the dresses. One in a sweet, pale lemon curd yellow. The other in apple green, so bright it feels almost defiant. Sleeveless, airy, made for sun-dappled sidewalks and skin that’s seen more daylight than a wrist peeking out from a fleece-lined cuff. I don’t need them—not yet. But I can’t stop looking.
And what’s a sundress without shoes? Cute, matchy-matchy Adidas with green stripes—practical and fun. Or strappy espadrilles—less practical, but they scream summer patio brunches or vacation dinners al fresco under rattan porch fans, tall glasses sweating fruit-garnished cocktails through wire table slats. Sunglasses perched on my head—do I need new sunnies, too? Another tab reveals the latest styles: oversized Jackie O lenses in pastel frames or classic tortoiseshell with a hint of something retro and cool.
The whistle blows, sharp and sudden, yanking me out of my citrus-colored daydream and back to the sidelines. I tuck my phone into my coat pocket and pull my blanket tighter around my legs. The kids are back on the field, cheeks flushed, legs bare, running hard and fearless despite the cold. I admire them, truly. But I wiggle my toes inside wool socks and waterproof boots and sip my coffee, bracing against a gust of wind off the lake. I glance at the relentlessly flat sky and push the dreams of sleeveless attire out of my mind—for now.