“Buster?” Lia asks.
I turn and look down at her, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Bea used to professionally bowl. Her nickname was ‘Buster’ because she’d always bust out those strikes.”
Lia giggles a bit as she looks back toward the concession stand. “Nice.”
I nudge her softly with my shoulder. “This alley’s got a hobby league, if you’re interested.”
“They do?”
“Mmhmm. Everyone’s welcome. They meet twice a week, on Wednesday evenings and Saturday afternoons. Tournaments are Sundays. The town loves to turn out for them.”
“Huh.”
I stand there beside her and watch as Bea sits with my daughter, the both of them chugging down Shirley Temples with extra cherries. Feeling Lia’s warmth at my side settles an unease I’ve been walking around with for a long time.
I want to keep her close. I want to press my nose into her neck until my lungs have memorized her scent. I want to pull her into my lap, kiss her breathless, and pin her beneath my body so that I can show her?—
I shake my head softly and clear my throat. “You play a good game. You should consider the league, if you have time.”
“I just might,” she says.
Then, as if her body is looking for a reason to stay in our orbit as well, I hear the most amazing sound.
Her stomach rumbles.
It gives me an opening. “Why don’t you come back to our place for some food?”
“What?”
I turn to face her. “Food. A late lunch. At my place. That’s usually what Amber and I do after bowling. I’ve got lasagna and garlic bread on the menu in the kitchen, if you’d like some.”
“Kitchen…” she whispers, her voice trailing off.
Her gaze trails off too, and I wait for her to elaborate. To add on. To do something, anything, to explain the sad look in her eyes that has appeared again.
“Lia,” I say, low enough so that it’s just between the two of us. “Something is wrong. Talk to me.”
She sighs heavily. “I can’t impose, Eli. Just got some stuff on my mind, is all.”
“You made us a promise, remember?”
Her eye twitches. “Yeah, I remember.”
I take a chance and reach my hand out. I get it close enough to hers that I can brush my knuckles along her fingers, and she gasps. Looks down.
I don’t push her any further. I wait for her to do something. To say something. To do anything that shows me I’m not pushing a boundary she doesn’t like.
She sighs heavily as she continues looking down at my hand. “I’m never going to be able to keep up the production I need in the kitchen the apartment complex has given me. I dropped a whole pan of cinnamon rolls this afternoon. That alone sets me back in my schedule, and I can’t afford to be set back.”
The pitter-patter of footsteps rushing back toward us pulls me out of our little bubble. I look and see Amber rushing this way, with Bea nowhere in sight.
Guess she must’ve ducked back into her office.
Amber slips her hand into mine. “Daddy, I’m hungry. Can we go home and eat now?”
I smile down at her. “Of course, princess.”
“Do you wanna come over for lunch, Lia? My daddy’s a really good cook. He makes the best lasagna and garlic bread.”
