“That sounds exciting! Can I go play with Miles?” I ask, edging my way to the front door.
“Now hold up.” He halts me with an outstretched palm. “I’m glad to see you’ve perked up at the idea of living here this summer, but who’s this Miles I’m hearing so much about? Mom said he’s replaced me as your adventure partner, and I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, he’s thebestat adventuring, Dad! He knows everything there is to know about tadpoles and he wears this awesome fishing hat and he doesn’t even wear a shirt!” I ramble.
My dad’s eyebrows perk at that last part, but then his face splits into a grin. He folds his arms over his chest and drops to a squat right in front of me.
“I have a feeling there will come a day when I’ll need to be concerned about this Miles character, but if you say he’s the best, then I guess I can let him pass me up as the greatest adventurer of all time.” He says it with a haughty look on his face.
“You’re cool too, Dad! Does that mean I can go now?” I plead.
“Right after we run a quick errand,” he promises, and I try not to frown. Patience really isn’t my thing. “I was just waiting on… Oh, look! Here she is now! And dressed for… the Kentucky Derby?”
My dad’s amused eyes scan my mom in her paint-splattered overalls and oversized straw hat.
“Is there some new hat trend I’m not aware of?” he asks.
“What? I like it,” she says, tipping the feather-adorned brim back and fanning her eyelashes.
He tries to lean in and kiss her on her cheek, but his forehead ricochets off the brim.
“What’s not to like,” he gripes, trying the same maneuver on the right, then back to the left, over and over until he gives up altogether.
“Do you think the three of us and that hat of yours could stop at this little tackle shop in town?”
My dad holds up his phone, showing her a picture of a small shop with a green-and-white-striped awning over the door.
“Google says they have a hardware section, and I need to replace some of the hinges on these cabinet doors.”
He gestures to the nearest one hanging by a single screw.
“Yes. I think we’d better do that,” my mom teases on a hiccup as he smirks back at her.
“Who knows, you might find yourself one of those boonie hats with a neck shade to try out,” he says.
She swats him on the arm, and we follow him out the back door.
All Caught Up is about as quaint as a small-town shop could be. Just like the Google picture, the awning shades the hand-carved sign, and when you pull on the door handle, a little gold bell chimes above it.
“Well, isn’t this cute,” my mom comments as we stop and take in the store’s three short aisles and single checkout counter.
“It’s smaller than I expected,” my dad admits, scratching his mop of hair.
A man in a cotton canvas fishing hat stands with his back to us behind the counter. He’s bent over at the waist and talking to someone half his size.
My dad gets right to work, stalking up and down the aisles and scanning the rows of lures, rods, and tackleboxes for a set of screws.
A pair of light-purple water socks catches my eye, and I pull on my mom’s hand, pointing to them.
“Are these my size?”
She wanders her gaze from a pair of magnifying glasses to my outstretched finger and reaches inside the shoe. Lifting up on the white tab that’s sewn against the back with aTwowritten on it, she says, “They’re a little big for you, sweetie.”
“I don’t mind. I can grow into them,” I convince her, thinking about how much better they’d be for tadpole-hunting than my bare feet. Those seashells feel like stepping on a thousand Legos. I know, because Cozy has a little brother, and I’ve done it before at her house.
My mom swivels her head ninety degrees, as if she’s looking for the rest of the sizes, and frowns. Then she looks back at my pleading green eyes.
“Yes. Okay. You can get them.”
