Page 12 of Made Better Together

“You practiced with my dad last summer? Kicking?”

“Oh shit,” Shane interrupts. “Is that how you switched to football this year? With help from Eden’s dad?”

“Yes. He’s still giving me lessons this summer too.” He must not have mentioned it to Eden.

“I see you’re more talkative than last year,” she teases before turning to Shane. “When I went twice with my Dad to the fields while they practiced, I think this one spoke about ten words total to me.”

Seven, but I don’t correct her. I also fight the urge to defend myself, to explain I’m not that taciturn. It would mean admitting I was stunned into silence when I first saw her.

I haven’t seen Eden in a year, and if anything, she looks even more gorgeous than last summer. Her face is slightly softer, her body curvier, like she’s growing into it.

Something I’m familiar with now that I’ve reached—I think—my final height of six foot six.

“Well, Con is good people,” Shane offers in response to her. I appreciate him sticking up for me.

“Come on, I’m trying to be a proper host,” Bree says from the laundry room. “Bring yourself in here, girl, so we can fix you.”

“Yes, yes.” Eden disappears to try to save her shirt, as I attempt to salvage my concentration.

“The fireworks should be visible from the back deck,” Shane observes. “You want to go out there?”

I take a sip from my beer. “In a minute, sure.”

What I really want to do is wait for Eden to emerge from the laundry room. I hear running water, so there must be a sink in there.

Bree comes out barely a minute later, no Eden in sight. “I got a text that the pizza is here. You guys ready to eat?”

A bunch of the guests excitedly say yes as she hustles off.

Leaving me with an opening plain as day—because Eden is in the laundry room alone.

You don’t have anything to lose; go talk to her.

A logical thought. One I obey.

“Hey,” I say to her as I enter the little room. She’s sitting on the washing machine, rubbing a wet towel on the wine stain, still wearing the shirt.

She peers up at me. “Hey there, man of few words—at least you’re consistent.” She grins before refocusing on her efforts.

I flip through possible comebacks so we can move past this topic. “I’ll talk plenty now that your dad isn’t around.” After all, some of the reason I didn’t speak to her during the practices was his presence.

She looks up again, a twinkle in her eye. “Scared of my dad, huh?”

“More like, respectful.”

“You do have that Southern boy accent.” Like my siblings, I’ve never totally lost my Alabama twang.

But why does that matter? God, she’s almost too quick for me. “That doesn’t mean anything, though.”

“Don’t they teach you to follow the rules of being a gentleman and all that?”

Ah. “Maybe in times past. I wouldn’t say it’s a particular priority of mine.”

She cocks her head. “Now there’s a line.”

“I just meant I was being respectful of your dad’s offer to help. Of his time.”

“Okay,” she relents.