Page 76 of Worth the Trip

“Better than yours?”

“Let’s not damage the diplomatic relationship.”

“Coward.”

“Strategist.”

Dinner moved easily after that. We argued about whether peach cobbler outranked sweet potato pie, agreed raisins had no legitimate place in macaroni and cheese, and discovered we both considered people who put sugar in grits worthy of investigation.

Somewhere between one conversation and the next, Landon mentioned a boy from one of his youth teams.

“He used to show up thirty minutes early and sit by the fence. Never asked for extra reps. Barely talked.”

“What did you do?”

“Started getting there forty minutes early.”

I looked at him.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You never asked why he was there?”

“Eventually. Didn’t need to interrogate him first. He kept showing up. I made sure somebody was glad to see him when he did.”

I sat with that.

“That’s why you coach.”

“That’s one reason.”

His eyes drifted toward the harbor.

“Football gave me structure when I needed some. Somebody cared about me without making me earn the right to be cared about. I can return that.”

The answer sounded more like Landon than any polished mission statement could have.

I reached for the last dinner roll and broke it in half, dropping the larger portion onto his plate before thinking about it.

Landon looked down, then at me.

“What?”

“You gave me the bigger piece.”

I looked at the bread. “Did I?”

“Mhm.”

“It’s bread.”

“I know.”

He picked it up, broke off part, and put it back on my plate.

I laughed. “What are you doing?”