When I came back down with Chloe, she was wearing her new signed jersey layered protectively over her T-shirt—“Because I don’t want to ruin it.”
Emma was kicking her colorful sponge ball toward Owen, who effortlessly caught it with his booted foot, despite its wobbly path. The little bell inside the ball chimed with every movement.
“Fits you perfectly,” Owen told Chloe, then gave the ball a tiny tap toward her. She returned it to him, and he passed it softly to Emma.
“I want too!” Emma piped up, picking up her jersey from the floor, where it lay beside her new doll.
I helped her put it on, and soon, the three Westbridge FC Wheatons had formed a triangle, passing the ball.
“Yay, Emma!” and, “That’s how you do it, Chloe!” Owen cheered, making the girls beam.
I snapped a picture for Simon and Nicole—and maybe for myself, too—then checked a message from Ruby.
“Either you’re not getting out of bed because of a famous footballer or too ashamed to tell me you’re not.”
Before I could reply, I felt a soft nudge on my foot.
I looked up.
Emma was pivoting toward me, chubby arms swaying. Chloe gave me aC’mon alreadylook. And Owen—half-smirking, half-challenging—was waiting.
I shoved my phone into my back pocket, pretended to prepare for a massive kick, then slowed at the last minute and gave the sponge-like, colorful ball the gentlest push. It rolled and stopped chiming right at Owen’s foot.
“That’s all you got?” His smirk widened.
“I’m taking pity on your knee.” I cocked my head.
“Show her how it’s done, girls.”
Chloe caught the ball and kicked it hard toward me, forcing me to skip back so I wouldn’t miss it.
Emma chirped with joy.
I kicked the ball to her, and bless her little heart, she scooped it up into her hands and brought it back to me. “You have to kick hawd,” she instructed.
“Thank you, baby. I will.”
I gave it all I had, flinging it toward Owen. He caught it with his healthy knee, and knee-kicked it back to me hard.
I returned another firm shot—as firm as a baby’s toy could be—and this time, he absorbed it with his chest before sending it flying back off his pecs.
Almost too caught up in the sight of it, I barely managed to kick it again, this time toward Chloe.
She intercepted it like a pro, and just like that, it was game on.
With a tray of lemonade and snacks for the tired players, I went back to the living room, finding the two girls nestled on either side of Owen. He was slouched on the sofa, his long legs crammed in the small space between the couch and the coffee table, sitting so low the girls practically rested their heads on his shoulders.
“And that’s you with ... I always forget his name,” Chloe said, squinting at Owen’s screen.
“That’s Kylian Mbappé—French team captain, plays for Real Madrid now, one of the best in the world.”
“Pretty,” Emma pointed at the screen, causing Owen to scroll back to whatever had caught her attention.
“That’s your girlfriend?” Chloe asked, tilting her head to look up at him.
“No. No.” Owen swiped to another photo. “This is when Jude Bellingham came to the national team training.”
“He signed my shirt, too!” Chloe said.
