She stills.
I take a breath, hoping to still the shaking fingers I know are about to show themselves. “I don’t want to let you down,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can overthink them. “That’s what this is.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I grip the coffee cup, trying to get a hold of myself. “I’m afraid if I say yes, I’ll find a way to screw it up. You need someone you can count on and I’m not sure that’s me.”
I look at her then. Really look. Her eyes seem more understanding with each word, soft and hopeful like your morning coffee. The silence that follows me coming clean about my anxiety is different.
“It’s not about not wanting to be around you,” I continue quietly. “It’s about being scared that I’ll disappoint you if I am.”
Sadie exhales slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. That’s… not what I thought.”
“I gathered that.” I bring the coffee cup to my mouth, taking a sip.
A small smile returns to her mouth—careful, but real. “I think you’re someone I can count on.” She swallows past something, taking a step closer to me. “The fact that you’re worried about it shows me you’re the right person to ask.”
Her words swirl around me, like when you’re trying to get warm in the winter and the blanket on your shoulders finally helps. Sadie, with the right amount of pressure to make a decision.
She thinks she can count on me. Fuck. That means more than it probably should.
“Honestly,” she says, gentler now, like she’s giving me an out on purpose, “let me know when you make a decision. Either way, I’ll take your assistance—any way you can offer it.” Sadie tips her head toward the rec center, sunlight catching along her cheek, her collarbone, the bare skin of her arms. The morning light hits her just right, warm and unfiltered, like it’s trying to make a point.
Something in my chest tightens; not with fear this time, but with the urge to step into the space she’s offering. To say yes because I want to be near her. Because I want to see that smile again when things go right. Because I want to be part of something that feels hopeful instead of heavy. Because I like how I feel when I’m around her.
She gives me one last look, patient and kind, before offering me the brown bag. “Cherry scones. They’re almost impossible to get unless you’re there when they open.” She shrugs her shoulders.
Her thinking of me this morning is enough to push me into a decision. I can’t imagine telling her no.
“You’re good at this.” I tip the coffee to her before opening the bag, the smell of sugar and cherries making my mouth water. “I’m in. I’ll help you with the tournament. If it’s possible, don’t put my name on any coaching roster or anything.”
“People will recognize you. You know that right?”
Nodding, I reply, “Yeah. I do. Hopefully by August, I’ll have things figured out.”
I kind of like the idea of having an internal timetable—the thing that will make this situation different. Everyone will know that Colson Burke has been hanging out in Northern Michigan. I’m not sure iteven matters, but flying under the radar has definitely made things more manageable.
I take a bite of the scone and it’s better than it smells. The tartness of the cherries mixes perfectly with the sweetness of the base. Crunchy sugar is on the top.
“Tell me how good it is,” Sadie says, waiting for my confirmation. Her mood has completely shifted from the nervous and panicking woman a few minutes before. “You’ve got—” She gestures to the corner of my mouth.
My hands are full with coffee and the bag in one and the scone in the other. I try to use my shoulder to get it but Sadie laughs, meaning I’m probably unsuccessful.
Her fingers lift, hovering for half a second like she’s checking herself. “Can I?”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice.
She brushes her thumb lightly against the corner of my mouth. Slow. Careful. Like she’s aware of exactly how much that touch matters. Her hand lingers a beat too long.
Everything slows. The pad of her finger is still close to my bottom lip.
The space between us shrinks. My focus narrows to her eyes, like glinting amber. I tilt forward without meaning to. I swear, she does too. The urge to kiss her runs deep, as if it’s something I’ve pushed down more than I’d care to admit.
For a split second, I’m sure this is it. We’re a breath away, so close, I can almost taste her.
Her phone buzzes loudly between us. We both flinch and step back.
“I should go. And you,” she takes another step back, “have stencils and paint.”
