Chapter 18 #3
Sadie ran and jumped into Noa’s arms. Maddy was still gawking at Aspen across the sand. And the Sharks took the first event of the Cup.
* * *
Cornhole was two rounds, with partners rotating so everyone got a chance to play, and Aspen had subtly engineered the Sharks’ pairings so that Maddy and Noa could get some one-on-one bonding time.
Now she got to stand back with a beer and watch it work.
And it was working. Maddy and Noa were at the board, beers sweating in their free hands, talking trash, while Noa’s sisters criticized each other’s technique across from them.
“That was not a foul,” Noa was saying. “And we’re on the same team, why are you calling me out like that?”
“Because I don’t need to cheat to win.” Maddy gestured at their feet, not backing down. “And it absolutely was a foul, your foot was over the line, I saw it—”
Noa pointed her beer toward Maddy. “You saw it because you’ve got a guilty conscience and you’re projecting—”
Aspen took a pull of her beer to cover the grin. They were bickering just like they used to fifteen years ago on the debate bus and over pizza after the tournament.
“Oh, I’ve got the guilty conscience—” Maddy scoffed.
“You said it, not me.” But Noa was grinning when she said it, and Maddy was grinning back, and Aspen, watching from ten feet away, knew that they were going to be fine.
It helped that they were both unfairly good at cornhole. They sank bag after bag, narrating each other’s almost misses with the cheerful viciousness of true friends, and they took the round easily. Maddy pumped a fist. Noa bowed to Sadie’s applause.
Aspen drained the last of her beer and headed for the board to take her spot for the next round, and as she passed Maddy, she let their shoulders brush and leaned in just enough to murmur, “Not bad, Sterling.”
It was the same line she’d said to her at game night two and a half weeks ago, when she thought she’d blown it.
Maddy didn’t turn her head. But the corner of her mouth went up, and Aspen took that as a win.
Round two was Aspen and Maisie against Lena and Grace, and Aspen was a little smug about her own form.
She was sinking everything. Bag after bag slid up the board and through the hole, and she made sure to find Maddy on the sidelines every single time and flash her a look that said see how good I am with my hands.
Maisie was not sinking anything.
She’d crushed the water balloon toss, but cornhole was a different beast, and bag after bag came up short, thumping into the sand a foot in front of the board.
And Aspen watched her niece’s whole body start to deflate.
Her chin dropped, shoulders came in, she started kicking at the sand between throws, not looking at anyone.
This was the one thing she’d been worried about when Bunny had announced the teams: Maisie, on a team with Maddy.
She loved Maisie. She was halfway to loving Maddy in the enormous, terrifying, all-caps way.
But she had watched Maddy run a beach setup like a drill sergeant, watched her false-start a foot race the second a competition was on the table, watched fifteen years of killer instinct come roaring back at the first whiff of a scoreboard.
And Maisie was eight and brand-new to losing, and Aspen was overly protective where Maisie was concerned.
So when Maddy set her beer down and crossed to Maisie, Aspen braced herself, ready to step in.
Maddy crouched down to Maisie’s height and whispered into Maisie’s ear. Aspen couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was, it worked—Maisie’s head came up, and her face cleared, and then it cracked wide open into a grin, and she nodded hard.
Then Maddy turned her gently by the shoulders, squared her up to the board, and adjusted her throwing arm—lifting her elbow, tilting her wrist, murmuring something, miming the toss slow and easy.
Maddy was coaching her. And then she turned to look at Maisie with a reassuring smile. “Okay, are you ready?”
Maisie nodded confidently.
“Who owns these waters?” Maddy asked, low enough that it was clearly only meant for Maisie.
“The Sharks.” Maisie said at a normal volume.
“I said WHO OWNS THESE WATERS?” Maddy called out louder.
“THE SHARKS!” Maisie, Aspen, and Noa all yelled back at full volume.
“Damn right!” Then Maddy stepped back and went absolutely feral with encouragement. “Okay! You’ve got this, Maisie! Eyes on the hole! Nice and easy!” She clapped. “Let’s go!”
Maisie threw. The bag arced up, came down, and landed on the board. Not in the hole. But on it, a solid thunk of board instead of sand, the first one she’d made all round.
And Maddy lost her mind.
“YESSS! THAT’S IT! Did you SEE that? On the BOARD! That’s my girl!” She was jumping. Maddy Sterling, producer of a reality competition show, jumping up and down in the sand and pumping both fists like Maisie had just sunk a championship-winning shot. Maisie lit up and mirrored Maddy’s celebration.
And Aspen stood there watching them, beanbag forgotten in her hand, and felt her heart slide out of her body and into a puddle at her feet.
She was falling hard for Maddy Sterling, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.