She turns to face Sawyer who’s currently lacing up her sneakers distracted and not paying attention.
“I’ll get more tonight.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
Her lips part in surprise. I don’t back down. “We need to talk. Tonight.”
Her gaze searches mine until I watch her swallow and nod. “Okay. I made chicken carbonara and a chopped salad for dinner. If you’re hungry.”
My brain short-circuits because she went home, cooked, and still came back here to practice with my daughter—all while I was dead to the world on my couch. What the hell did I do to deserve this woman?
Nothing. That's what. I don't deserve someone who shows up like this without being asked. I deserve to be alone for the rest of my life, not someone thoughtful and kind and willing to pour herself into my kid and I without a second thought, without being paid, without being asked.
Guilt hits fast and hard. The old instinct to self-sabotage follows right behind it—pull back, walk away, let her go find someone worthy of her.
She deserves so much better than me.
She looks at me like she’s reading my mind.
“Seth. It wasn’t a big deal. I love cooking for the people I care about.”
And I'm going to pursue her anyway.
“I’m so hungry! Let’s take a break!” Sawyer pipes up before she darts into the house.
Bri smiles as she watches my daughter while I watch her. I memorize the curve of her smile, the shape of her lips, the way her red hair glows in the fading sunlight, the gentle way she connects with Sawyer. I want to say so much.
You didn't have to do any of this. You didn't have to play volleyball with her when I know you're exhausted. You didn't have to drive through the night to save her. You didn't have to cook for us after everything. You don't owe us a single thing—and yet here you are.
But I don't say it because Bri already knows she doesn't have to. She wants to. And that's what makes her extraordinary.
There's a question burning in my chest that I'm too afraid to ask out loud.
Why?
Because women in my life tend to want something when they get close to me—my career, the attention that comes with being a professional athlete, my money. I've never once questioned that with Bri. She genuinely just wants to be here. She wantsto spend time with her and me. And that's more than anyone has ever given me.
“Bri.”
Her smile softens like she knows what I’m thinking. There’s no possible way that she could.
"I'm going to head home."
"Absolutely not," I growl, the words coming out rougher than I mean them to. But I can't help it. The thought of her leaving before she even eats the food she cooked for us—of her being anywhere that isn't under my roof where I can reach her—there's not a chance in hell.
She doesn't look put off. She just smiles at me. Soft. Patient. Like she already knows what's swirling inside me even when I can't figure it out myself.
I step closer, glancing over my shoulder to check that Sawyer's out of sight. She'll know eventually. And when she does, I thinkshe'll understand—because she looks at Bri like she's the light too.
My attention comes back to Bri. My hands move before I decide to let them, reaching for her hair, taking a lock of that soft, fiery red between my fingers and rolling it slowly—the same way I'd handle something I’m afraid to break. Because that’s what’s happening here, right? I’m afraid that by getting too close, I’ll break Bri. She’s something I didn't know I was missing until she was standing in my space, and now I don't want to let go. Even if wanting her this much makes me the worst kind of person.
I lower my voice. “Did you do this for me? Because of what I said in the car?”
“I’ve missed this color,” she says softly. We both know the truth. She did this for me.
“Hm…” I hum, my thumb brushing lightly over the silkiness of her hair. My lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “You did it for me.”
“I made angel food cake for dessert.”
