Then it happened.
One second she was upright, the next she was airborne, and then—thud.
I winced. “Oof. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
Belle was already sprinting toward her, shouting something about “grace in motion.” I forced myself to stay put, though every part of me wanted to run over. She was fine. Probably. Maybe.
A few minutes later, the tent flap rustled, and Belle appeared, half-grinning, half-worried, guiding Eleanor inside.
“Got a casualty for you,” Belle announced. “Skated straight into her comeback era.”
And then Eleanor looked up and smiled at me.
Recognition flickered in her eyes, followed by a soft laugh. “You again.”
“Me again,” I said, grabbing the medical kit. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”
I got to work on patching her up. I swear, every time I touched her, my heart fluttered.
What was it about her?
As she stepped out of the tent, sunlight spilling around her like something holy, I couldn’t stop watching.
And for the first time in a long time, I wanted something more than calm.
I wantedher.
The crowd had thinned a little as the sun dipped low, leaving the park bathed in gold. Kids were sticky with snow-cone syrup, parents were chatting over paper plates, and the Grim Reapers were doing slow laps around the path, laughing too loud and daring each other to race.
Leo was at the playground now, taking turns pushing a smaller kid on the swing, that soft, patient smile on his face that always hit me right in the chest.
“Hey, stranger.”
I turned to find Becca walking toward the first-aid tent, sunglasses perched on her head, denim jacket tied at her waist.The sight of her still sparked that instinctive warmth, familiar, easy.
“Hey, you,” I said, grinning. “Didn’t expect to see you before dinner.”
“I finished errands early and figured I’d check in on my favorite boys,” she said, bumping my shoulder lightly.
Leo was waving at someone, Ava, I realized. And not far behind, Eleanor stood beside Belle, one knee bandaged neatly in my handiwork, her hair glowing in the late light.
Becca followed my gaze and tilted her head. “So. Who’s that?”
I played dumb. “Who’s who?”
She gave me the look, the same one she used to give me when I claimed not to have eaten the last of the ice cream. “Alex.”
“What?” I asked, too quickly.
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “The woman you’re definitely pretending not to stare at.”
I scoffed. “I’m not staring.”
“You areabsolutelystaring,” she said, crossing her arms. “And before you try to deny it, your face does that soft, kicked-puppy thing when you like someone.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying not to smile. “You’re imagining things.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned closer, voice teasing. “So, who is she?”
