Page 25 of The Knockout Rule

He rubbed at his chest. “Of course. Their skills are unbelievably impressive. But it’s the magic of it. The spectacle.”

“Like you’ve been transported to another world.”

He cocked his head, another slow smile forming. “Yeah, exactly. Did your dad take you to those shows as a kid?”

“He did, and I loved them.” Swinging Graham Slade had loved spending his money on anything and everything, but the memory made her think of her dad back then, big and strong and healthy, attacking each day, not caring if he spent every dime, because he lived in the moment. Even now with his diagnosis, he wasn’t worrying about the future. He was focused on the present, working, doing what he wanted to do now.

“Did I bring up a bad memory?”

Aware of her frown, Isla focused on Eric, the compassion on his face. He may not know what she was going through, but his tenderness was a balm. “Not bad, exactly. My father’s my favorite person in the world, but we’ve had our ups and downs, always related to his career. Going to shows and extravagant things like that brings back some of those tougher moments.” Her toughest moment was in the present, but it was all linked.

“Family’s like that,” he said gently. “They’re the most important people in my life, but they also contribute a lot of stress. Unconditional love is amazing and complicated.”

They stared at each other, mutual understanding drifting between them. He opened his mouth slightly, as though about to speak again. He didn’t, though. Just bit down on his bottom lip and smiled that slow smile of his, while Isla’s heart raced faster than it should.

8

Eric walked through the promenade, eyeing the busy shops, searching for inspiration, coming up short. He didn’t have much spending cash, but he wanted to bring his niece and nephew something cute from Vegas: a new stuffed animal for Eliza’s tea parties, a cool eraser for Asher’s colorful eraser collection. Rock music flowed from one restaurant. Mexican guitar strummed from the bustling balcony above—loud people eating tacos, drinking margaritas. A guy dressed as a gorilla hawked theater tickets up ahead.

Then something wet landed on his head and dropped to the ground—a fucking lime wedge.

“What do you call a lime that falls on your head?”

He whipped around, unsure if he’d imagined Isla’s voice. But no. There she was. Sitting on the edge of the promenade’s fountain, sunglasses on, bottle of water in her hand, smirking at him.

He wiped his head and waited for a family of five to pass, then he moved toward her. “I call it disgusting.”

“I call it a fruit punch.”

He snorted, then schooled his face. “If that was funny, I’d laugh.”

“If you had a sense of humor, you’d laugh.”

“See that gorilla with the blue sunglasses?” The fact that he could utter that sentence without a hint of irony said so much about this town.

She followed his gaze. “Yeah.”

“Why doesn’t he use Twitter?”

Head tilted, she tucked her wavy hair behind her ear. “Because he’s too sick with jungle fever?”

“He hates being followed,” he said, straight-faced.

Isla pulled her sunglasses down her nose. “First a Lady Gaga lover, now a crappy joke teller. You continue to surprise me.”

Bantering with Isla and enjoying her company still surprised him. “My joke was better than your joke.”

“Is this where I’m supposed to tell you my dad can beat up your dad?”

“Your dad would kick my dad’s ass, and I’d happily watch.” Eric held no affection for the man who’d left him and his mother, no support offered, no birthday cards sent or phone calls made. Assholes like that deserved an upper cut from Swinging Graham Slade, and Eric didn’t want to think about that waste of a human any longer than necessary. He nodded to the empty space beside Isla. “That seat taken?”

“It’s only free if you grace me with another of your awful jokes.”

An easy challenge. Asher was a fan of stupid jokes, and Eric loved cracking the little guy up. When Asher lost it, he belly laughed so hard, he cried. And sometimes farted. “What’s often on the ground that’s brown and sticky?”

“I asked for a cute joke, not toilet humor. Consider this seat occupied.” Sunglasses pushed back into place, she planted her hand in the vacant spot, stretched out her legs, and crossed her ankles. Sassy and cute.

He paused, letting her wait for it, then gave the punchline: what’s often on the ground that’s brown and sticky. “A stick.”