Page 130 of Worth the Trip

I stared at the message entirely too long before forcing my attention back to the highway. That damn my had range. Landon had been calling me Hershey since Willow Run, but possession changed the sound of it without making it feel like ownership. It felt intimate instead, like something warm he’d cupped between his palms and decided belonged only to the space between us.

By the time Self Springs rose around me, beneath old trees and brick storefronts, I’d decided I liked his city. There was pride in it without performance. Black-owned businesses stretched along the boulevard beside churches, bookstores, cafés, and professional offices that looked as though they had been there long enough to become part of the town’s memory. Two older men argued through the window of a barbershop with enough commitment to suggest the disagreement had survived several presidential administrations. I smiled as the navigation guided me toward the athletic complex, where parents occupied folding chairs along the sidelines while boys in practice jerseys moved across the field.

I heard Landon before I saw him. A whistle cut through the morning, sharp enough to carry across the complex, and I followed the sound until I found him near midfield in black training pants and a Langston shirt darkened across the chest from the heat. His locs were pulled away from his face, and one hand rested against his hip while he watched a young receiver reset at the line. The boy had missed something. Landon crossed toward him and lowered himself enough to speak without turning correction into a performance, demonstrated the route once, then sent him back. The quarterback took the snap. The receiver cut across the middle and caught the ball cleanly. Landon nodded once, and the boy returned to the huddle, standing straighter than he had before.

I’d heard Landon talk about coaching. I’d watched him read to children at Scoops & Stories. Seeing him here showed me something different. He expected something from those boys without making failure expensive to their dignity. The thought had barely settled before his attention shifted toward the parking lot.

Toward me.

Whatever instruction had been waiting behind his mouth disappeared. His whistle lowered against his chest while his eyes traveled over my cream sundress with absolutely no respect for the public nature of the environment. I stood beside my SUV, holding his breakfast, and tried to behave like I hadn’t changed clothes twice before deciding on the dress.

One of the boys followed his attention and called across the field, “Coach, Hershey here!”

My eyes closed. Wonderful. Privacy had officially died in Self Springs.

Landon never looked away from me. “I see her.”

The boy laughed. “You smiling too.”

“And you still out of position.” Landon pointed toward the formation. “Give me one clean rep before curiosity becomes conditioning.”

That handled everybody. Mostly.

I crossed toward the lowest row of bleachers and placed his coffee and breakfast beside me. Landon returned to practice, but his attention kept finding me between plays. Once while the quarterback checked the defense. Again while a receiver reset his feet. The third time, I stared right back. His eyebrow lifted. Mine answered. The smile he gave me almost made me forget there were children present.

The final rep ended cleanly. Landon gathered the boys at midfield, said something I couldn’t hear, then dismissed them toward their parents. The whistle came off his neck, and then he came toward me. Sweat had darkened his shirt, his locs were beginning to loosen near his temples, and sunlight had apparently decided to participate in my downfall by catching the deep brown of his skin in all the places I had no business studying on a youth football field.

I stood before he reached me. His eyes made another slow trip over my dress before he stopped close enough for the heat of him to reach me.

“Morning, love.”

My pulse lost all professional credibility. “Morning.”

“You pulled up in my city looking like that?”

I glanced down at myself. “I wasn’t aware Self Springs had a dress code.”

“It does now.”

“What am I violating?”

His attention moved over me again. “Public decency.”

I laughed. “You’ve been looking at me for five minutes, and you’re already dramatic.”

“Nah, Hershey. I’m precise with language.”

“You lost your train of thought in front of twelve children.”

“I paused to appreciate an unexpected variable.”

“An unexpected variable?”

“You. Walking across my field in that dress while I’m expected to maintain institutional order.”

I held his coffee toward him before he could enjoy himself any further. “Maybe the institution needs stronger leadership.”

“My leadership is exceptional. You’re disruptive.”