Since this all plays out right in front of us, we’re both watching, waiting for the girl’s reaction. Most children might cry or scream, but this little girl looks up to the sky and watches the balloon float away, smiling as it floats away.
She may not be upset, but my heart breaks. “Oh my gosh, no, no,” I say, lunging to help with the ice cream that’s dripping all over her. The ice cream is a lost cause at this point too, but she’s still watching the balloon disappear into the sky.
The mother rushes to my side with napkins. “Sweetheart, here let’s clean you up. We’ll get you another ice cream,” the mother says.
“I hope you like the blue balloon today, Daddy,” she says, waving to the sky.
The mother’s knees give out as she squats down to clean the ice cream off her daughter’s legs, and she falls backward onto her butt. “I’m sorry,” the mother says.
“Let me help you,” I tell her. I take the napkins and continue to clean her daughter up, and then I help the woman up to her feet, finding Noah running toward us. I didn’t know he had left.
He hands the little girl another balloon and a new ice cream cone. “There you go, sweetie,” he says.
“Thank you so much!” The little girl replies, tossing her arms around Noah’s waist. “My daddy doesn’t usually get two blue balloons in one day. He’ll be extra happy tonight.”
Noah’s hand rests on his chest, appearing just as deflated as I feel. Noah hands the mother another handful of napkins. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
She swallows hard and looks up at the sky for a brief moment. “I will be, thank you both for being so kind. It’s only been six months.” The woman notices a tattoo on Noah’s arm, one I hadn’t studied too closely. “What unit?”
“1st Battalion 2nd Marines,” Noah responds.
“Dustin was in five-ten, killed-in-action.”
“Five-ten, huh?” Noah replies.
“A few weeks shy of ten years,” she continues. “Dustin was planning to retire in another ten.”
“We might have been on base together,” Noah tells her. The woman holds the back of her hand up to her mouth and clenches her eyes shut. “Thank you for your service.” Her words come out in the form of a mumble.
“I’m going to give you my number,” I tell her, needing to do something to help in any way right now because I feel horrible for this poor woman. Maybe she needs a friend. “What’s your name?”
“Olivia,” she says through a winded breath. “Thank you.”
Noah pulls a business card out of his back pocket and a pen. “Here,” he says.
I write down my name and number on the back and hand it over to her. “We can have coffee sometime if you’re free,” I offer.
“I’d really like that,” she says, wrapping her arm around her daughter. “Mia, can you say thank you to the nice man for buying you a new ice cream cone and balloon?”
Mia solutes Noah with a cute, twisted face, and Noah squats down in front of her again. “I think you made your dad’s day. Is blue his favorite color?”
“Yes, just like the sky,” she says.
Noah places his hand on Mia’s shoulder. “You’re a good girl.”
“Stay in touch,” Noah tells Olivia.
“Will do, staff sergeant.”
I wonder how she knew he was a staff sergeant, but I refocus on the tattoo as we walk away. “Are those stripes—”
“My rank,” he responds. “I left as a staff sergeant.”
The last fifteen minutes have proven to me that having an insta-crush is a serious issue. I have a weakness for men who will help others, especially children. It isn’t for show; I can see that much. Noah clearly has a big heart. “Do you want to sit down for a minute before we order food?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I just need a second. My heart is breaking for that poor woman.” Mine too, but I can imagine her story hit much closer to home for him than me.
“You’re a good guy,” I tell him. “I like you.”
