Lucy smiled, and bowed, and wiped sweat from her happy forehead.
Suddenly surrounded by dancers for hugs, she momentarily lost sight of her family.
Mr. Ballman's spellbound gaze, broken by African hugs, flickered. He blinked his eyes, turning his head unwillingly away from the direction of his perpetually four year old little girl.
He focused his hot sun eyes on this errant newcomer two chairs away.
He watched his beaming smile, his clapping hands, his dimpling cheeks. He watched this fool stare at his daughter like he was in love with her.
This fool felt eyes flush with his neck, and turned.
They locked, eye to eye, like horns locked tight. Only this young buck wasn't violent, just holding his ground against seniority.
Uppity little twerp.
Mr. Ballman suddenly felt a lightning bolt pinch his pinky finger.
He'd seen this usurper before.
In California.
On a bus.
Same tweedy newsboy cap.
Same dimpled smile.
Same affectionate gaze... directed toward his daughter.
Wrong move, sucker.
Mr. Ballman leaned in close with his hand across this young buck's back, smiling in that way you smile with your jaw clenched so tight you can barely see.
He leaned in close.
"Leave her alone," he hissed, like the word at the end of a death sentence.
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