My dad lets his hand fall, and his eyes focus on my waist for a long while, his expression something foreign. He begins to nod again as his eyes make their way to mine, and he steps in closer, pulling a small box from his front pocket. I glance to my mom, whose lips are still in a tight smile, and then back to my dad. His fingers tremble while he works open the small, beaten-up box, and he pulls out a thin, silver chain with a star on the end made out of stone.
“I’m not real good with jewelry and stuff, but your mom said I picked all right,” he says, unhinging the clasp and nodding for me to lift my hair and turn. I do as he says, and he loops the necklace around my neck, the weight of the star comforting against my collarbone. I hold it between my fingers as I spin back into him.
“Daddy,” I say, my head falling to the side, and my eyes matching his. I understand that look now, and it’s the kind that can only be explained by the special bond between a girl and her father.
My dad clears his throat, and takes a step back, his eyes falling to his feet and his hands going to his pockets. I pinch my brow, but quickly realize what he’s reacting to. I turn to see Nico, his hair wet and combed back, and his equipment bag stuffed with pads and clothes at his side. He’s wearing a dark-gray button-down, a black tie, and black slacks. His shoes are shiny, like a patent leather, and in his other hand is a plastic box with a deep-blue flower and ribbon. He follows my gaze to his hand and lifts it up.
“Oh, I…I brought a corsage. It’s a little wilted…I left it in my locker during the game,” he says, his eyes meeting mine in brief snapshots, his lips caught in a forever kind of smirk that is pushing his dimples deep into his cheeks.
“Here,” my dad says, reaching for Nico’s bag. “I’ll take your things home. You can get them when you drop Reagan off tonight.”
“Oh, thanks,” Nico says, handing his bag to my father. They don’t make eye contact, and the awkward exchange is somewhat amusing.
“Yeah, well, I’m holding your things hostage until I get her, and if you’re a minute late…” My dad lets his words trail off as he pushes his tongue into his cheek. Nico blinks a few times, then chuckles.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
“I’m not kidding,” my dad says.
“Oh, I know,” Nico responds.
He takes my hand in his, and his eyes flit to mine, words perched on his lips. He doesn’t speak, but I can tell he wants to, and the look on his face makes me blush. He holds the cluster of flowers to the top of my wrist, turning my hand and tying the ribbon on the underside, just above my palm. The soft material dusts along my skin, and tickles, but I leave it as he tied it, grateful for the reminder that it’s there. Blue flowers have fast become my favorites.
“Well, Nico,” my mom says, shooting my father a glance that warns him. He raises his brows and takes a step back so my mom can move in closer. “It is such a pleasure to meet you.”
My stomach is pattering heavily with butterflies, and I wait for something to go wrong as my mom takes Nico’s hand. I’ve run through the dozens of embarrassing things she could say, based on the questions she asked about him, including what country he was from.
“This one,” was what I told her. She responded with a surprised “oh,” and that was the last question she asked.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Prescott. Thank you for coming to our game,” Nico says.
My mom’s head tilts to one side, and she keeps his hand in hers. Her gaze comes to me, and I smile tightly, widening my eyes, mentally begging her to let go of his hand. She finally does, but looks back to him.
“I don’t miss a single game, Nico. Haven’t in years,” she says. “I have to say, you’ve given our family a reason to be hopeful this season.”
“Noah’s shoes are hard to fill,” Nico says. Without my coaching, he says the absolute best thing he could ever have said to my mom, and I can tell he’s won her for good by the look in her eyes.
“Well, yes…but you bring some pretty nice shoes of your own out there. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone run the hard count out on that field,” she says, and I chuckle lightly to myself when I see Nico’s head tilt in surprise. “Honey, I’ve taken in a lot of football games in my lifetime. Pretty sure there isn’t a single thing you can do out on that field that I won’t recognize.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, laughing lightly.
“Lauren is fine. Ma’am…that’s too old, and my hair color is too good for you to think I’m old,” she says, giggling.
My eyes flash wide and meet my brother’s, who has walked up to join my dad. My mom is falling into flirty behavior now, so I step in before it becomes embarrassing.
“Mom, can you take our picture? I promised his mom we would send her one,” I say, handing my mom my phone and Nico’s. She smiles and nods, obliging and taking several photos of both of us, and then some of me with my dad and brother. Noah is wearing his best gray suit, the pant leg pulled down taut over his cast. It takes me a few minutes and photos to realize that Katie hasn’t shown up to take pictures with us, and before I can ask, my mom does the honors.
“Is she meeting you here?”