Page 98 of Just One More Thing

Folding chairs have already been arranged with the territorial aggression of retirees fully prepared to throw elbows for a good view and shade. Most of them are wearing bandanas with Hank’s face on them.

Cartoon Hank with his tongue hanging out and little bottom teeth poking through exactly like the real thing.

Kids and dogs wear them around their necks. A dachshund has one wrapped around its middle. Willard is wearing one around his straw hat while Chip balances near his shoe, collecting peanuts as if it’s one of today’s competitive sports.

The Hank bandanas mark Stay the Day participants. The people too young, too old or unable to compete are still part of the day. Bethany told me Jake started it after a little girl burst into tears the first year because she was too young to enter anything.

So he created an event for spectators.

Which somehow feels exactly like him.

Not wanting anybody left out.

Mrs. Kravitz is set up on the sidelines with a folding chair, notebook, thermos and... a judge’s scoring paddle.

No one gave her a scoring paddle.

Miss Hattie stands beside The Salty Dog cart shouting about mustard distribution strategy. “The mustard should suggest itself, not assault the wiener!” One man immediately adjusts his squeeze technique.

I’m holding a waiver that feels legally binding in at least seven states and a folded event schedule when Ryan appears beside me and hands me a lemonade.

“Kids set up a stand by the dock,” he says.

I take a sip and wowza. It’s got some serious pucker power.

“Little heavy on the lemons, huh.”

“My jaw just filed a formal complaint.”

He laughs quietly. Ryan somehow always looks completely at ease no matter where he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him rattled. Or maybe Wayne is just such a… Wayne that everyone near him automatically looks calmer by comparison.

Somewhere behind us, Wayne yells something about bananas, as if right on cue. “He’s been awake since five,” Ryan says.

“Why?”

“We don’t know.”

“I was strategizing!” Wayne shouts from somewhere near the registration tent.

“He has hella good hearing,” I say under my breath.

“When he wants to,” Ryan says.

“Mo.”

I turn, smiling and hope it’s not as big, goofy and giddy as my insides feel.

Jake’s walking toward me in a black bulldog skull and crossbones tee like he’s about to captain a pirate ship for charity. Hat backwards. Dark aviators on. Hank trotting next to him, soaking in his celebrity status.

“Good morning,” he says softly, sliding an arm around my waist and pressing a kiss to my lips. The butterflies in my stomach take flight.

This feels so natural now. Him kissing me. His hand finding mine automatically like it belongs there.

And maybe it does.

Wayne appears beside us and points with both hands. “THERE IT IS. Ryan, are you seeing this? Are you seeing the waist thing?”

“I’m standing right here,” Ryan says.