Page 9 of Tangled with the Tight End

Cass steps between me and Winona, peppering me with questions about the offensive lineup. Unlike her twin, she’s well-versed in football and the particulars of the team. She’s not obsessive. She reminds me of Candace, the reporter—a woman with a strong knowledge of and respect for the sport.

The hostess leads us to the back room I reserved. We pass the stage where there’s occasional live music, weaving between smaller tables and the picnic tables they have scattered around the concrete floor.

The eleven of us are seated around a long table. The waitress takes our orders, and before long, we’re digging into steaks and burgers, laughing and talking. A lot of the conversation is about practice and our upcoming season, but the firefighters bring up the upcoming chili cook-off and the women break into their own conversation about a book they’re all reading.

I insist on paying the bill, and then we disperse to our cars.

I drive home alone, pushing the remote to the gates for our community and driving past another set of gates to our section of the neighborhood. I turn into the circular driveway, opening one of the six garage bays to pull the Lamborghini in for the night.

The sound of my footfalls on the marble floors echoes through the empty house. I’m alone here in the place that holds all my childhood memories. Some people would call this an estate. It’s a six-bedroom, six-bath home. Most of the ceilings on the first floor are double-high. It’s a lot of house, that’s for sure.

I make my way upstairs to the master. This was my parents’ room, but I’ve taken it over for the time being. I shuck my clothes, draw a bath and pour in a couple cups of epsom salts.

The grandfather clock sounds in the foyer. The chimes linger in the darkness.

I sink down into the water, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

Me. I’ve got me.

And football.

And next week I start my best season ever.

That’s more than enough.

Chapter 3

Winona

Chance encounters are what keep us going.

~ Haruki Murakami

The inside of Baker from Another Mother smells like cinnamon-sugar and warmth. I inhale and sigh. If I could, I’d bottle this scent and keep it in a vial around my neck to sniff whenever I wanted.

“Winona!” Emberleigh says from behind the counter. “What can we get you today?”

I step closer, eyeing all the baked goods through the glass.

“Today’s my day at the bookshop. I’m helping Daisy with some restocking. I thought I’d show up with treats.”

“That’s so sweet. Here.” Emberleigh grabs a pink bakery box and starts filling it. “Treats are on me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

My friends know I’m in my last semester of nursing school. They not-so-subtly attempt to keep me from paying for anything whenever we’re together.

“It’s my pleasure,” she says, giving me a look that tells me my money’s not welcome here.

“Well, thanks.”

Syd comes through from the kitchen, pushing the swinging metal door open with her hip while balancing a tray of croissants in her hands.

“Those smell amazing,” I say.

“Double chocolate,” Syd says with a wag of her brows. “Want one?”

“Does Dolly love the Smokies?”