Page 22 of Hometown Halftime

“We’re here to stock shelves and sort donations. Nothing glamorous, but families in town rely on this resource. So we work hard, we don’t complain, and we try not to start a food fight.”

Brooke raises her hand. “Define food fight.”

“No.”

Brooke shrugs. “It was worth asking.”

Riley huffs a quiet laugh beside me.

I glance over. He’s leaning against the metal shelving with his arms folded, watching the girls with a small smile that says he’s already figuring out how to wrangle them. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are pushed up to his elbows, and the way his eyes sparkle this early on a weekend is criminal.

“Coach Weston,” I say, turning toward him. “You want to explain the first task for us?”

He straightens and steps forward, hands on his hips like he’s calling a play. The girls quiet down faster than they did for me.

“Alright,” he says. “Half of you will be with me sorting canned goods by type. The other half are with Coach Malone stocking shelves. If you argue about anything, I’ll assign you to onion duty.”

“What’s onion duty?” Tara asks.

“You don’t want to know.” He smirks.

The girls scatter into groups, chattering and grabbing boxes. Within minutes the room settles into the rhythm of work—cardboard boxes opening, cans clinking. Riley and I make sure our groups are settled and then we focus on a mountain of canned vegetables.

“You’re always so calm with them,” I say to him, throwing my thumb over my shoulder at the girls.

He lifts a shoulder. “I come from a large family. You learn crowd management early.”

“How large?”

“Four siblings,” he says. “I have an older sister, she lives in Roanoke, and then three younger siblings at home with my mom.”

That explains more than he probably realizes. The patience he always carries and the way he keeps an eye on everyone.

“Sounds like a busy house,” I say.

“You have no idea.” He grins. “Dinner sounded like a sports bar most nights.”

I snort and slide another row of cans into place. “I grew up an only child. My parents thought sports would ‘socialize’ me, so I played field hockey in middle and high school, then picked up rugby during summers in high school in some rec leagues.”

“Did it work?”

I pause, considering. “Yeah, it did. It helped me make friends. Then when I played on the women’s team in Roanoke, it was nice to have built-in friends when I transitioned from college to the real world.”

He nods. “Why did you leave Roanoke?”

“I moved back to Cedar Falls when my grandma got sick. My parents moved to Florida after I graduated from college. So, when Grammy needed help, I came home. She passed away about five years ago and, well…I just stayed.”

For a few minutes, we work quietly as he passes me cans and I shelve them. We fall into a comfortable silence, with no pressure to fill the quiet space with conversation.

Eventually the girls finish their section and drift to the front office to grab water. Riley and I stay behind to finish stocking the last shelf. I notice an out-of-place box of cereal on the top rack and stretch onto my toes, my fingertips graze the box, but it’s still too high.

“Of course,” I mutter under my breath.

Behind me, Riley’s voice is warm with amusement. “Need help?”

“I’ve got it.”

I stretch higher, and the box remains stubbornly out of reach. A second later he steps in behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him. His hand settles lightly against the small of my back and suddenly I can’t breathe.