She bounces once. “Coach Wells says I’m a natural athlete.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“He also said I hit better than most of the boys.”
I nod. “He’s obviously a man of great wisdom.”
Evie leans forward, voice dropping into what she believes is a whisper. “Are you gonna marry him?”
My breath catches. “What? No! He’s—he’s just a friend.”
Her brows rise to her hairline. “Like Aunt Brynn and Uncle Knox were ‘just friends?’”
My mother nearly chokes on her drink.
“All right,” I say quickly, grabbing Evie’s backpack before the conversation gains momentum. “That’s enough matchmaking for one day.”
Evie twirls ahead of me toward the car, already spinning in her own world. “I can be the flower girl!”
“Evie,” I warn, but she’s already climbing into her booster seat, completely absorbed in planning a wedding that will never exist.
My mom leans against the porch rail. “She’s not wrong, honey.”
I point at her, firm. “Not one word.”
She raises her palms in surrender. “Fine, fine. But he is handsome.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
I buckle Evie in, shut the door, and take a steadying breath before sliding behind the wheel. We barely make it to the end of the street before Evie starts in again—her favorite songs, her new theory about the neighbor’s cat, the story of how she saved a worm on the sidewalk.
As we turn into our driveway, my cheeks ache from smiling. Just being with her quiets the noise in my head—the part that worries, the part that overthinks, the part that keeps replaying Cam saying my name.
Inside, Evie kicks off her shoes and heads straight for the living room. “Can Coach Wells come to my birthday party?”
“We’ll see,” I say, knowing full well my heart stumbles every time she says his name.
“He can bring baseball cards!”
After I get Evie to bed, the house looks like a tornado of glitter and Goldfish crackers. Her bedtime story turned into three stories, then a five-minute negotiation about brushing teeth, followed by a tearful discussion about why she can’t sleep with her soccer ball.
Now, finally, the quiet settles.
I pick up the blanket she left on the couch, fold it, and drop onto the cushions with a sigh that comes from somewhere deep. My muscles ache in a way that has nothing to do with motherhood and everything to do with the afternoon I spent tangled up in Cam Wells.
Physically? I’m still floating. Emotionally? I’m a disaster.
I tilt my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles. Somewhere between the soft laughs and the slow touches, I let myself feel too much.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and my heart jumps before I can stop it. I pick it up, already bracing for his name—and immediately feel ridiculous when it’s just Brynn. She’s sent a picture of Knox wearing a sun hat clearly not made for adult humans. I snort and text back,he’s glowing,then set the phone down.
I try not to look at it again. I fail almost immediately.
Eventually, I cave. I unlock the screen and scroll up to his thread, the one from last night still sitting there with that line I can’t get out of my head.Use your words, Kate.
It shouldn’t make me smile. It absolutely does.
Before I can think twice, I type:
