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“Is that a question?”
He shook his head, chewing, and motioned toward Gemma with a ketchup-covered thumb.
I smiled, watching as she bent down, trying to put her mom’s heel back on. “Yeah, things are good.”
Swallowing, Frank wiped off his hands. “I like her for you.”
I turned away from the mother and daughter pair, now laughing about something. “You trying to make us into some kind of Brady Bunch?”
“No, I’m serious.”
And that was exactly what scared me.
Only a few weeks ago, Frank had spouted off about Gemma being fun and how I needed more fun in my life, but it wasn’t that simple. In less than twenty-four hours, Frank would marry Caroline. I wasn’t related to Frank biologically, but we were family, nevertheless, meaning Caroline would also become family, and I couldn’t take this blossoming thing between Gemma and me lightly. The repercussions of it going wrong would ripple, not only for the two of us, but also for Frank and Caroline.
If I was going to do this, I had to go all in. Or not at all.
Gemma reappeared next to me, her eyes bright with joy, Caroline’s hand in hers. “I think the clock has struck midnight for this Cinderella.”
Caroline’s smile drooped to the side. “Gemmie told me about a potato remedy for dark circles. Do we have potatoes at home?”
Frank tossed his balled-up napkin down onto his plate. “I think so. If not, I’ll stop at the store.”
“You’re too good to me,” she said, having trouble with her cardigan, and Gemma held one sleeve out to help. Once she was put back to rights, Caroline kissed my cheek. “You take care of my girl for me, okay?”
“Yes,” I said instantly and wholeheartedly.
Then Caroline towed Gemma in and rubbed their noses together. “Don’t stay up too late. I don’t want you to have dark circles either.” She patted her daughter’s cheek. “Potatoes, who would’ve thought?”
Frank led Caroline out of the restaurant, and I held up the gaming card to Gemma. “You feel like seeing what Ms. Pac-Man is up to?”
She shot me two finger guns. “Winner with the most tickets gets to pick out the prizes?”
“What?” I huffed out a laugh. “You going to force a stuffed animal on me?”
She spun away from me, her braid swishing with the movement. “We’ll see.”
If I won, my prize would have nothing to do with light-up toys and everything to do with wrapping her hair around my hand and feeling those pliable lips on mine again. I caught up to her, bending down to her ear, almost missing her tiny shiver when I said, “We will see.”
We played some classic arcade games, a few rounds of Skee-Ball, and one intense motorcycle race. There was some name-calling, a couple arguments, and a lot of not-quite-accidental touches to her shoulders and back.
“I do believe it has come time to pay up,” I said, leading the way to the prize corner, plastic baubles and knickknacks in neat rows.
Gemma grabbed a small Styrofoam football and tossed it in the air as I held up a shot glass.
“No, no shot glasses.”
“That’s not the game, Gemmie. I won, I get to pick out your stupid prize.”
She put the football back and picked up a slap bracelet. “Well, contrary to what you think about me, I don’t do shots.”
“What I think about you?” I frowned. “What doIthink about you?”
She flicked her wrist, curling the bracelet around her other arm with a crack. “That I’m completely irresponsible.”
“Gem, I don’t think that at all.” I set the shot glasses down and walked back to her, unfurling the neon-colored bracelet from her arm and slapping it on my own wrist above my watch. “You have multiple jobs, two of which are teaching—that’s pretty much the height of responsibility.”
“They’re not full time, though. No benefits, no insurance.” She held up my arm, examining the two adornments on my wrist. One simple and brown and worth a lot more than the plastic bracelet covered in swirls of pink and green and purple glitter, although at the moment, I wasn’t sure which one I liked better.
