Page 19 of Hometown Halftime

For a moment, she watches me. Then she gives a single nod.

“Coffee works.”

“Cedar Perk?” I ask.

“That works,” she confirms. “Is one-thirty okay? I have to work a bar shift at three.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s perfect.”

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay then. See you tomorrow, Coach Weston.”

Damn it, the way she says my name does something to me that is completely inappropriate for our working relationship.

I lift a hand in a small wave as she heads toward her car. The field is quiet now, shadows stretching behind the bleachers, the grass worn from drills we’ll run again and again.

I toss my bag into my truck and press the button to start it. Practice was good, the team looks promising, and tomorrow I get to sit across from Kinsey Malone with coffee and pretend this is all strictly professional.

I tell myself that’s exactly what it will be, but I already know that might be a lie.

Chapter nine

Kinsey

Cedar Perk always smells like espresso and is filled with the energy of ambition. Mostly because half the town writes their “someday novel” here, and the other half sits around gossiping about the first half. It’s busy for a Thursday afternoon, the room scattered with people hoarding their bags of goodies they found at the shops on Main Street, a retired couple splitting a muffin, someone in the corner aggressively knitting. Autumn decorations cover every flat surface. Pumpkins, leaves of every variety of red and orange. Very on brand for Levi, he loves the ‘ber months and will find a way to decorate every corner of his shop.

When I walk in, Levi catches my eye from behind the counter and gives me a wink.

Levi opened Cedar Perk over ten years ago and not much has changed since our high school days when this was our go-to after school spot. It’s still one of our favorite places, which is probably why we end up here at least once a week.

I let my gaze drift across the room and see that Riley’s already here.

He’s at a table by the window, a notebook open in front of him, pen tapping against the page as he studies whatever he’s written. He’s wearing a flannel over a plain tee, sleeves pushed up his forearms. His glasses sit low on his nose as he reads, and he nudges them up with his knuckle.

When he looks up and spots me, he holds his hand up, waving hello.

“Hey,” he says as I approach him. “I grabbed us a big table. I wasn’t sure how much space we’d need.”

“And by ‘big table,’ you mean the one the knitting club fights over every Saturday.”

He grins. “Exactly the one.”

I drop my bag onto the chair across from him. “Did you order coffee yet?”

“I waited,” he says easily. “Didn’t know your order.”

“I can get my own coffee.” The words come out clipped and a little defensive.

I’m reaching into my bag for my wallet when he stands.

“I got it, just let me know what you like.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’m a big girl, Weston.”

He steps into my space, and I can smell his cologne and damn it, it smells so good. Sandalwood and bergamot assault my senses. When we stand side by side, he’s almost a foot taller than me. He lowers his chin to look at me, his voice is calm but firm.

“And I’m a big boy, Kinsey.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “Now, what’s your order? And do you want anything to eat?”

My body shouldn’t react the way it does to the way he just spoke to me, but I wasn’t expecting that tone, and I certainly wasn’t expecting him to hold eye contact instead of backing off.