Page 143 of Hometown Halftime

And the best part of it all is Kinsey. There’s never enough of Kinsey.

Movie nights stretched across opposite ends of the couch, that somehow always ended with her in my arms. Late-night Gordy’s fries after practice and her stealing my hoodies. Which I totally allow her to do because when I take them back they smell like her.

Then there’s the mornings tangled in bed while she giggles at how aggressively happy I become after sex. Which, for the record, I still maintain is a completely reasonable reaction.

It all feels so easy with her. And the more time I spend with her, the less temporary this feels. That realization should probably scare me, considering I’m supposed to leave for combine prep right after New Year's.

But all it does is leave me wanting more time. I want more mornings, and practices with the team. I crave more nights with her falling asleep against my chest.

My thoughts stay heavy as I pull into my mom’s driveway Tuesday evening and walk to the porch, carrying two grocery bags balanced against my hip.

Jackson opens the front door before I even make it up the steps.

“You’re late,” he says.

“I literally texted you I was stopping at the store.”

“You still took too long.”

I shove the grocery bag into his arms while walking past him into the house. “Excellent greeting. Very warm. Ten out of ten.”

Jackson grumbles something under his breath while Emma runs to me from the living room.

“There’s my favorite sibling,” I say, giving her a high five.

Lucy looks up from the kitchen table where she’s doing homework. “You say that to all of us.”

“Because you’re all my favorites.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Lucy says flatly.

My mom's laugh floats from the kitchen while she stirs something on the stove. The entire house smells like garlic bread and soup, warm enough to fog up the windows against the cold outside.

This might be my favorite time of year. Football is getting good and the Christmas lights start to appear across Cedar Falls. Everything feels happier somehow.

“By the way,” my mom says casually while reaching for an oven mitt, “Poppy texted me earlier.”

I pause. “Will she be here for Thanksgiving?”

Mom nods. “She’s driving in tomorrow night.”

A grin spreads across my face. My older sister, Poppy Weston is loud, brutally honest, and can turn any minor inconvenience into a full theatrical production. Which means she’s the perfect addition to the holidays.

But that also means telling her about Kinsey will either go extremely well or be a complete disaster.

My mom slides a bowl of salad onto the table while Emma attempts to steal shredded cheese from the bag beside her.

“Tiny criminal,” my mom mutters, nudging Emma’s hand away.

Emma gasps dramatically. “I was helping.”

I grin while stealing another piece of garlic bread off the tray before Jackson can get to it first.

“Have you decided what time we’re having Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask.

“Probably around two,” my mom says. “Poppy wants to help cook this year.”

Lucy snorts from the table. “Promise you’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.”