Reese clutches his chest. “Real sport? You mean the one where you glide around in circles chasing a puck the size of a cookie?”
Ella giggles with the straw still in her mouth. “Cookies are yummy.”
“Exactly,” Reese says, pointing at her. “You can’t eat the equipment, otherwise there is no game. A football only looks like a football. Therefore, football wins.”
Chris rolls his eyes and takes the yellow crayon Ella offers him. “Don’t listen to him, Ella. Hockey is the best sport in the whole world. It’s cooler than football.”
“But Uncle Zach plays football,” Ella pipes up, looking between them. “He says hockey’s for home wreckers.”
I grab a napkin and cover my mouth, fighting to not spit out my coffee as I laugh. It’s true. Zach says it often—about Chris, because he’s under the impression he’s the one keeping him and Honey apart, but I hadn’t realized he’d ever said it in front of Ella.
The table goes quiet. Chris draws with his crayon, not making eye-contact with any of us.
Reese coughs into his fist, trying not to laugh. “Does he now?” Then he throws me a smirk. Like me, he has to hear about this more than he’d like to admit.
Ella beams, nodding, clearly proud of herself.
“Well, that settles it. Straight from the source. Football is the best.”
Chris lifts his head slowly, looking at me flatly. “You know, I think your cousin needs to get his memory checked. Last I remember, Honey broke it off because she made friends with his stalker.”
“You did too,” Reese mutters beside him.
I shake my head, biting my lip to hold back another laugh. “Don’t take it personally. Zach blames the weather, the cafeteria food, and once even the post office for his and Honey’s relationship status. You just so happen to be his favorite scapegoat since Jenni transferred out.”
Chris goes back to coloring, the yellow crayon scratching across the page as he mutters under his breath.
Ella leans over to inspect his work. “You’re pressing too hard. You’ll break it.”
Reese snorts. “Story of his life.”
Chris flicks the broken crayon tip at him, earning another round of giggles from Ella.
“First I ruin relationships, now I ruin coloring time. Elite stats.”
Reese shakes his head, then reaches over the table, grabbing his own coloring sheet and sets it in front of him.
“Alright,” he says. “Miss Ella, can you teach me the proper way to color a unicorn?” He waves the blue crayon dramatically like it’s a sword. “Do I start with the horn, or is that too advanced?”
Ella gasps. “No. Rainbows first. Always rainbow.”
“Rainbow first,” Reese repeats solemnly, bowing his head as he dutifully starts to color in the book. His broad shoulders are hunched over the tiny page as he sticks his tongue out.
“Since I broke this one, can I have a new crayon?” Chris asks Ella.
“Okay, but you have to use this one.” She rolls the white crayon in his direction focusing more on the paper in front of her.
“Great,” Chris mutters before accepting his fate and the crayon.
I wrap my hands around my coffee cup, the warmth seeping through to my fingers as I watch the two of them bent over crayons and coloring sheets, vying for my daughter’s approval.
Reese glances up, catching me watching. His smile softens, and he drops the blue crayon before drawing his attention to me.
“So, Tiff—” He clears his throat. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to—”
The bell above the door jingles, cutting him off, and Honey breezes in with flushed cheeks—maybe from the cold, or maybe from another fight with her father. Who knows at this point. Both feel inevitable this time of year.
She slides into the booth next to me, and Chris immediately looks up, giving her a bright smile.