Page 2 of Game Plan

As much as I loved my visit to my hometown—and my soul needed it—I’m ready to go home. The life I’ve built for myself in Chicago is something I’m truly proud of and enjoy. My job pays me ridiculously well to do something that I’m great at and don’t particularly hate. My townhome is adorable and backs up to one of the only greenbelts in the area. And when I’m not busy, I have a very satisfying friends-with-benefits situation with Finn Miller.

My phone vibrates in my hand, snapping me back to the present. Layla’s name splashes across the screen, and I answer my best friend without thinking twice.

“Hey, you,” I say, smiling.

“Hey. Are you back yet?”

“Nope.” I glance around at the sea of bodies covering nearly every sittable surface. “I’m considering having a tent and pillow delivered and just setting up a residence by the candy shop.”

“Oh no. Is it that bad?”

I sigh. “My flight was supposed to leave at ten o’clock this morning, and I’m still here. I don’t think a plane has taken off or landed in like six hours.”

“That sucks. But how was your trip? I’ve been dying to hear about it. Did you have fun? Did you tell Mama Quinn that I said hi and that I love her?”

“I did, and she said to tell you hello and to send more pictures of Sunny. Aside from me, Mom said that your daughter is the cutest baby in the world.” But of course, she did. Sunny is the sweetest little thing ever.

Layla laughs.

“The trip was good,” I say, circling back to her question. “I saw a lot of people I haven’t seen in years. I’m happy to report that the assholes from high school all peaked in their teens and are now living the lives they deserve. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how impressive it sounded to tell them that I’m an assistant vice president of one of the biggest commercial insurance companies in the Midwest.”

“Bet you hated that.”

“I did not.” I grin even though she can’t see me. “I also made a point to find Mrs. Johnson and let her know that her prediction that I would, and I quote, become nothing to be proud of, was, in fact, wildly incorrect. That felt so damn good. Might’ve been the highlight of the whole trip, really.”

“Wait. A teacher said that to you?” she asks, horrified.

“Yup. Granted, she was having a very bad day thanks to the junior class in the biology room above us. But I still stand ten toes down that her comment was inappropriate.”

“You think? Did she get fired or something? Because that’s just wrong.”

“Nope, but I got my very first suspension.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that. I have a better story for you. A grenade sort of exploded by the cotton candy vendor, and I’m still picking shrapnel out of my brain all these days later.”

“I hope to God you’re not being literal.”

I laugh. “Do you know what I love most about this? It’s that you think that I could take a grenade to the head and still be coherent. I love your faith in my survival instincts.”

She sighs, making me smile.

Layla Miller is the best friend a girl could ever hope for. She’s funny and smart, loyal and kind. And she never expects me to be anything other than what I am, which is a beautiful quality to have.

“Okay, back to what I was saying,” I say. “One night, Mom and I were going through some of Dad’s stuff just to reminisce. She likes these built-in moments of emotional overflow, and I just go along with it. I mean, I’m not participating in the emotions, but I’ll pat her on the back and tell her she’s pretty.”

Layla’s snort-laugh makes me giggle. I love when I can make her do that.

“We found a little notebook that I’d forgotten all about. It was one of those yellow ones with the spiral on the top, and as soon as I saw it, I knew exactly what it was.” A soft smile slips across my lips. “It used to sit on the table by Dad’s recliner, and he’d make notes, write down phone numbers, draw little pictures—that kind of thing. I was leafing through it, going down memory lane, when I found notes that I can’t stop thinking about.”

“What was it?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Dad’s famous word was someday. Someday, Mom and I will go to Hawaii. Someday, I’ll go back to school. Someday, I’ll play in a poker tournament, climb a mountain, see Yellowstone. But someday never came for him. The cancer got him first.”

“Oh, Poppy,” Layla says softly.

“No, it’s okay,” I say to ease her mind. She has enough to worry about. I don’t need or want her wasting her time worrying about me. “I’m good. But I can’t stop thinking about this blueprint he drew up for a charity that would help everyday people make someday into now. And I just … I love it. And I want to see if I can make that happen.”

A chill ripples through me as I consider this yet again. The idea feels big and bold, and I have no idea where to start or if I can actually make it happen. But I want to try. I really want to try. I haven’t felt this passionate about anything in a long time.

“But,” I say before she can jump in, “that’s not where this story is going. That was a preface.”