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“There’s nothing more to add. I was too thorough in the first one.”

“’Course there’s more to add.” He pulled up his hand, as if writing in the air. “‘He was the only handsome one in his family.’”

She pulled out an imaginary pen next. “‘Whom no one could understand.’”

He gave her an unamused look, then shot his arms forward to wrap around her middle. “You’ll pay for that one, love.”

She laughed as he pulled her down a side alley. “What are you doing?” she asked giddily.

“I’m earnin’ me rightful place in that book o’ yours,” he said with a look of determination.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her senseless. Right in the middle of it, when she’d lost track of where she was in time and space, he pulled away abruptly, leaving her to swirl in the stupor he’d kissed her into.

“How about now? Have I earned another entry?” he asked.

She laughed with a roll of her eyes. “You drive me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

“Just what exactly are you kids doin’ down there?” a voice from the top of the alley called out. Graham had popped his head around the shop on the street, his gaze playfully narrowed toward them.

“Just drivin’ Maisie crazy here,” Finn responded. “That’s all.”

“I see. Carry on, then.” Graham grinned, then disappeared once more.

Finn did as he was told, gathering Maisie in his arms again.

Of course, she allowed him to, for why would she ever say no to the man who’d brought her more joy and had given her more hope than she ever thought possible?

And as he kissed her again, she made a commitment right there, that she would add Finn to her food journal—and to each journal that would come after that, because when a man tasted of Fifteens and Heaven, he was worth every written word.

Later That Evening

Cedric stood out on the pitch, his pulse racing and sweat dripping down his face. He’d played his heart out in the first half, proving to his manager, to his friends and family, to Habergham supporters, and to all of England that he had a right to be on that team by scoring the first goal.

Now, the teams were tied, but if given the chance, he could pull off another. He knew he could.

The crowd roared in his ears. The manager had tried to pull him, convinced Jones had a better chance at scoring a goal, but Cedric had convinced him to keep him on. No one else could push them to victory like Cedric could.

As the ball shifted to Habergham’s possession, Cedric’s focus intensified. He ignored the commentators, the boos and cheers from the stadium’s stands, the burning in his legs and lungs, and everything else that would pull his concentration away from that ball as his teammate launched it in the air toward him, and Cedric bolted forward.

With powerful momentum, he launched past the opposing team’s players, flying into the air and landing a header that threw the ball straight toward another teammate.

A few more passes occurred, and Cedric moved into place just in time for the final pass to travel toward him. He gained possession, then took off down the pitch toward the net.

He was back. Where once he’d been that little boy who’d grown up on a poor sheep farm in Wales, now he would have the eyes of Europe on him as he made this goal. All the media would be treated to this spectacular shot. All the people who’d said he couldn’t make it, who’d naysaid his ability, would now see they were wrong.

Or had they been right all along?

That split-second thought flashed in his mind, misplacing his laser-like focus on the net to drift into his past for only a moment, but it was enough to change the course of his future forever. In the next instant, as he launched the ball forward, a loud pop resounded around him, and blinding white pain seared through his leg.

Then all was black.

Five Months Later

Cold April air whipped against Cedric as he walked across the uneven grass toward the stone cottage he now called home.

Wales had been bitter cold that year. More rain had fallen than Cedric ever remembered seeing. But he welcomed it. Any time the weather was cold enough to numb his fingertips, it was cold enough to numb his emotions, too.

Cedric popped up his collar to ward off the cold slicing the back of his neck, then whistled, a long burst that curved from high to low to high. His purebred Welsh sheepdog rounded the corner of the cottage and appeared at his left side instantly.