Page 46 of The Crafting Con

A cherry tree that someone is attempting to climb.

That person being— “Ava?”

I lean over the steering wheel, peering through the windshield, trying to get a better look at the girl who is either endeavoring to scale the thick, moss-covered beast of a tree, or is in the middle of some kind of koala impression. Yup, definitely Ava.

What the heck?

I’m out of the truck and walking up the street before I know it, curiosity propelling me forward. When I reach the park’s edge, I spy a second figure hidden amid the white-and-pink flowers—a big orange tabby known throughout the neighborhood as Persnickety. Mrs. Bingley’s nightmare of an attack cat.

“So, um, whatcha doin’?” I stroll across the short expanse of grass until I’m standing just off to the side of Ava’s koala glomp.

Her long legs are wrapped around the tree’s trunk, hands grasping the base of the branch above. Her face is scrunched up in terse concentration, but it isn’t until she glances down and gasps that I realize she’s wearing earbuds. The flash of surprise on her face is followed by an unfortunate loosening of her grip. I lunge sideways just as she falls backward off the tree, catching her against my chest before the impact sends us both slamming to the ground.

Pain radiates up my elbow, but it’s quickly eclipsed by the weight of Ava’s body lying atop of mine, the top of her head brushing my chin. My arms around her waist. Her backside pressed against places I’m trying really hard not to think about.

Persnickety hissing at Johnny Five.

Grandma’s chin hairs.

Hiro eating the discarded glob of grilled cheese.

Ava rolls off into the grass, and I suck in some much-needed oxygen.

“Oh my gosh, Declan.” She rips out the earbuds and pushes herself up, cheeks flaming pink as she peers down at me. The edges of her hair glow yellow and orange, the golden wisps burnished by the brilliant rays of the sun setting behind her. My feeble heart despairs. She is an utterly unattainable goddess.

“Are you okay? You scared the living crap out of me.” She bites her lip, and I melt a little further into the ground. I am no more than fertilizer.

“Sorry.” I sit up, wincing as a smattering of future bruises make themselves known. “I said something while I was walking over, but you must not have heard me over your music.”

She rolls the earbuds around in her hand with a grimace. “K-Pop’s ‘Golden’—not an easy song to hear over.”

“Total banger, though.” I cock my head, studying her face in the fading light. Where at first I’d only noticed blushing cheeks and blazing hair, now I see red eyes and faint tension lines. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what’s wrong, but I pull back at the last minute, worried she’ll see it as prying. “What, um, brings you here anyway? Training for some kind of jungle expedition?”

She breathes a soft laugh. “Hardly. I was just heading out for a run, thus the earbuds, when I heard Snicky yowling from his perch. I thought he might be stuck up there and had the brilliant idea of rescuing him. It would seem I overestimated my tree climbing skills… So much for my good deed.”

I look up at the orange blob of fur towering above us and make a face. “The greatest deed would be leaving his fat rump up there. The other neighborhood animals would thank you.”

This earns me a real laugh, and she drops back into the grass, face tilted up toward the sprawling cherry blossoms. “Honestly, you’re probably right. It just felt like he was asking me for help or something, and I thought, a cat stuck in a tree, surely this is something I can handle.”

She lifts her arms above her head, forming a picture frame with her fingers as she stares up at Persnickety’s hunched form. The sheer helplessness reflected in her eyes makes my chest ache. Her lips twist. “How does that famous saying go? The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry?”

I nod solemnly. “Classic SpongeBob.”

Her hand comes down in a whack to my chest, and I count it as a victory. “More like Burns, although I’m pretty sure his original version was more Scottish-y.”

“Not sure Scottish-y is a word.”

Another slight laugh; another tiny victory. “And I’m not sure you’re helping.”

“Was I supposed to be?” I tease, then softer, more serious, “I would, you know. Help. If it’s something I can help with?”

Ava’s gaze shifts to meet mine, and for a moment it’s like we’re frozen in this timeless bubble where neither past nor future means anything at all. There is only now, only this. A wayward petal drifts down from above and lands on her cheek. I pluck it off without breaking my gaze. When she doesn’t say anything, I whisper, “I’m right here, Ava. You can talk to me.”

She blinks up at me, and my heart squeezes when moisture gathers along her lashes. “You’re too good for me, Dec,” she whispers, a single tear breaking free and slipping down the side of her face. “I don’t deserve it. Not after leaving you like I did.”

How many times did I tell myself that same exact thing over the years? And yet I’d give anything right now to remove the pain from her expression. “That was years ago. Water under the bridge.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not, though. I hurt you. You were my best friend, and I shut you out like you didn’t matter. Like it didn’t kill me to give you up.” Her eyes squeeze shut. “I’m sorry, Dec. I’m so sorry. If there’d been any other way…”