Page 81 of Just One More Thing

“Me too.”

She slips back into the crowd just as Jake returns, arms full.

“One Cherry Coke,” he says, handing it over. “Walt personally added the extra cherries.”

I take a long sip. Ahhh. Heaven. I raise the cup toward Walt as a silent thank you. He gives me a two-finger salute.

“Buttered popcorn,” Jake says, setting the tub down. “And doughnut holes. I got there before Frank finished them, but it was close.”

“You’re my hero.”

As he sits beside me, Hank waddles over to inspect everything. Jake produces a cookie with the practiced ease of a man who carries dog treats like other people carry wallets. “Here you go, bud.”

The string lights flicker twice. People scramble to chairs and blankets. The Green goes quiet, and Sandy and Danny appear onscreen. I get goosebumps.

Within thirty seconds, Granny is reciting the lines.

Not quietly.

Not correctly.

And with interpretive gestures.

Jake slides in behind me, and I lean back against him without thinking. His arms come around me naturally, like we’ve done this a hundred times. He presses a kiss into my hair. It feels... right.

At the end ofSummer Nights, he leans close.

“I don’t want this to just be another summer.”

I wrap my fingers tighter around his. He lifts our hands and presses his lips to my knuckles.

I hum along toSandra Dee,probably not as quietly as I think. Jake is humming too. I feel it against my back more than I hear it. He would swear under oath he does not know the lyrics.

Hank has been snoring for at least twenty minutes. Three blankets over, Mr. Humphrey is asleep with his mouth open. Two blankets ahead, a couple is arguing about whetherGrease 2is a feminist movie. Thelma Robinson is commenting on the size of Danny’s package duringGreased Lightnin’.

Granny is still reciting lines incorrectly, but now loudly correcting herself.

At some point, the breeze picks up and I steal Jake’s hoodie without asking. He reaches down and fixes the hood where it’s turned inside out.

“You look good in my hoodie,” he says quietly near my ear.

I look good in your jersey too. Have for years.

I don’t say it. But I’m smiling as I think it.

I glance toward Willard’s bench. Walt is just walking away from it, coffee cup in hand. A quiet visit. A quiet exchange.

What are those two running?

On screen, it’s the carnival. They’re all making promises about staying together forever.

I hook my pinky with Jake’s.

No words. Just the old promise made new.

Just as the car lifts off into the sky, French Fry drops out of ours like an avian assassin and pecks Hank directly on the butt.

Hank launches without warning.