Though I still hate the idea, she’s right. It would make it easier for the kids and for her.
She fishes glitter glue out of the crayon tub. “I’ll bake a cake.”
How do I say no to that? “If you want to, then sure. Thanks.”
Her smile is immediate. “We’ll do it your last Saturday. It’ll be here before you know it.” A quick frown shifts her expression. “You okay?”
I’m spared from answering by a shout from Ciera. “It’s the cookie man!”
Garrett is standing at the door. I’m not sure how he became the cookie man, but the circle collapses into chaos as kids rush to him. These are my regulars—Ciera, Fiona, Kate, Julia, Javier, and Bryson. They only met him the one time, but you’d think he was Santa Claus. Javier and Ciera each grab a hand and pull him toward the circle.
“You have to sit,” Javier says.
“Did you get the lips?” Ciera asks. “Josie was supposed to give you the lips.”
His eyes are laughing as they meet mine. “She was?”
“Pencils with lips on them,” I explain.
“Kissing pencils.” Kate turns as pink as the bows in her hair.
“Oh, those.” He nods, serious. “I use them to draw hearts on all my school papers.”
The girls giggle. “We want to see.”
“I draw snakes,” Bryson says.
Lianne claps to get the kids’ attention. “Why doesn’t everyone settle down, and while I pass out the cookies, you can tell the cookie man what you like to draw best.”
The kids love the idea, and I’m left to watch the whole thing from outside the circle. It’s good, though. It’s time. This is what all of us want. For them to move on so that I can, too.
It’s Lianne who greets the parents and says goodbye to each kid. Garrett stands beside me, and we watch the process.
“She’s good,” he says.
“Yeah, she is.”
“Can you head out now? Seems like she can manage without you.”
I stiffen. “It’s still my job. What are you doing here anyway?”
“Surprising you.”
I slant him a wry look. “You came for the cookies, didn’t you?”
“That, too.” He rubs at a chunk of silver glue stuck to the back of my hand. “You coming over when you’re done? We need to practice. And I want to put together a final tape of our feature.”
“But it’s Saturday.”
“We said we were going to get serious about this.”
“We said we were going to try.”
“There’s no try in a vision quest. Only do.” He heads for the door but stops and shoots me a wink over his shoulder. “Oh, and Walters? Bring the lips.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“That ball was smacked up the middle,” I say, my eyes glued to the TV. “Harris saves an easy double with that diving catch.”
Garrett hits the pause button. The screen freezes, halting a game that happened yesterday. Garrett showed me his DVR list when I got here today. He’s recorded six baseball games, and the plan is that we watch the games on mute and try to do the broadcast on the fly. It’s nearly impossible, I’ve realized in the past hour, because I have no idea who all these players are.
“That’s not Harris at short,” he corrects. “Harris is at first.”
We’re both sitting on the edge of the couch, our knees touching because he’s man-sitting, his knees spread so wide he’s in my territory. I’m not giving an inch. I’m already at a disadvantage.
“How am I supposed to remember that?” I complain. “I haven’t watched a game in years. We should call all the players Smith. Otherwise it’s not fair.”
“It’s not a contest, Walters.”
“Then why are you gloating every time you get it right and I don’t?”
“I’m appreciating the vast superiority of my brain.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “You’re such a bad winner.”
“I am not.”
“Winners are gracious. They downplay their glory in deference to the tender feelings of their opponents.”
His brows lift, his eyes widen. “Did I hurt your tender feelings? I’ll kiss them and make them better.” He leans in and brushes a kiss over my cheek.
“Stop it, Blondie.”
“Am I missing the right spot? You keep your tender feelings…lower?”
My snort turns into a laugh as he kisses me again, this time on the mouth.
“Stop trying to distract me.”
His smile makes it hard for me to breathe. He’s just so…everything. Funny and sweet and smart and sexy and outrageous and ambitious. And he’s looking at me as if I’m the one who’s everything.
“I like you, Josie Walters,” he says.
My heart turns to oatmeal, warm and smushy. “I like you, too, Garrett Reeves.”
“I have something for you.”
From under the couch he pulls out a folder that he must have stashed there earlier. With a flourish, he presents it to me. The folder is black with a strip of white that holds the ASU logo and beneath it a line that reads: Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication.
“It’s an application packet along with a course outline.”
My hand shakes a little. “You went to ASU?”
“My mom did. She picked up one for me, and I asked her to get one for you, too.”
“But.” I swallow. “We’re just trying this, Garrett.”
“I know.”
“If I did this…” I’m not even sure how to finish the sentence. It’s too big of a thought, too much to even comprehend. Too real. “I never said I would.”
“It’s just so we can read about the program. See if it sounds interesting.”
I open the folder a few inches, wide enough to see official-looking documents and a blank schedule for choosing classes. “What do I do with this?”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
My gaze flies to his. “Did you fill yours out?”
“No.”
“But you’re thinking you will?”
Our eyes meet. Hold. My heart reacts, beating faster. Heavier. “I have a plan. A future I’ve been working toward. My mom…” My breath shudders as I think about her. “She’s made an appointment with the business lawyer. We’re going to file the partnership papers on my birthday, even though it’s a Saturday. She’s ordered a cake. I saw
