Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(49)

“Only you could get away with inviting us all to an event then leaving us,” Lola says. “It’s like you don’t want me and Halle to be friends.”

“I don’t. Halle is the nicest person I know, and you are the most terrifying. I don’t want to mix those two personalities.”

Lola bursts out laughing, but when I look at Halle she appears shocked. “You can’t say that,” she mouths, but I know Lola well enough to know what I can and can’t say. She likes it, which I don’t understand, but I try not to ask too many questions.

After some negotiations, we—well, Halle—agree to meet up later after spending some time doing our own thing. The others mostly want to go to the beach anyway, whereas I’ve promised Halle to help her win a prize.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” she says as I slip my hand into hers and we walk along the pier.

She looks down at our joined hands then up at me. “I love how committed to the date experience you are.”

It takes me a second to realize what she means. I truly don’t remember the moment I decided to reach for her hand. “I forgot this was supposed to be an experience. I just like it. We don’t have to…”

She holds my hand tighter as I start to unweave my fingers from hers. “No, I like it, too.”

“Good. Games or funnel cake first?” I ask as we approach the entrance to Pacific Park, the amusement park element of the pier. She considers my offer, eyes bouncing between the various counters then back to me.

“Games, then tacos, then funnel cake, maybe? I feel like it’s only fair to tell you how bad I am at anything that requires hand-eye coordination.”

“This is a great opportunity for me to tell you I’m great at everything.”

“Again. Tell me that you’re great at everything, again. Your humility is my favorite thing about you, by the way. I’ve literally never won a teddy at these things—not even the shit tiny ones.”

I wrap my arm across her shoulders and tug her closer to my body, kissing the top of her head as we walk toward the first game. “I’ll help you win the biggest one.”



* * *



WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, my parents taught me that it’s more valuable to be the person who helps someone achieve their goals than to be the person who achieves it for them.

I’ve always understood that mindset, and my moms reminded me of it often to help me fight my natural instinct to just do things myself because it was quicker and easier. However, as I watch Halle fail for the fifth time, it’s getting harder and harder to remember that I should be helping her achieve her goal of winning, and not winning for her.

“I see you weren’t exaggerating,” I say carefully.

Halle looks at me over her shoulder, scowling, before she proceeds to launch the ball at the target again. When the ball goes through the center of the two clown faces she’s supposed to be knocking down, she curses loudly. This is the fourth game where we’ve had this very specific problem: Halle’s athleticism.

“These games are rigged, y’know,” she mumbles, stomping in my direction and resting her forehead against the center of my chest. “Not even you can beat a rigged system.”

“I don’t think your ball is getting close enough to anything to claim you’re being conned. Do you want me to have a go?”

I cup the sides of her neck with my hands and she looks up at me. “I don’t want to give them any more money. They’re scamming us. Let’s go get scammed by someone else.”

When I let go of her neck, her hand slides into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I think back to what Anastasia said about never holding her hand. She’s right, but I think the main difference between Halle and Anastasia is that I’ve never been attracted to Anastasia. And now I know Halle likes it, too.

We stop in front of a ring toss game and I can immediately tell that this isn’t going to go well. I can’t watch this. “Let me help,” I say as I place myself behind her. “You need to throw it like this.”

I rearrange her positioning until she’s at least close to having a chance. “I really want that massive duck.”

I blink hard because I definitely thought she said something else.

On the wall is a stuffed duck the size of an average child and I can’t escape the thought of it sitting in the corner of Halle’s room while we sleep at night. Thankfully, Halle isn’t good at this game, either. When her turn is over, she looks disappointed. More than when she was bad at any of the other games. Why do I care so much?

“Can we go again, please?” I ask the guy.

“But I’m so bad,” Halle groans.

“You’re fucking terrible. You’re in carnival time-out—stand to the side.”

It isn’t even hard, and the more rings that land on the bottles, the more excited she gets, which results in her cheering me on.

“Please stop shouting.”

“Sorry, sorry. Go, Henry,” she whispers. “You can do it.”

She’s right and I do, leading me to say something I never thought I’d ever have to say. “We’ll have the massive duck, please.”

“My hero.” She accepts the duck and can only just fit her arm around it. “I’m going to call him Henry.”