She reaches toward me, trying to check my forehead, but I swat her hand away.
“He’s really coming? Here?”
Instead of answering my damn questions, she sips through her straw, watching me closely.
“When? Is he going straight to the university, or—?”
Something tugs on the bottom of my white crop top. Shutting my mouth, I look down to find a little girl with two braids hanging over her shoulders and the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Excuse me,” she says in her small voice, “do y’all have anything to mend a broken heart?”
I glance at Kimmie, who shrugs and walks away.
The girl tugs on my shirt again. “Miss?”
My brows knit, and I crouch down so I’m eye level with her. “That’s a big question.”
She stares at me.
“Who could possibly have broken your heart, sweetie?”
The girl frowns, little creases forming between her brows as she thinks my question over. She thinks for a long time, actually—long enough to make me wonder if she even knows what she’s asking.
“Well,” she eventually says. “No one yet. But it’s gonna happen soon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my best friend’s moving.” She lifts her shoulders and lets them drop again. “Her parents aren’t giving her a choice. I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”
I smile softly, but it’s wistful. I’ve learned a lot about loss, change, and broken hearts over these past few years. Too much to try and explain to this girl because they aren’t lessons that can be lumped together. It’s hundreds of small things that I have cultivated to get me to the stable state I’m in today, and even that still wobbles sometimes. But there is a beacon of hope I might be able to offer even if it’s not much.
I reach for the girl’s hand, momentarily taken aback by how small it is in mine. She has so much ahead of her.
Clearing my throat, I say softly, “I think I may have the perfect thing. What are your favorite colors?”
“Um, green and orange. Oh, and purple. I really like purple too.”
“Great choices.” Leading her to the crafting booth at the back of our setup, I open my box of thread to select the colors she named. She watches as I kneel and begin weaving them together, taking my time to do it well. “These aren’t just regular bracelets, you know.”
She looks up at me. “They’re not?”
“Nope. They last, and last, and last.”
The girl leans over my lap, focusing on my hand movements.
“The key,” I continue, “is tying each strand closely together, nice and steady. No force, and no gaps in between. If you build the foundation strong enough, then it might get damaged, crushed, or even caught in a storm, but it won’t ever fall apart. It’s important to remember that touch-ups help, and a little love and attention goes a long way, but if you focus on the building blocks, you’ll be okay.”
She beams, dimples appearing in her cheeks, as I tie it around her tiny wrist. “I wanna learn to do that.”
I smile. “You absolutely can. All you need is a little—” I stop, my throat suddenly dryer than the Sahara Desert as a warm breeze caresses the back of my neck. A shadow moves over the two of us, darkening the pavement below our feet and stretching across part of the crafting booth.
Then a familiar drawl hits my back, prickling my skin before sinking into me. “Must be quite the hippie hands to make a bracelet that strong.”
I close my eyes, pressure building behind them. My pulse thumps in anticipation. I’ve been ready for this moment for so long I don’t know how to react now that it’s here. Slowly, I stand and face him.
Joshua’s inches from me, those stormy eyes locked on mine like they never let me go. My heart patters in short bursts, my fingers trembling with the energy humming through me.
He hands a thin wad of cash to the little girl and winks. She giggles and runs off.
