Emmy
Hey. Random question. If you wanted lunch somewhere in the city where no one would recognize you, where would you go?
Three minutes passed. Then:
West
probably antonios lol why
Emmy smiled and texted Grant the address.
Grant Knight
See you there.
Emmy set her phone down and allowed herself exactly ten seconds of victory celebration. Then she opened her laptop and started researching everything she'd need to know to convince Grant Knight that professional matchmaking was exactly what his life was missing.
She had less than twenty-four hours to prepare.
And Emmy Woodhouse was always, always prepared.
CHAPTER TWO
Grant arrived at Antonio's Café at 2:20, because Coach Hendricks had drilled it into him a decade ago:If you're on time, you're late.
Through the front window, he could see Emmy already tucked into the corner booth furthest from the entrance. She had a laptop open, a leather portfolio squared perfectly with the table's edge, and a posture so rigid she looked like she was waiting for a firing squad rather than a coffee date.
Grant stopped on the sidewalk. Feet planted. Hands in pockets.
He'd spent twenty-four hours thinking about her phone call. The panic in her voice. The careful professionalism she'd tried to layer over desperation like concealer over a bruise. Emmy Woodhouse didn't ask for help. She fixed things. She organized things. She managed every detail of every situation until it bent to her will through sheer force of optimism.
Except now she needed him to sign up for matchmaking. To let her parade him through networking events and set him up on dates with women who'd be ‘perfect for him.’ To pretend he wanted something he'd never particularly needed.
When West moved to Newton with Brynn, Grant had promised him he'd be there for Emmy if she needed anything. West would be in the city for weekly practices, but they both knew his focus was elsewhere now. He'd looked at Grant over a beer, serious for once: "She's going to struggle without me close-by. Just... keep an eye on her, yeah?"
But this wasn't what West meant. This wasinsane.
He'd have to let her down easy.
Grant pushed open the door. The café smelled like burnt espresso and damp wool, a scent that hadn't changed since he and West were eighteen and hiding out here to avoid college applications. Antonio had been ancient then. Antonio was ancient now. Time moved differently in this place, like it had decided urgency was for other establishments.
The man himself looked up from behind the counter—seventy-something, permanently unimpressed, working a crossword puzzle in pen. He glanced at Grant's face, grunted something that might have been acknowledgment, and went back to his puzzle.
Privacy. That's why they'd always come here. Antonio's was one of maybe three places in Boston where Grant Knight, franchise quarterback, three-time Pro Bowler, and the face plastered on billboards from Fenway to the Seaport, could walk through the door and be nobody. Just another guy ordering coffee. Antonio didn't care about stats or endorsements. He cared about whether you were going to order something or waste his booth space. The man had once glared at a state senator until he left for taking too long to decide between muffins.
Emmy didn't look up until Grant was halfway across the café. When she did, the tension bled out of her shoulders, her rigid posture softening like someone had cut the strings holding her upright. A smile broke across her face—genuine, unguarded, the kind she used to give him when he'd show up at theWoodhouses’ unannounced and she'd come bounding down the stairs in a ponytail and mismatched socks.
"Grant." She stood, and for a second he thought she might hug him, but she caught herself, smoothing her dress instead. Professional Emmy reasserting control. "You're early."
"So are you." He slid into the booth across from her. "When did you get here?"
"Two. Maybe one-thirty." She grimaced. "I was nervous."
"I can tell."
The grimace deepened—the same one she'd worn at eighteen when she'd backed her mom's car into their mailbox and tried to convince him it had always been like that. Same tight smile, same defiant chin. Emmy had never learned how to hide when she was in over her head. It was one of the things he'd always liked about her. She performed competence beautifully, but the cracks showed if you knew where to look.
Emmy blinked, then laughed. "God, I forgot you do that."
