Page 45 of The One Timer

“You tempted me with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. There’s nothing better. It brings back so many fond memories.”

We sit with our coffee and talk about all the memories of Grandpa, Mom, and Dad, and my heart fills with equal parts warmth and pain. Then Em walks in the back door and erases everything but the joy.

I can’t help my big smile. “I think I’m having déjà vu. Do you always look so breathtakingly beautiful?”

Gran laughs. But Emery’s smile is tentative. Even so, the reddish highlights of her long chestnut hair are lit up by the morning sun behind her, making her glow. I want to touch her, but that would be like touching the sun right now. I would get burned.

“You’re early, Emery,” Gran says. I shouldn’t be surprised at the note of mischief in her voice. Em’s face flushes pink.

“I caught an early bus,” she murmurs, taking off her coat to reveal her luscious body dressed in a soft red sweater and well-worn black jeans. She’s wearing the same old sneakers she wore the night I met her, and they don’t look warm. But as she hangs her jacket on the hook in the entry, I notice there’s a rip in the lining where the material is worn. It pinches my conscience, and I can’t shove aside the idea that she’s struggling. Of course, the neighborhood where she lives was my first clue.

“Is it cold out?” I ask. Lame, but I haven’t had a chance to finish my coffee. “Let me get you some coffee.”

“I can get it. Don’t you have practice or something?”

“Not until ten. We have a relatively easy week with one home game on Thursday—three days away.”

She nods and helps herself to coffee.

Gran tells me, “Don’t forget the family’s benefit gala Friday night. Who will you be inviting?”

I know she means, who am I asking as a date, but I ignore that implication. “I’ll be bringing Sabien, Jason, and Link. Maybe a few other guys from the team will come—probably Rafe, since he lives in the Boston area and is a fan of our foundation.”

“That should be interesting,” Gran says, “because I’ve persuaded the Brawlers to be a sponsor, and they’re sending people also.”

“You are a mischief-maker, aren’t you?” Em says, smiling. She doesn’t seem to have a problem with mischief.

“It’s the Whittier way,” Gran says. “Watch out for Chase because he’s known to be a tease of the first order.”

“Takes one to know one,” I say.

Gran laughs. “Are you still trash-talking at face-offs?”

“You bet. I haven’t gotten fined yet for saying the wrong thing.”

“Don’t let it come to that, my boy. Skate the thin line, but stay on the right side…”

“Or don’t let them catch me.” I finish the familiar refrain for her.

“I have a feeling this is a regular routine for you two,” Em says, still leaning against the counter, not joining us at the table as if she doesn’t want to get too close to me.

So I go to her. Taking my cup, I go to the stove to refill my coffee. Leaning against the counter next to her, I ask, “Who are you bringing to the gala?”

She almost spills her coffee. “Me? I’m not going⁠—”

“That’s an excellent idea, Chase. Emery, you must go.”

“I…can’t.” She looks between Gran and me, and when her eyes reach mine, accusation leaps out at me and slaps me in the face.

I grin. “Why not?”

“Don’t bother her, Chase. I’m sure she has her reasons,” Gran says. She’s using her wise old woman voice, so I pay attention. She adds, “You’ll have to excuse me now. I’m going up to my room. Give me twenty minutes before you come up, Emery.”

We’re alone in the kitchen, and she stares at me like I’m a mirage—or maybe her worst nightmare. Then, she moves to the refrigerator and starts removing things.

“I don’t know why I feel like I’m intruding on your space since this is essentially my home,” I admit.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t feel that way. Pretend I’m not even here. I’m the hired help. I need to prepare meals and⁠—”