Page 21 of Hometown Halftime

I point my pen at him. “You’ve only seen the filtered version.” He grins as I tilt my chin toward him. “Your turn.”

He exhales. “Uh…Cedar Falls High, too, but you know that. I started playing football when I was five. Graduated, got a full-ride scholarship to Cartwright, I’m majoring in accounting. Knox was helping me with the lead-up for the Pro draft. But I had some family stuff happen.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push. I figure he’ll tell me what he’s comfortable with.

There’s another pause, and then he blurts out, “Are you married?”

My coffee nearly goes down the wrong pipe.

His face goes crimson. “I just meant—well, I didn’t mean,” He rubs a hand over his forehead, mortified. “Forget I said it. That was too personal. Sorry.”

His ears turn a bright pink and it’s stupidly cute.

“No,” I say gently. “I’m not married, no boyfriend. I’ve been single for an embarrassingly long amount of time.”

“Okay.” He sits up straighter, and then, because his mouth is absolutely his worst enemy, adds too quickly, “That’s good. I’m totally single too.”

I blink. “Oh yeah? I hadn’t assumed you were secretly hiding a wife somewhere. Surely, news of the past Cedar Falls star quarterback getting married would’ve made the Facebook page. Plus, Darren made that pretty clear the other evening.”

He looks down at his notepad, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m done with questions.”

I laugh. “Relax, Weston. You’re fine.”

We return to the practice outline, a little lighter and a little less guarded. There’s an ease between us that wasn’t there Monday, something that feels a little like trust.

When we’re satisfied with our progress, we begin to pack up. As he slides his tablet into his backpack, he pauses.

“I was also thinking we should do a team-building activity outside of practice.”

I glance up at him. “Okay, what are you thinking?”

He shrugs. “I used to volunteer at the Food Pantry with the team back in high school. I still pop in when I come home for breaks. They always need help. I can reach out to my contact over there and set something up.”

So, this man is not only handsome, athletic, and driven, but he also gives back to his community. Got it.

I nod. “Yeah, that would be great. Set it up for a Saturday morning if you can.”

A sweet smile spreads on his lips. “Great, I’ll keep you updated. Four-thirty tomorrow?”

“Four-thirty,” I confirm.

“See you then,” he says.

“See you at the field, Weston,” I return.

When I walk out into the October air, I might be smiling into my coffee, but I refuse to believe that it’s because of Riley Weston.

Chapter ten

Kinsey

I usually sleep in on Saturday mornings. But today, instead of being blissfully sprawled out in my bed, I’m standing inside the town food bank wearing a borrowed volunteer apron and holding a list of items to check off like I know what I’m doing.

The team mills around the room behind me, energy bouncing off the concrete floor in waves. Someone drops a box of pasta while another one of the girls is laughing too loudly. It’s exactly what happens when you gather fifteen teenagers before noon.

“Okay,” I say, clapping my hands once to get their attention. “Listen up, ladies.”

They turn toward me.