Not for pariahs like me who can’t go outside without sunglasses and a hat on.
But he must be a smart kid, because the man in the ball cap without a child, his hands shoved surreptitiously into his jacket, who’s making faces at him, does scare him.
His eyes go wide, his mouth wobbles, his hand tightens on his dad’s sleeve, and he whips his head back to the front of the group tour, where Ren Jacobs walks backwards, hands folded neatly behind her back.
Hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, shining under the bright museum lighting. The silk of her blouse shifts against her shoulders, draped against the lines leading from her neck, framing her silhouette where it’s tucked into belted black pants that swish against her legs with every click of her heels against the tile.
She smiles, eyes sparkling when she walks seamlessly through an open door into the next exhibit. “We’ve been talking a lot about dinosaurs today. And we just saw some very cool fossils of baby dinosaurs. Does anyone remember why those fossils are so special?”
“They’re hard to find!” the almost traitor in front of me shouts.
Ren’s smile grows, her cheeks soften, and she gives a proud scrunch of her nose. “You’re right. They’re very rare. Because they’re so tiny, their bones were incredibly fragile, it’s almost impossible to find them fossilized and intact. But you know what we do find more of?”
She waits patiently, blocking the doorway while kids crane their necks and start shouting “What” all at once.
She tips her chin down, one brow lifting before she widens her eyes and leans forward. “Eggs. Who wants to see some dinosaur eggs? There might even be some you can touch.”
There’s a resounding chorus of something that sounds like “Yes!” but might just be inaudible screeching as Ren steps aside, unblocking the doorway, and all the kids rush forward at once into the exhibit.
She stands off to the side, nodding and smiling, answering the occasional question as parents file through, following their screeching children.
And she waits for me after the last adult actually attached to a child has filtered through the door.
I stay rooted to the spot in the world’s worst disguise.
I’ve got no idea what I’m doing or why I came here today.
It wasn’t because of what Yas said. But when another beautiful summer day rolled around—a rare one where I had nowhere to be, one where I couldn’t think of anything worse than being out in public but couldn’t stop thinking about the brilliant woman with the brilliant blue eyes and brilliant red hair—I hid underneath a hat and behind some sunglasses and ended up here, joining a tour for children and found her at its helm.
Her head angles to the side, ponytail brushing across her shoulder. She lifts her brows, bottom lip dipping into a frown when she realizes I’m the only unaccompanied adult.
Amusement tips the frown into a gentle smile. “The fossils aren’t just for kids, you know. There’s no rule saying you have to be a child to enjoy them. This building is full of adults who find dinosaur eggs fascinating, too.”
“Are you one of those adults?” I ask on a swallow before shrugging a shoulder. I finally extract my hands from my pockets, taking my hat off so I can run a hand through my hair, and her gaze snags on the back of my hand. I glance at the tattoo like it’s suddenly appeared on my skin before flashing it towards her in greeting. “Uh, hey, I guess. Nice to see you again.”
“Oh.” She blinks through a nod, something that’s not quite a smile and not quite surprise bowing her lips. “Nice to see you. I didn’t realize—are you a big ... dinosaur fan?”
Scratching the back of my head, I rock forward on my heels. “As much as the next guy, I guess. ThoughtJurassic Parkwas pretty cool when I was a kid.”
“Only when you were a kid?” she asks, hands fluttering at her sides, like she isn’t sure what to do with them, until she crosses her arms.
I nod, shoulders curving inward. This might be the most face-to-face time I’ve had with someone who wasn’t a teammate since Matt. I try to shrug again. “Haven’t uh, seen the new ones.”
“You’re not missing much. But the original holds up. You should check it out,” she says, voice soft, like fingers trailing up my spine, setting the column straight and telling me it’s okay to stand upright. Her lips shift into a frown again, the pout of her bottom lip round. “What are you ... did you come to get your jersey back, I—uhm, sorry, I ... what are you doing here?”
Her heels click against the floor as she shifts back and forth on her feet, and I don’t miss the way her thumbs dig into her forearms, or the flash of nerves behind blue eyes.
“No, uh—” Palming my jaw as I shake my head, a dry snort puffs against the back of my hand. “I don’t want the jersey back. Keep it. I’ve got lots. Sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing here. My publicist told me who you were and where you worked because of the—”
“Educational partnership?” she finishes for me, the end of the word tipping up in a question, like she still doesn’t understand how a formal public relations partnership between two institutions would bring me here on a Saturday.
“Yeah,” I answer, even though I don’t really understand either. But I do know there’s this quiet thing in my chest that hasn’t been there in months, and it’s all because of her. “That.Anyway ... this is kind of stupid because I’ll be seeing you again in two weeks ... but I guess I wanted to say thank you.”
Her head cocks back and she blinks in surprise.
Before she can say anything, I shift on my feet, and try throwing her a grin. “Not sure if you check social media or follow sports at all—”
“Not really,” she interrupts with a soft laugh.
