“Oh, dear. You barely touched your food. Was everything okay?”
“Oh, it was delicious. I’m just full.”
Ruth nods and sets the bill on the table then clears both of our plates.
Pulling out my wallet and flipping it open, I freeze for a moment. My thumb brushes over my niece’s drawing, and then I chuckle as I spot a pink debit card and pull it out. The surface of the card shimmers in the light as I turn it toward Claire. In the top right corner, Sugarplum Park Bank is stamped into the glitter, and along the bottom is my name.
“You think that will work?” she asks.
“Only one way to find out.” I place it on the small tray with the bill, and Ruth returns to grab it. Silence falls between us as we wait for her to return.
“So glad you two stayed to eat,” she says, setting the card and receipt on the table. “I’ll see you around.”
I sign, and then we both make our way out of the restaurant.
Chapter 21: Absolutely No Safety Awareness
Claire
Everett holds the door of Stella’s, and I walk past him out onto the snow covered sidewalk, zipping my jacket.
“I really feel bad,” he says, meeting me outside. His head turns down and his shoulders slouch. “I’m sorry again.”
“For what?”
“For insinuating ballet wasn’t a tough sport.”
“You aren’t the first person to think that,” I say. “It’s really okay.”
“But that’s the thing—it’s not okay. I see how tough you are and can only imagine how hard you train back in New York. I don’t ever want to make you feel like I don’t see you. I never want to diminish anything you do.”
I stare at him a little stunned. I was honestly just giving him a hard time and joking around, but his sincerity has me feeling a way I’ve never felt around him before.
“I believe you,” I say as we begin to cross the street. “But thank you for saying all of that.”
“I mean it.” Our eyes connect, and without a doubt I know he does.
I offer him a reassuring nod and a small smile. “So, you want to head back to the house? Maybe see if we can find any clues there?”
“That sounds good.”
We turn to head toward the house when shouting coming from the three young boys who were wrestling in the booth causes us to freeze.
“Coach! Coach!” one of the boys yells as they all sprint toward us from the outdoor ice rink that’s situated at the top of the street in front of a town hall. Red curls bounce as they run through the snow.
“Coach, look at my new hockey stick,” one who is a little taller with similar red, curly hair shouts.
“I got a new one, too, but I hit Maple with it this morning, so Dad said I can’t have it back until tomorrow,” the youngest of the three whines, not taking a full breath until the last word falls from his mouth.
“Hi?” I say, looking from the three children back to Everett. It’s clear these boys know us, or they think they do.
“Are your parents around?” I ask.
“They’re over there,” the boy holding the stick says, pointing to where a small group of adults is huddled together, laughing. “What do you think, Coach?” He shows off the new piece of equipment proudly, pretending to shoot a puck across the street.
“Claire! Everett!” Their mother, Ginger, waves. “Hold on. I’ll be right there. Boys, give them some space.” She’s holding a baby on her hip, and two little girls follow after her like miniature shadows.
My attention turns back to the boys. All three of them are talking so fast that I can’t catch more than every third word. Everett nods along as they talk like he understands what they’re saying.
