Her breath whooshed out of her, the relief of it tangible and heartbreaking. “Yeah, for sure. I actually really like the responsibility. I’ve learned a lot byhandling the vendors. And, of course, it’s nice not to have to deal with the leafers all the damn time.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the tightness out of my voice. “Poor baby,” I teased. “Can’t stand the tourists at your tourist attraction.”
“Hey, you know exactly how they are. Entitled and bossy and unappreciative of our land and home.”
Despite the turn the conversation had taken and my resulting disappointment, I felt amusement at just how grouchy this woman was. I chuckled a little and said, “Bless your heart.”
She immediately rolled to face me, staring in incredulous shock. “Did you justbless my heart?
I laughed harder. “Yeah. So?”
“Everyone knows that is little-old-lady speak for ‘fuck all the way off.’”
My shoulders were shaking, and I barely managed to say, “No, I meant it the nice way.”
She scoffed like there was no such thing, but she wrapped an arm around me and tangled her legs with mine.
And I thought I’d do a lot more than bless her heart, if only she’d let me.
“Do you have work tomorrow?” she asked, her voice soft from sleepiness.
I thought about it, then reached one long arm to her bedside table to retrieve my phone. I scrolled to the list app I used—one that, for some reason, worked better to keep me organized than a calendar.
I was grateful Mac had asked because I’d completely forgotten to set my alarm for the morning. “No work,” I replied distractedly, scrolling to make sure I hadn’t missed anything else. “But I do play Frisbee in the morning.”
“Frisbee?” she asked, sounding suddenly more alert.
I set the alarm and replaced my phone before I was able to answer her. “Yeah, Ultimate Frisbee.”
“Oh my God. You are such a walking frat-boy stereotype.”
“I was also in a frat,” I said, pinching her side.
“Oh, I know.” She pinched me back.
“It’s just pickup with some folks in South Asheville. And it’s a good way to stay in shape and meet people,” I added, a touch defensively.
I could see her watching me, even in the dimness of her bedroom, infinitely amused.
“Do you want to come watch?” I asked.
“Hell yes, I do.”
“You’re just going to heckle me in front of strangers, aren’t you?” I asked flatly, ensuring I kept the excitement out of my voice.
“They’ll be quality heckles,” she replied happily.
“Great. I can’t wait.” Then I remembered. “Oh, Amos plays too. I have to pick him up in the morning. Is that okay?”
“Sure. I can’t wait to see the little punk again.”
Then she snuggled into my chest and tightened her arms around me. I smiled into the dark.
The following morning, we woke up early and headed downtown to grab caffeine and breakfast burritos to go from Cubhouse Coffee Shop. I picked up one for Amos and a box of pastries for his mom and sister. I parked down the block, and Mac waited for me in the truck to avoid nosy neighbors and prying eyes.
Amos didn’t seem to mind Mac’s presence. In between bites of burrito, they fought over the music selection for most of the twenty-minute drive to the field.
When we arrived, Amos trotted off in his cleats to warm up with a few of the other teenagers who came out on Saturday mornings.
