“That’s okay. We’ll get there,” he says, waving the next player forward, a girl named Emmy. “Sometimes you can even try with your heel. If you can get your toes pointed up enough, and the back of your foot pressed into the ball—”
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble under my breath and take a step over the sideline. For a moment, I freeze, looking down at my blue tennis shoes against green grass. They’re startlingly out of place. Ishould back up, hope no one noticed, and sit down. Let Coach Theo figure this out himself.
But then I hearoh noin the sweetest, little disappointed voice, and it snaps me back into gear. Ijog toward them, ignoring the nerves itching under my skin.
“Hold on.” I kneel at the front of the line and look up at Emmy. “Okay if I help you?” She nods and I smile. “Perfect. So, listen. We’re actually not going to kick it the way Coach Theo said.” Ishoot him a pointed look. He shrugs. “There are a lot of ways to kick a soccer ball, but none of them are with the bottom of your foot. Let’s start with this one.”
With her hand on my shoulder for support, she lets me position her foot correctly and swing it back to show her where she wants to hit the ball. Then I stand and let her try. All the girls letout a whoop of victory when the ball travels much farther than before.
“That’s amazing!” I give her a high five, and the next player steps forward. Moving to stand beside Theo, I scowl over my shoulder at him. “The bottom of the foot? Really? Have you ever evenseensomeone play soccer?” We all clap and cheer again as the ball rolls into the goal.
When he turns my way, his eyes are glittering, mischief dancing over his expression. “I used to watch this one girl play. She was breathtaking out on that field.”
Something swoops and dips in my belly. Idon’t know what to make of that, how to file that information away in my mind, or what to say back. So instead, I turn and help the rest of the line of players practice kicking a ball into the goal.
When our hour is up, and we’re walking back toward the sideline with our team, Priya reaches for my hand. Most of her dark hair has fallen out of her ponytail in the last hour, and a streak of dirt is smudged on her cheek, but there’s a wide grin on her face. “Did we do a good job pretending?”
“Pretending what?” I ask, squeezing her hand.
“Coach Theo said if we pretended to kick with the bottom of our foot, you’d come help us.”
I choke on a breath. My eyes meet his across the group, and his smile is absolutely shameless. That asshole knew exactly what he was doing, and I don’t know whether to be impressed or angry about it.
Annoying little shit, I mouth, and he winks.
“What time is your dinner?” Logan asks, poking his head around the corner from aisle three. He’s been there for five minutes, rearranging the same screwdrivers over and over.
The entire afternoon has been filled with questions.What are you doing tonight for your birthday? Who’s going? What are you having? Do you need to leave work early? Did you bring a change of clothes? How are you getting there?
On the surface, that sounds like normal conversation, but paired with Logan’s behavior the rest of the day? It’s suspicious. Like the fact that he asked me to come with him on his afternoon drink run (a honey and dragonfruit concoction from Mabel that he winced his way through), he shut down the whole shop to take me to lunch at the diner (which we’ve never done), and then he hasn’t been hiding out in his office once today. The only time I’ve been by myself was for a trip to the bathroom. He has been hanging around the shop like he’s waiting for something.
When Mrs. LaGrande showed up with a box of cupcakes, I thought that might’ve been it. But after singing “Happy Birthday” with her and shoving a cupcake into his mouth, Logan has still been on his hovering routine.
Other than my family serenading me in a giant group call this morning, my phone has been surprisingly quiet too. Ihaven’t heard from Mia (which is weird) or Theo (which wouldn’t have been weird a few weeks ago, but given our now-regular texting habits, seems weird).
Birthdays have never been my thing, but this year feels extra uncomfortable. I’m twenty-nine today. Staring down the barrel of thirty. With no plan for my life. Not even a hint of direction. I’ve distracted myself with fixing up the A-frame—but then what? Compared to everyone else around me, I’m spinning my wheels.
Today doesn’t really feel like a celebration at all. It feels more like the walls are closing in.
I’m going to have a stiff drink—or two—later.
Logan moves to the window, watching out the glass for a few moments. He shuffles one way, then the other, trying to get a better view.
Something weird is going on. Ifeel it in my bones.
Suddenly, his shoulders perk up and he whirls toward me. “Fable... um... don’t move. Stay right there,” he says, waving to the register.
“Okaaaay.” He’s so adorably nervous that I can’t help but play along.
He wrings his hands. “Maybe close your eyes too.”
I bite back a laugh. “All right.”Finally, we’re getting to the bottom of this.
His shoes squeak against the floor as he paces, waiting for whatever this delivery is. Maybe he got me flowers? I hear him clear his throat, then the bell over the door jingles, and a familiar voice squeals, “Surprise!”
My heart leaps up my throat. Iopen my eyes to see Mia running toward me, her arms spread wide and a giant smile on her face. She’shere. My best friend ishere, and I can’t think of anything I need more today. Idart around the counter and into her arms.
“Happy birthday!” She hugs me, and I get a face full of her long black hair, but I don’t mind at all.
