Henry settled back, satisfied, already turning to tell the woman next to him about his run-in with a sports star.
We moved on.
The band struck the first chord behind us. It was one of their quieter songs, the one Melvin usually saved for closing. Today, it opened the set. Ramona kept her volume restrained, Mike swapped sticks for brushes on the snare, and even the lyrics were scrubbed clean where they needed to be.
I glanced at Aiden. The smile he’d worn for Henry had faded into something neutral.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He took a sip of lemonade. “Nice guy.”
“He meant it as a compliment.”
“I know.”
He didn’t say anything else, but the silence between us wasn’t hostile. It just existed, heavy with things neither of us wanted to unpack next to a table of deviled eggs.
An older woman shuffled into our path, plate piled high. Her sandal caught in the grass and the plate tipped. Pigs in blanketsscattered across the lawn, pastry rolling toward the edge of a flower bed.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, staring down at the damage.
Aiden was already moving. He crouched and gathered the fallen pieces, setting them back onto the plate without commentary about the five-second rule. He rose and offered his arm.
“Let’s get you a fresh one,” he said. “I’ll help you back to your table to make sure those babies stay put.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, relief smoothing the lines around her mouth. “Such a gentleman, thank you.”
He matched his pace to hers as they headed toward the food table. Careful and attentive, without an ounce of performance for anyone. This wasn’t about upholding a good image for his team or avoiding scathing headlines. Aiden Santos was just your typical good guy.
I stood there longer than necessary, watching him steer her around a folding chair and wait while a volunteer refilled her plate.
There was no good reason for me to steer clear of Aiden, other than the fact I’d sworn off pro athletes. The best reason. At least, back when I’d decided on it, anyway.
Across the lawn, Icy Veins played to a cluster of seniors who clapped in time, and Aiden bent his head to hear something the woman said, answering with a smile that didn’t look forced at all.
“Sage, so great to see you again.” Augusta, one of the staff matrons came over. “Sorry it took me this long to get to you, but we have a full house today, as you can see.”
“No problem.”
She gestured to a garden chair set apart from the thick of festivities, with one more placed in front of it. On the table, I had a bowl of water, some towels, and several sheets of temp press-on tattoos.
“They’ve been talking about this for a week,” Augusta said with a chuckle. “You might even see a few new faces who were impressed by your work last year.”
The day drew on with more of the same light, sun-warmed ease. Icy Veins provided the soundtrack, and Aiden was roped into being an honorary staff member. I got comfortable at my station, tearing through red roses, candy skulls, and rockabilly hearts. I pressed them onto papery skin, while explaining the process like I was running a tattoo parlor instead of sitting beside a picnic bench.
“Hold still,” I told a woman with a halo of white curls. “You’re about to join a very exclusive club.”
She beamed as I dabbed water from a plastic cup over the paper backing. When I peeled it away, the tiny skull smiled up at us.
Across the lawn, Aiden stood near the patio doors with a maintenance guy who’d wheeled out a toolbox. He’d made the mistake of mentioning his proclivity for woodwork, and now found himself the primary custodian of odd jobs at Serenity Bridge.
One of the patio umbrellas had come loose from its base and tilted at a crooked angle. Aiden had already rolled up his sleeves. He crouched to tighten the bolt while the staff member steadied the pole. His head tipped back when the umbrella settled upright, and he flashed that easy grin that kept working on me no matter how often I told myself it shouldn’t.
I pressed a rose onto another wrist and kept my eyes trained on the paper, even though I tracked him in my peripheral vision. He stayed after the umbrella was fixed, listening to a story about someone’s grandson, nodding like he had nowhere better to be.
The set rolled on. Ramona introduced the band as if they were headlining a festival, bassline pulsing through the grass, toned down but still every bit theirs. A few residents rose from their chairs during the last song, gripping walkers or the backs of folding seats while they swayed and clapped their hands overhead. Those who stayed seated tapped their canes against the ground in time.
When Icy Veins hit the final chord, the applause lingered, lifting over the mouthwatering smell of beef burgers and sausages. Melvin bowed so low I thought he might tip off the platform. Mike saluted with a drumstick, and Rich grinned at the crowd like he’d just been handed a record deal.
