Page 66 of One Night with Number Nineteen

But it’s probably for the best considering where we’re at and who we’re with.

Nancy laughs and smiles over at Ollie. “My Sawyer used to be the same way.” Her eyes tell me she’s suddenly far away. “I used to make these cinnamon chip cookies. They were almost like snickerdoodles but…”

“Better,” Sawyer supplies, something like pain rippling across his face.

“I wonder if I have the recipe somewhere.”

“You don’t,” he says quietly.

“I—”

But before she can finish that, the waiter comes by and we place our order.

Then Ollie’s asking me to color and Sawyer joins in, and eventually, Ollie warms up enough to Nancy to ask her what she thinks about his dolphin.

“That looks really great, sweetheart,” she says. “You’re really good at coloring.”

“Ms. Donna taught me,” he says, moving on to a starfish.

“Ms. Donna is his preschool teacher,” I explain.

“Do you like school?”

“Uh-huh,” Ollie says.

“Sawyer was really smart. He got all As.”

“Except for math. I was really bad at it. Reading though?” Sawyer says with a wink. “That was my favorite subject.”

Ollie looks up. “I love math.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. I can count all the way to a hundred, and I know what two plus two is.”

“You do?” Sawyer asks.

“Yup. It’s four. See?” He lines up his crayons in sets of two. “Two and two make four.”

“That’s right!” Nancy exclaims. “Boy, are you smart.” She smiles at me. “Just like your mama.”

Our drinks come and I learn that Nancy’s retired and moved to the Bay Area because Sawyer signed a long-term contract with the Grizzlies. She likes to read thrillers, and Christmas is her favorite holiday because it gives her more time with Sawyer. She used to be an executive assistant for a small chain of health clubs—she started the position to get a discount on the off-ice training Sawyer was doing as a kid, then ended up staying in the job because she liked it so much.

“Grab me another napkin, sweetie,” she says as we get going on our food.

“Sure.” He snags one, brings it back. “Here you go, Mom,” he says, handing it to her.

“Thanks, baby.” She dabs at her mouth then— “Oh, shoot. And my fork’s dirty. Can you⁠—”

He’s up and moving almost before she finishes. “No problem, Ma.”

I’ve dished up Ollie’s food, helped him slice a few of the bigger pieces of chicken, and am just starting to serve myself.

Meanwhile, Sawyer’s plate is still empty.

“Do you want some chicken?” I offer.

He smiles. “Thanks, Pages. But I can get it myself.”