I’d stepped off the porch when Celine called my name.
I turned, finding her framed in the porch light. She was undeniably beautiful. In a scary way, actually. But my brain didn’t have the capability of registering fear as I drank her in.
She wore a twirly dress that hit at her knees. Very different from the usual uniform of leggings and Crocs.
She looked girlish and pretty. Like someone I’d like to take on a date.
Somewhere nice with candles and fancy food. I’d treat her. Pull out all the stops. Based on our interactions so far, I got the sense no one had ever taken care of her before.
“Thank you,” she said, “for looking out for us. And for playing chess.”
“No problem.” It wasn’t. I’d had fun. They were good kids, and spending time with them was easy. They asked a lot of questions, but most were harmless and lots were funny,and the chatter was surprisingly comforting after a long, quiet day.
She stood in the doorway, her face in shadow, scrutinizing me.
“You look nice,” I said awkwardly.
She looked down at her pink dress. “Thanks. It’s nice to remember I own clothing besides leggings.”
“And Crocs,” I added.
Her eyes flashed. “Do not criticize the Crocs.”
I held my hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t dare. Plastic shoes are the height of fashion.”
She glared at me. “Your ignorance is showing. Crocs are God’s gift to moms. They’re easy to put on. Kids step into them. Washable and waterproof. Kids are filthy. You can hose them down.”
I crossed my arms, amused at her rant.
“And the shape makes it so sizing doesn’t really matter. A little big or small makes no difference. Ellie wears mine, Julian gets whatever color he’s currently hyperfixated on, and everyone is happy.”
“Sounds great.”
Her eyes flashed. I liked this side of her, playful and confident. “So if you come for Crocs, you’re coming for moms. And I will not stand for that disrespect.”
She put her hands on her hips.
Suddenly I had the strange urge to kiss that smirk right off her face.
“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t judge me because I’ve ascended to a higher plane of functional living.”
I nodded. “Understood. I will never malign your footwear choices again.” I gave her a curt wave andturned to walk home. To process this weird, fun evening and all the strange feelings it was inspiring within me.
“Actually.” Her voice was soft. “Josh.”
I turned back. “You okay Matchstick?”
She looked hesitant, and she tensed further when I used the nickname. But I couldn’t help it. She had this energy about her. A riot of emotions always brewing below the surface. Sparks igniting, ready to set her off.
“Since you asked,” she said, lowering her focus to her feet. “Tonight I got, um, persuaded to help with the Harvest Festival.”
I crossed my arms. “Who got to you?”
“Callie.” Her shoulders drooped.
It was surprising, really, that it had taken this long for Callie to broach the subject with her.
“Yeah, she’s hard to avoid. Just be grateful you’ve got the younger generation of townsfolk on your case. It could be the mafia, and they don’t make requests.”