Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Which do you need it to be?” Shelby, my old neighbor, had the tone of a born salesperson. I hadn’t seen her in a while, and she was taller with longer hair. “Hey, Magnus! How are the dogs?”
“Full of way too many treats and too little winter exercise, but happy as ever.” Continuing to eye the medic duck, I studied the game itself, which involved plastic cups and Ping-Pong balls.
“Get my friend here some balls.” Eyes sparkling with mischief, Sean plunked down a stack of tickets before nudging me. “Let’s see if you can do it in fewer tries than me. It’s harder than it looks.”
Win one for me. A distant memory made the base of my neck tingle. My brain flashed to that old necklace of Flo’s. I’d been a different person back then. Like Eric had said, we likely wouldn’t have worked out if we’d met as our younger selves. And he was right, but I also knew a deeper yearning for how simple love and relationships had seemed back then.
I glanced over at Sean, who was looking at me expectantly as Shelby produced a cup of Ping-Pong balls for me to try my luck with. Sean was roughly my age with grown kids of his own, yet here he was, excited to win his boyfriend a duck. Perhaps those free and easy feelings weren’t a product of youth but rather a choice. I kept counseling everyone else to have hope and refusing to take the advice myself.
“Looks easy to me,” I shot back at Sean, flexing my fingers. My parents had spent a couple of notable summers following some carnie friends all over the West Coast, and I had no doubt I could beat the game.
However, I played to my audience, deliberately missing the angle on the first throw to get some groans and good-natured ribbing from Caleb and Sean. As I let the next ball fly, I exhaled, letting it take part of my past with it. It was time to let go and fully embrace the present. Caleb was right. I’d earned this.
“You did it.” Three throws later, Shelby presented me with the duck. “Eric’s going to love it.”
Clearly, the entire town knew our business, exactly as John had predicted, but I found it sweet, not stifling. People were rooting for us. I needed to not let them down.
“You made that look too easy.” Caleb hadn’t stopped grinning.
“Could I interest you in a friendly discussion about the upcoming softball season?” Sean cast his gaze on my hand holding the duck as if he were sizing me up for a baseball mitt.
“Don’t buy his pitch.” Jonas walked up, drawing a chorus of groans at the pun.
“How is it you have the worst dad jokes of the whole group?” Caleb shook his head.
“Practice,” Declan said from his place next to Jonas, earning another round of laughter.
“Hey, Jonas! If you feel lucky, there’s a motorcycle duck.” Shelby clearly sensed another sale in the making.
“All the cool kids are doing it.” Sean and I both held up our ducks.
“Fine.” Jonas stepped forward to take a turn at the game. As I watched him throw, Eric came striding over.
“There you are.” He smiled broadly as if he truly missed my presence. “Did my friends kidnap you?”
“I went willingly.” I smiled back, feeling freer than I had in weeks. “Won you a duck.”
“I love it,” Eric said as I placed the duck in his hand. He admired the duck’s little painted-on outfit by running a thumb over the stethoscope. “Thank you.”
“I won a cake for Maren and Diesel.” Wren walked over, holding up a small pink cake.
“Was it a hard game?” I asked as Eric accepted the cake, letting the duck ride on top of the plastic wrap around the plate.
“It was a cakewalk.” Wren delivered the joke perfectly to much laughter from the whole group. I glanced around at all the smiling faces, feeling more included than I had in prior years in Mount Hope. I flashed back to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the baby shower. I was one of them now, and maybe, just maybe, things were indeed meant to work out.
“Dad. You forgot the football sticker you won.” John jogged up with a small, shiny sticker for Eric. He offered me a nod. “Hey, Magnus. Glad you came.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to take a throw for the team?” He gestured back at the football booth where the long line had died down.
“He just won a duck on his second try,” Sean volunteered, giving me a gentle shove forward. “Only missed one ball. Dude has an arm.”
“An arm, you say?” Tony left the football booth to join Sean in leading me forward. He wore a red sweatshirt with the word Coach, and from his determined strides, I could see why the kids all listened to him. He had me set up with three small foam footballs in short order. The targets were hearts of varied sizes and heights, the sort of game designed to look easy while posing a challenge in the deceptive angle of the targets.