the state of the union address.
“All right, folks, gather round!” Her voice booms through the speakers. “First of all, what a turnout. This is the biggest Turkey Trot held here at Harbor Point we’ve ever seen! And you all did it for a good cause. This year’s event raisedtwenty-two thousand, six hundred, forty-two dollarsfor Harrington’s Full Plate program.”
Cheers erupt, horns and kazoo noisemakers blaring.
Mayor Tully raises a hand. “And thanks to a very generous matching donation from theBrooklyn Bears organization,that total is now doubled. We have raised overforty-five thousand dollars!”
The crowd goes wild, and I feel Dash’s arm, draped around my shoulders, tighten a bit. I lean just a bit further against him.
“And now,” Tully continues, flipping a page dramatically, “the results!” She clears her throat. “We had some controversy at the finish line, which the judges have decided was … let’s say,unorthodox. Miss Noelle Pembroke has been disqualified for receiving … ah … illegal interference from Brooklyn Bears’ very own Dash Sterling.”
I groan. Dash grins. Caleb and Ethan exchange a look as if they have just been vindicated.
“Therefore,” Tully adds, “first place still goes to Harrington’s very own Boston Marathon qualifier, Kit Gibbson.”
The crowd cheers, and Dash presses a kiss to my cheek. “Our second and third place go to Ethan and Caleb Holland, though the order is … unclear.” She squints at her clipboard. “Because our finish line judges were apparently laughing too hard at theirs and Mr. Sterling’s antics to tell which brother actually crossed first.”
Both boys groan then shove each other like they’re still eight and ten years old. I get caught up in them, and this … yeah, this. I want this, all of it. I want the past to be left there, to forgive and forget, to let go of everything I have let hold me back and live … just live.
