“Oh, there’s candy floss too? That looks delicious.”
Henry wrinkled his nose. “What’s candy floss?”
She pointed to the fluffy pink candy.
“You mean cotton candy!”
“I do,” Gemma replied, shaking her head with a playful grin. “Americans have such odd names for things.”
“In our defense, it’s fluffy, pink, and looks like cotton, not floss.”
Gemma’s lips curved. “Whatever you say.”
“Do you have games like these back home?” Henry gestured toward a booth with a ring-toss game, where a group of kids was competing.
“Quoits? Of course.”
“Huh. I’ve heard a lot of British names for things before, but never quoits.”
“I visit America often, and I swear every time I’m here I learn something new. We may both speak the same language, but American English and British English still have so many differences,” Gemma said.
“Agreed.”
They continued walking. “What are some of the other words you’ve heard?” she asked.
“Um?.?.?. jumper, trolley, trousers, and waistcoat to name a few.” Henry removed his hat and scratched his head. “Then there’s the more obvious ones, like football instead of soccer.”
“I hope you’re not one of those people who’s going to convince me that football should be called soccer.”
“No. If it were up to me, soccerwouldbe called football.” Henry laughed, sending a few jolts of electricity up her spine. “It makes more sense for a game that’s played with your feet.”
“Just a guess, but do you play football?”
“No. I don’t like all the running involved. My sport’s baseball.” He brought his hands together and pretended to hit an invisible ball, smiling. “I’m sure that was going to be your next guess though.”
“Actually, I was going to guess your sport was playing with your trusty bullwhip.”
Henry pulled the brim of his hat a little lower. “Afraid not. This only comes out if they’re snakes around, or if I need a way to make a daring escape.”
Gemma grinned.
They’d reached the hayride queue, where Richelle was happily munching on a chocolate candy bar.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you here. I’m supposed to take a turn in the dunking booth. It was nice chatting with you, Gemma.”
Her mind immediately conjured an image of Henry wearing a soaking-wet shirt, clinging to his chest like Mr. Darcy. Her body grew hot.
“You too, Henry.”
His gaze lingered on her for an extra moment. The butterflies in her stomach fluttering their wings. As he turned to walk away, Gemma called out, “Henry, wait! Can I have your mobile number?”
Turning around, he said, “You already have it!” Then he waved and continued walking away.
I already have it? What exactly does he mean by that?
“Coach Gemma!” Richelle yelled, waving.
She walked over to Charlie’s student. She’d have to leave unlocking the mystery of Henry until later.
