"You've brought enough food to feed an army."
"I've met this town."
"Fair."
For one ridiculous second it feels exactly like yesterday in Peterson's Market.
Ordinary, comfortable, easy.
That realization makes me instantly suspicious. Nothing about this arrangement is supposed to feel easy.
Before I can remind myself of that, the event coordinator appears.
"Colby! Thank goodness."
He turns.
"Need something?"
"We've got a little situation."
The coordinator points toward the beginner skating area.
A young girl stands near the entrance.
Maybe six years old.
Tiny.
Pink helmet.
Streaming tears.
Her parents look exhausted.
The coordinator sighs.
"She's terrified."
Colby looks over.
"So?"
"So, she recognizes you."
He blinks.
"And?"
The coordinator stares.
I stare.
Everyone stares.
Apparently professional athletes are not supposed to be this oblivious.
"Could you maybe talk to her?"
