She’s not performing right now. Not controlling every gesture and expression. She’s just happy. Over fried dough and cinnamon.
“You’ve got—” I gesture to my own chin.
“What?” She touches her face, missing it completely.
“Here, let me.” I reach over and brush the sugar away with my thumb. Her skin is soft, still slightly cold from the air, and she goes completely still.
We’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people movingaround us, and I’m touching her face while she stares at me with those light eyes gone wide.
“Got it,” I say, pulling my hand back even though everything in me wants to keep touching her.
“Thanks.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
We keep walking but she’s quiet, eating her half of the beaver tail with smaller bites now.
“So,” I say, because the silence is going to kill me. “You have a sweet tooth.”
She laughs. “What gave it away?”
“The way you looked at that food truck like it was serving water in a desert.”
“It kind of was though.” She finishes her last bite and licks the sugar off her fingers and I have to look away before I do something stupid. “I usually don’t let myself eat stuff like this. It’s not on the plan.”
“What plan?”
“The training plan. The nutrition plan. The ‘be perfect at all times’ plan.” She crumples the napkin in her fist. “But I’m not training right now anyway, so.”
“Because of your ankle?”
“Yeah. I can’t jump for another few weeks. By the time I’m cleared, qualifiers will be over.” She says it matter-of-factly but I can hear the edge underneath. “So no competing.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“Feels like it is sometimes.”
We walk in silence for a bit. I want to say something helpful, something that will make it better, but I’ve got nothing. What do you say to someone whose dreams keep getting destroyed by bad timing and bad luck?
“I think you’re pretty incredible even without making it to a national championship,” I say finally.
“You barelyknow me.”
“I’m learning.”
“Come on,” she says. “We need to get back. The brewery tour starts at two.”
She’s quiet for most of the walk back to the hotel and I can’t stop thinking about how her skin felt under my thumb, how she looked at that food truck like it held all the happiness in the world, how when she smiles it completely transforms her face.
Five more days. I’ve got five more days to keep learning about her and making her smile like that.
Five more days to convince her that maybe this doesn’t have to be fake.
I’m going to make every single one of them count.
13
JULIETTE
I’ve been thinkingabout that stupid note all morning, tucked into my makeup bag where I’d definitely see it.
