Page 44 of Catching Sparkles

As I slowly chewed my cupcake, I felt a bit more relaxed as the cool breeze whipped around me. He was way too distracted to realize I was watching him, so I didn’t have to worry about that.

“Hi, Kendall.” The voice of a little kid cut through my serene thoughts.

“Hi, Ava,” I answered, crouching down so I could be at eye level with her. She was chewing on her fingernail, like she was nervous about something. “I love that top.”

“Thanks!” She said, instantly preening and smoothing down the patterned front. “My mom let me get it when we went to Old Navy at the mall.”

“Very chic.”

“My mom also said that she was going to let me get a cake from you just like Peyton had for her birthday.”

“Oh boy,” I answered, popping my eyebrows up. “I can’t wait. When’s your birthday?”

“February 12th,” she said, twirling a lock of her dark, curly hair around her finger.

“I’ll mark it down on my calendar,” I promised. “You want a princess cake, too?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, pursing out her lips. “Maybe. I might think of something better.”

I had a feeling Ava and Peyton might have been whatever the tiny version of frenemies were, and she might have been feeling a tad competitive over who would have the best birthday party.

“You have plenty of time. Whatever you decide, I’ll make it work.”

“And you’ll hang out with me, too?” She asked, blinking her lashes at me. “And we can paint our nails and play games and stuff?”

Resisting the urge to laugh, I nodded soberly. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks!” She said, looking happy and satisfied for a moment, before the shadow of nerves I’d observed before we’d started talking made their way back.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, and she shuffled her feet a bit before giving me an exaggerated shrug.

“I guess so.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well…” She trailed off a bit, before glancing over at the field to our side. “I wanted to play football. But I don’t think they’ll let me play.”

“How come?”

“They probably don’t want a girl ruining their game,” she said, the bitterness in her tone suggesting she’d run into this issue before. Eight years old and already experiencing feminine rage.

“Hmm.” I scooted over a bit so I could put an arm around her shoulders and direct her to face them. “You see that guy? The one in the shorts?”

“Yeah?”

“I bet you a million dollars if you go up to him and tell him you want to play, he’ll let you.”

She looked over to me with such a doubtful expression that I had to suppress a laugh.

“That guy?”

“His name is Rhys,” I explained, pressing my lips together to hold it in. “He’s a lot nicer than he looks.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” I said, and watched as she timidly made her way over to him. When he finally noticed her, holding up a hand to stop the boys so he could talk to her, he leaned down a bit like he had to get closer to hear her.

When she pointed back in my direction, his gaze flicked up to me and our eyes met and held for so long that my heart started pounding. I couldn’t read his expression from so far away, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, anyway. He finally looked back down to her and they talked some more, before he handed her a ball, nudging her into the right position for some kind of throw.