“Sounds to me like you love football.”
“Didn’t realize how much until I was at risk of losing it,” he says in a low voice.
“It sounds like a real brotherhood.”
“A heck of a lot better than my brother. But you’re right. I live and breathe football. This will sound crazy, but I even miss the challenge of supplemental training.” He goes on to tell me about some of the crazier workouts Coach Hammer has had them do, like carrying logs on their shoulders across the beach, hefting boulders up and down the arena stairs, and once he even had them help him muck out the pond on his property—there was a real nasty water hyacinth infestation.
Thinking of how much I adored ballet until my mother made it torturous, I say, “Believe it or not, I understand.” An idea comes to mind. “I know a place we can go where you’ll get in a great workout. I’ll assure your coach it’s part of the program.”
“Nice. After all these carbs, I could stand to break a sweat.”
I gaze at the table. Only a crumb remains.
Connor dips his finger down and says, “Oops. Missed one.” He winks as he pops it in his mouth. Then leans in as though to brush a crumb from my face. “Missed another one.”
My cheeks warm and I look anywhere but at the man seated across from me, who no longer looks hungry at all. He looks strangely satisfied.
There is something so sweetly flirtatious about his gesture that I try to hide my smile as we say goodbye to the Gilberts.
“Oh, don’t forget your extra one,” Hildie says, passing me a paper baggie with the H&H Pretzels logo stamped on the front. “And be sure to tell them about the new sampler!”
Connor lifts his eyebrow and I explain that it’s for Arthur up at the school to share with Mrs. Fitzgerald.
When we step outside into the late afternoon, Connor asks, “So? Where are we going?”
“First, we’re going to quickly stop by the school to grab your workout gear and then it’s a short walk up the hill from there.”
I debate whether to bring a change of clothes to the studio. My heart stutters as though exclaimingyes! But my mind quiets the desire.
Back at Blancbourg, Arthur greets us in his usual dignified way and Connor rushes upstairs to get his gear.
I give Arthur his pretzel.
He grins gratefully. “My favorite. As always, thank you.”
“How is Mrs. Fitzgerald doing?”
“Recovering nicely. Thank you for asking.” His voice trembles a bit.
Worry creeps through me. “You sure? Why don’t you take a few more days off? We can manage. We have all these strapping football players here to help and they can lug their own bags around.”
“I couldn’t, Miss Berghier.”
“Why not? If you mean that to be polite, please remember that I’m your boss. If I say you can take time off, I mean it.”
He shakes his head. “Mrs. Harrow mentioned I might be let go soon. We need the insurance coverage for as long as possible. I’ll keep my shifts, please.”
My hand lands on his arm in a gesture of comfort. “Oh, Arthur. You’re not going to be let go. Why would Regina say such a thing?”
“She’s been in your office all hours, trying to figure out the finances and I suppose I’m the expendable one.” He gazes at his well-worn but shiny shoes.
My jaw lowers a fraction and I stifle a gasp. “That’s absolutely not true. Arthur, you are the heart and soul of Blancbourg. Wait,” I say, belatedly catching something else he said. “Do you mean Connor, my pupil, has been in my office? If so, we’ve been doing harmless pranks.” I feel tremendously silly admitting this and unprofessional, considering that I just pointed out that I’m the boss around here.
Arthur clarifies, “No, I meant Regina Harrow. She’s been using your office for years. But lately, especially after hours. I assumed you were aware.”
I tilt my head, more worried than ever that Arthur needs a break. His wife’s illness is probably taking its toll.
Connor appears with a duffel bag. “Ready to get sweaty?” he asks.
