I grinned. “Guess you’ll find out if I mean it.”
Something flickered in her eyes—annoyance, maybe. Or curiosity. Hard to tell with her.
“Fine,” she said finally, turning back to her laptop. “Goodnight, Beckett.”
“Night, boss.”
That earned me the tiniest pause in her typing, which I counted as a win.
I pushed off the doorframe, heading for the exit, and somewhere between the hallway and the parking lot, I realized I was smiling. Not the cocky, look-at-me smirk I wore for cameras. A real one.
She was still impossible. But maybe impossible wasn’t the worst thing I’d dealt with.
Outside, the air was cool, the faint hum of the field lights buzzing in the distance. The kids were still out there—running drills, chasing the ball, laughing like they hadn’t noticed it was long past dark.
I paused beside my truck, glancing back toward the building. Through the office window, Ellery was still there—head down, completely focused, like the rest of the world could wait until she was done. The reflection of the field lights danced over the glass, blurring her silhouette into something soft and untouchable.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I sat for a moment, staring at the glow of the building in my rearview mirror. There was something unfamiliar sitting in my chest—heavy, insistent.
Respect, maybe.
Or trouble.
Either way, I was already in it.
Chapter 5
Ellery
The day was already in full swing by the time I made it to my desk. The low hum of conversation filled the foundation like music — volunteers hanging banners in the hallway, printers churning out name tags, the distant thump of a soccer ball echoing from the field outside. It was the kind of chaos I thrived on.
I was elbow-deep in inventory spreadsheets, half-listening to the playlist Naomi had queued up, when she poked her head into my office. “Hey,” she said, grinning. “Surprise guest. In expensive sneakers.”
I looked up — and froze.
Kyle stood in the doorway, all effortless charm and fresh-off-the-field energy. His duffel bag hung over one shoulder, and his grin was the kind that used to knock the wind out of me. “Thought I’d drop by,” he said. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen your place.”
My chest tightened with a mix of surprise and something warmer. “Kyle,” I said, setting my pen down. “I didn’t think you’d have time.”
He shrugged, easy and confident, the way only someone used to the world bending around his schedule could be. “Coach gave us an hour before recovery drills. I figured I’d make it count.”
Before I could say anything else, he stepped forward, and I met him halfway. The hug was automatic — familiar. His jersey smelled faintly of grass and cologne, and for a second, everything else — the spreadsheets, the deadlines, the never-ending prep — faded away.
But then he pulled back. His smile stayed, but his eyes were already darting — to the banners lining the walls, to the framed photo of the kids from last season, to the clock ticking steadily behind me. Always moving, always measuring.
“Place looks great,” he said, glancing around like a tourist. “You’ve been busy.”
“You could say that.” I gestured toward the stacks of forms on my desk. “Gala week doesn’t exactly leave room for naps.”
He grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Still doing everything yourself, huh?”
“I have help,” I said, a little too quickly. “Naomi, volunteers, donors?—”
“Right, right,” he said, waving a hand. “The usual Ellery James miracle team.” His tone was teasing, but there was something distracted about it.
He checked his phone. A flash of irritation — not at him, but at how predictable this was. I’d waited weeks for an unplanned visit, and now that he was here, I could feel the countdown ticking.
I tried to keep my tone light. “You sure you’re not going to get in trouble for being here?”
