He turns slowly, eyes locked on the brand-new dent in his car, then at the guilty nine-year-old, then at me. Well, I think at me, considering he hasn’t taken off his sunglasses.
And, oh yeah, he’s pissed.
I jog over, hands up in surrender.
“Hey! Hi. Hello.” I give him my friendliest, most ‘everything is fine’ smile. “We, uh… may have grazed your car. Lightly. As in, barely. As in, it’s probably more of a love tap?”
His mouth stays flat. “That was not a love tap.” He has a point. The dent is… visible.
“Coach Sadie, is it okay?” the guilty party yells over as he waits outside his parent’s car.
I wave him off so I can handle the six-foot-five thundercloud standing in front of me.
I clasp my hands. “So… we dented your car. But good news, it has character now. One of a kind.” I smile, rocking on my heels, trying to get him to crack.
Colson stares at me like he can’t decide if I’m delusional or dangerous. “It didn’t need character,” he says flatly. “It’s a BMW.”
Glancing at the house, I reply, “Well, for the safety of your stay, may I suggest the garage?” Part of me wants him to tell me what he’s doing here, to explain how long he’s staying.
Slowly, he looks to the garage and back to me. He lips press into a thin line and it’s clear he won’t be sharing anything with me.
“This an every day thing? With the bouncing? And the kids? The yelling?” He crosses his arms and rubs his forehead.
I bite back a smile. “We’re working on being a quieter bunch, but you know. Kids. Summer.” I shrug my shoulders.
Colson exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed but not erupting, and maybe this is the only win we’ll have during this interaction.
“Look,” I tell him, lowering my voice. “I’m really sorry. We’ll make it right. I can have the center cover the repair. We have a small fund for, uh, damages.”
He lifts a brow. “You have a fund for this?”
“In theory.”
It’s really just me pooling any and all leftover funds from the camps and events before personally covering everything else. The rec center isthe busiest during the summer. I still run classes and offer the space for other coaches and instructors in the fall, but I also pick up shifts at a local bar. I’ve even worked at the small, local library when our elderly librarian has needed a day off or two. I’m multifaceted, but he certainly doesn’t need to know that.
I stick my hand out. “I’m Sadie. Sadie Becker. I run the rec center.”
He hesitates like touching another human might physically hurt, then reaches out and shakes my hand once. Quick. Polite. Over it.
“Colson,” he says.
“I know,” slips out before I can stop myself.
His jaw ticks.
Cool. Great job, Sadie. Excellent first impression. Car damage and then an awkward interaction that’s the equivalent of a root canal.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, welcome to Golden Harbor.”
He looks at the lake, at the kids, at the dent.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Thrilled.”
I smile because I don’t know what else to do. The thing about Golden Harbor is that most people are genuinely happy. It’s like this is a small piece of the public who have remembered what it means to be a community. To help each other out. To see the good in others. I’m not sure Colson Burke shares that sentiment.
“You’ll be here for a while?” I try to make the question sound as light as possible.
Colson turns, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead. He waits long enough that I wonder if he’s even going to answer.
