Page 20 of Hometown Halftime

“Black coffee,” I say. “No food.”

He nods once, a satisfied grin on his lips. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

He turns toward the counter, and I drop into a chair, staring at the table. His notebook is open, already filled with practice notes and drill outlines. His tablet sits beside it with his stylus resting across the screen. He came prepared.

Then my thoughts shift, trying to think of the last time a man didn’t soften under my sharp edges.

I come up empty.

It was just a coffee order, something so simple, but the way my pulse is racing says it was something entirely different. It felt like Riley quietly reminding me he’s not here to be managed. And for reasons I’m not ready to unpack, I find myself wanting to see what else he won’t back down from.

He returns a moment later, setting a cup in front of me and slides back into his chair. I take a sip and my soul rejoices.

“Thank you for the coffee.” I attempt a smile.

“You’re welcome.” He takes a drink of his own and slides his note pad toward me. “I started mapping out the next three weeks,” he says. “Rugby basics first, footwork and passing until they’re automatic, then we build toward controlled contact.”

“You got all this done already?” I ask.

“Yeah. I was up late the past couple of nights. My brain wouldn’t shut off.”

I scan the notes. “This is great, Riley.”

He straightens. “Thanks. I figure if we nail the foundation early, the week before the first scrimmage will be a good test ground for tackling.”

“That’s the goal.” I sip my coffee. “The girls will be excited to actually start taking each other down.”

“Brooke’s going to demand full contact by next Friday.”

I laugh and the energy between us eases. “Oh, absolutely.”

We work through the drills, adjusting order, trimming what we don’t need. He pushes back on a few things, not in a stubborn way, just questioning in the way any good coach should. I like that he’s not just agreeing to whatever I say.

After a while, we fall into a quiet stretch, flipping through the practice schedule. I notice him glancing at me, watching my movements like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

Finally, he says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He fiddles with his pen, then meets my eyes again. “What’s your story?”

I blink. “My story?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “You don’t have to give me your entire life’s memoir, I just…well, we’re coaching together, and I don’t know anything about you besides the fact that you used to play rugby and you’re close with Cam and Knox.”

My mouth twitches. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Don’t give me that,” he says with a mischievous smile, “Cedar Falls’ tough as nails bartender has to have some fun facts.”

I give him the light version. “Well, I graduated from Cedar Falls High two years after Knox. I played rugby all through college and then for a women’s team in Roanoke for a couple of seasons. Then I came back home because this town seems to suck you back in no matter how hard you try. Been bartending ever since.”

He listens intently. It’s disarming.

“Why rugby?” he asks.

“It made sense to me,” I say. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I don’t shy from confrontation, and I wanted an outlet for my energy.”

His smile is teasing. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”