“I’m not sure…”
“I missed you, Olive.” His voice is soft.
“J. Are you seriously moving back here?”
“Tonight,” is all he says. “I’ll tell you everything. You walked to work, right? I’ll come pick you up.”
“I did walk, but I can’t do it tonight. I have to meet my mom.”
“Let’s meet at the bridge later then,” he says.
I knew he was going to suggest that. It’s July, and it’s hot, and it’s light out until about eight p.m. And while my body is fully on board with this plan, I’m still reeling from our near-kiss last night in his truck; and the idea of being alone with Jenson in the place where we last kissed—it’s a lot to take in.
But I detect the slight hint of tension in his voice, and it soothes me just enough, knowing I’m not the only one who’s overwhelmed by what’s always been between us.
I pause before saying, “Okay.”
“How about ten o’clock?” he says. “The boys will hopefully be asleep, and my mom will be home with them.”
“It’s dark at ten,” I say.
“I know.” I can feel him smiling through the phone. “I’ll see you then.”
I swallow hard as I hang up and turn back to my customers.
* * *
Jenson
“So what you want to do here is go through your progressions like always, but pay extra attention to the left side of the field,” I say as I address my new team for the first time. “The first two games we’re in this year—the left side will be our opponents’ weak side.”
I’m in my element, standing out here in the middle of a football field. And being able to come home and coach at a local college—it’s a dream come true.
As practice picks up, the quarterback throws three straight incompletions. And they’re all his fault.
“Hey!” Head Coach Hughes calls out. “Focus, Smith!”
Coach Hughes comes over to me, shaking his head. “Don’t know what’s up with him today.”
“He’s not into it,” I say as I watch Smith throw another high ball. “What I saw of him on tape looked great. This—not so much.”
“Coach Beau, are you replacing the quarterbacks coach?” one player asks me as he jogs by.
I shake my head. “I’m more behind the scenes than that. I’ll be here every day at practice, but Coach Hughes hired me to study film and design plays. That’s my main job.”
The kid nods and returns his attention to the scrimmage.
“You look good in our school colors.” Coach Hughes nods approvingly at the gold and maroon team sweatshirt I’m wearing.
I grin. “Thanks. Fits perfectly.”
We chat for the next few minutes about protocol and what plays I’m thinking of drawing up for our next practice.
But when the quarterback throws an interception, and Coach Hughes curses next to me, I step onto the field.
“Hey, Smith!” I call out.
The quarterback looks past the huddle at me.
