“Right, right, right,” I say, shaking my head. I sigh.
“I'm wiped, Olivia. How the heck am I going to remember all these lines?”
“You will,” she answers confidently. She reaches out and cups her hands over a ladybug that appears out of nowhere.
“See? A good luck sign,” she says, slowly lifting her top hand to reveal the ladybug walking on the palm of her other hand.
“Good luck or just the hot weather,” I joke. “Of course good luck,” she answers, watching the ladybug crawl up her wrist.
There should be a thing about making a wish on a ladybug. Auggie and I used to do that with fireflies when we were little.
She cups her hand over the ladybug again. “Come on, make a wish. Close your eyes.”
I dutifully close my eyes. A long second passes, then I open them.
“Did you make a wish?” she asks. “Yep.”
She smiles, uncups her hands, and the ladybug, as if on cue, spreads its wings and flits away.
“Don't you want to know what I wished for?” I ask, kissing her.
“No,” she answers shyly, looking up at the sky, which, at this very moment, is the exact color of her eyes.
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