Page 63 of Mr. B

“Perhaps your tackle rang my bell a little.”

She touched his arm. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re a sweetheart.”

“How do you figure?”

She moved closer to him. “I know how close you were.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm. Okay.” She patted his chest. “Go Red!”

The game resumed and ended in a tie. The kids wanted to go into overtime, but it was getting dark, so Wes made the executive decision to leave it at a tie. He sent everyone back to their cabins to regroup and told them to meet at the fire pit in thirty minutes for s’mores.

Cassandra checked on Bailey, who insisted she was fine, then she walked with Wes to their cabin. He turned on the light. “I think I need a shower, unless you want to take one.”

“Nighttime is your shower time. Go for it. Besides. I spent ninety percent of the game standing around.”

“Standing right in my way.”

She laughed. “I really tried to move.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Landing on top of me? No. I did feel it more than the roof, though.”

“I’m not sure whether to be insulted by that or not.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

“I’m going to go shower. Do I need to lock the door? Or will you remember I’m in there?”

She tapped her forehead. “Steel trap. Got it.”

When Wes came out of the bathroom, Cassandra wasn’t in the room. He put on his jacket and went outside. Cassandra was sitting on the edge of the porch, watching three deer eat grass nearby.

He sat next to her, and she bumped his shoulder with hers. “I can see why you come back here every year.”

“It’s beautiful. Peaceful.” He rubbed his shoulder. “In between tackles, anyway.”

“I didn’t tackle you.” She turned to him. “Is your shoulder okay?”

“I’m a little out of shape for throwing a ball.”

“Turn around.”

“It’s okay.”

“Weston, turn your back to me.”

He turned, and she began massaging his shoulder. “Feels pretty tight.”

“Old age.”

“You’re not old yet.”

“Sometimes it feels like college was a few days ago, and sometimes it feels like…”

“It was almost twenty years ago?”