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20
ZAC
“Fancy meeting you here,” Ms. Hattie said as she and Thatcher walked up to our table outside the ice cream shop, holding hands. “Ice cream trip on a school night, Grayson? Aren’t you a lucky little boy?”
Grayson grinned at Layla and me, then turned his wide smile on Ms. Hattie. “It’s a family ice cream social. Some of the kids at school got to have a special ice cream social for perfect attendance today, but I missed two days so I couldn’t go. So Daddy said we’d have our own social.”
Ms. Hattie tilted her head at me, and I shrugged. The kid hadn’t earned perfect attendance thanks to a cold that I probably brought on with my sarcastic comments to Pam a couple months ago. I couldn’t let him miss out on ice cream for such a dumb reason, so here we were.
“Well, that’s because you have a very good daddy,” Ms. Hattie said.
“I don’t understand the perfect attendance award,” Thatcher grumbled. “Why does it matter?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” I replied, holding out a hand and letting it fall with a thud on the table.
“I think it started as a way to encourage kids to want to go to school,” Layla said with a shake of her pretty brown curls, “but studies have shown that it does nothing to improve engagement and even has negative impacts on some kids. Especially those with chronic illness.”
“Well, I’m proud of you two for making Grayson feel special. Because you are, right, Grayson?” Ms. Hattie asked, petting his hair.
“Yep.” He chomped down on a massive bite of ice cream and then winced from the cold, making us all chuckle at his pained expression.
Then Ms. Hattie turned her smile on Layla, and I had the distinct feeling she was up to something. “Layla, dear, can you come inside with me? I wanted to talk to you about another wedding portrait. A friend of mine wants to commission one of your paintings for her daughter’s wedding.”
“Sure, wow. Okay.” Layla stood, then paused and looked down at Gray. “Do you want some water while I’m in there?”
“Yeah,” he replied, then added a belated, “please and thank you.”
I grinned at Layla’s puppy-dog eyes, shaking my head as she and Ms. Hattie went into the shop.
“It’s true,” Thatcher said, taking a seat next to me at the small wicker table. “She really is going to talk to her about the wedding portrait. But she’s probably also going to ask her how things are going with you two.”
Eyeing Gray to make sure he was still focused on his ice cream, I chuckled at Thatcher. “Yeah, I figured as much.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you the same thing. She told me to, though.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. She came outside to close up the shop and saw you three sitting here. Next thing I knew, we were grabbing our stuff and heading out for ice cream. I’m just here for the mint chocolate chip.”
I looked toward the windows, spotting Ms. Hattie and Layla with their heads bent together. “Well, I’m just glad she’s rooting for us and not against us. I wouldn’t want to be on her bad side.”
“Yeah, she’s a force, that one. You ever hear anyone say we’re all destined to marry our mothers? It turned out to be true for me. She’s so much like my mom that sometimes it actually makes my head spin.”
I thought about it for a second, looking for similarities between Layla and my own mother. They were both incredibly kind, giving, and sociable. They both loved those silly reality dating shows, and they weren’t afraid to speak their minds—even when it meant having a hard conversation.
“I can see it,” I said, leaning back in my chair and keeping my voice low. “Layla’s a lot like my mom. In a good way, obviously.”
“Of course. I meant it in a good way, too. Nothing more than a funny observation.”
Grayson stared out at the street in front of us, looking lost in thought, so I took a chance and leaned closer to Thatcher. “So, you’ve been married to Ms. Hattie for, what, thirty years or something?”
He nodded once. “Or something.”
“What’s the secret?”
“The secret? Oh, man. I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
Chuckling at his classic line, I shook my head. “Fine, fine. I’ll figure it out.”
