“Garrett sent you.” I smack his arm.
“Hey, don’t hurt the messenger.”
“Then the messenger better be able to run fast.”
He laughs and picks up a slice of pizza. “Just saying, Josie. You never know. In sports. In life. That’s why you gotta play it out.”
Tucker points with a French fry. “You know, that reminds me of this other story. The US hockey team. The Olympics. 1980.”
“Mai has her protractor,” I snap. “A sharp one.” My voice is stern but my heart is bouncing all over my chest.
“Just saying.”
I glare at Anthony, because I can’t take any more or I might do something stupid like burst into tears. “Don’t you say a word.”
He gives a crooked grin, and in unison the three of them get up, taking their half-eaten lunches with them.
Jasmine watches them go. “What was that about?”
Mai crunches on a veggie stick. “I’d say someone hasn’t given up at all.”
“Then he’s wasting his time.” But my heart has stopped turning somersaults, and now it’s doing a happy dance across my ribs.
“Garrett should know better,” Mai says. “As if a sports story is going to convince you of anything. Who cares about a stupid game?” She takes a pretzel from my baggie. “It’s not like Marie Curie. I mean, when you consider the discrimination she faced when her husband died and she took over his research in radioactivity? No one would have thought a woman could succeed in that field, but she shocked them all when she got a Nobel Prize in 1911.”
I gasp. “You too?”
She helps herself to another pretzel. “He stalked me for two days.” She smiles, but there’s no apology in it. “He happens to be right. You can’t predict outcomes. You gotta play it out.”
“He gave you a script?” I shift on the seat so I can glare at her directly. “Did he give you the line about Anthony having good hands, too?”
“No!” She scoffs. “I came up with that on my own, thank you very much.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. There are a lot of stories with happy endings. But many more without.” I loudly wad up the rest of my lunch.
But deep down, a small flame warms me through and through.
Chapter Forty-Six
There’s a record turnout at the bookstore on Saturday. Every familiar face adds to the lump in the back of my throat. Lianne has outdone herself in the cake department. There are two—one chocolate and one vanilla. I told her it was too much, but then more kids kept arriving, and now I’m glad.
Brandi brought me a gold crown and paper hats for the kids. Javier is worried that the rubber bands on the hats will be a choking hazard, but I put him in charge of keeping an eye on everyone’s safety, and he’s good with that.
I read the final story—a funny book about a dinosaur cookie. It keeps everyone laughing—and keeps me from crying.
What is it with me and tears these days?
After story time, we parade through the bookstore with me leading the way. When we get to the activity room, the cakes are sliced and ready to go. The hour flies by so fast that when I see the parents returning, I want to tell them to go away and come back later. Like in ten years.
Tears are pressing behind my eyes when the regulars approach. I say goodbye to Kate and Fiona, Julia, Javier, and Bryson. Finally, it’s Ciera’s turn, and she attaches herself to my neck and hangs there like a monkey.
“Ciera,” her mom chides.
But I use it as my chance to give her a huge hug. “It’s all right. I love monkeys.”
“I love you,” Ciera says. “I’ll always think about you when I read a story.”
“And there’s one special story, isn’t there, Ciera?” her mom asks.
“I almost forgot!” Ciera nods and claps her hands with excitement. “It’s a good story, Josie. It’s about a rabbit only he’s a really big rabbit so he’s called a hare. And there’s a turtle only he’s really big so he’s called a tortoise. And the hare is fast and the tortoise is slow. And they have a race.”
I crouch in front of her so she knows I’m listening, but I also shoot her mom a puzzled look. Why is Ciera telling me the story of the Tortoise and the Hare?
“Anyway,” Ciera says, “everyone knows the hare is going to win and the whole time it looks like he will. But he wants to goat with everyone there, so he sits down to wait.”
My knees wobble as I suddenly understand. “You mean gloat.”
“Right,” she says. “But the hare falls asleep and the tortoise wins. And that’s why you’ve got to play it out.”
I look up at Ciera’s mom. Her smile says it all.
“He got to you. How did he get to you? When?”
“This morning.”
My knees give out, and I hit the carpet. Today is his tryout. What’s he doing coming to the bookstore? I look at Ciera, my heart roaring in my ears. “Is he…here?”
“No.” She pouts. “The cookie man is gone. Everyone is leaving.”
“I’m going to miss you, Ciera. More than you know. But I promise I’ll be back to visit.”
After they leave, it’s time to say goodbye to the staff. I make it quick, which means I pretend to go to the bathroom and instead grab my stuff and head out the back door. I’ll email Brandi later. I can’t handle another goodbye.
In my truck with the door closed, I pause and rest my head against the steering wheel. I’m weakening. I can feel my determination hanging on by one tiny, ragged thread. I need someone to talk some sense into me. Now. Before I do something stupid.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The AromaTher booth is next to Fresh Bounty, a husband and wife team who sell bread. My mouth is watering by the
