Page 37 of Just One More Thing

I climb up and hold out my hand.

“You’re such a jerk.”

“True,” I say, “but this jerk brought a towel.”

She takes my hand. I help her down. Water sloshes everywhere. I wrap the towel around her shoulders, wishing I could wrap her in my arms. I settle for rubbing her shoulders instead.

We’re standing close. Too close. Her hands fist in the towel. Mine are still on her arms. It feels easy to forget why we ever stopped being this. Then she steps back.

“I’m getting even,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“I look forward to it.”

We laugh.

Wayne walks over and whistles. “Those throws, Wheeler.”

Ryan nods. “Yeah. Real good.”

Mo rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Real good, eleven.”

I glance toward the crowd. “I see Maddy’s loose. Does that mean you’re leaving soon?”

“The scooter doesn’t fit in the bakery, so no. She’s only loose to cause havoc in wide-open spaces. Speaking of Granny, I better go find her.”

She walks backward as she talks. “Watch your back, Jake Wheeler,” she says, waving her hooked pinky in the air.

A pinky promise.

I exhale, rubbing my face, trying to get my smile under control.

Wayne nudges me. “You’re such a smitten kitten, it’s embarrassing.”

Ryan nods. “He’s a goner.”

I don’t deny it.

Because under the dock lights and the late night noise, with her laugh still somewhere behind me, denial feels like the dumbest play I’ve ever tried to run.

CHAPTER 12

JAKE

“Come on, Hank. Let’s go get the guys.” He lifts his head off the rug with the look of a bulldog who had a plan for this morning, and none of it involved movement.

“Bandana?” I ask, because bulldogs always need to think they’re running us.

I hold out a few options. He takes his time. Sniffs each one. Sniffs them again. Then finally noses the blueberry. “Didn’t even know we owned that one.”

I didn’t buy most of these. Somewhere along the way, my bulldog curated an accessory collection, and I stopped questioning it.

I slide it over his head, clip on the harness, grab the leash, and we walk onto the dock. The screen door slams behind us.

I’ll never fix it.

That sound is my childhood.

Summer mornings. Mom hollering that we were letting the air out. Dad laughing, whatever we were doing was worth Mom hollering. Me running out the door because there was something waiting I didn’t want to miss.