Page 72 of Hometown Halftime

An hour later, takeout containers cover my coffee table.

Kinsey sits cross-legged on one side of the couch wearing leggings and a Florence and the Machine T-shirt she dug out of her suitcase. Her hair falls over one shoulder while she steals a crab rangoon off my plate with absolutely no shame.

“Hey, that was my last one,” I complain.

“Crab rangoons help me in my despair,” she says around a bite.

I stare at her in betrayal. “You move into my home and take my only rangoon?”

“You offered me shelter. You never established crab rangoon boundaries.”

I laugh harder than the joke probably deserves, but deep down, I’m just relieved to hear her sounding more like herself again.

The TV hums quietly in the background while we eat, mostly ignored as conversation moves into easy territory. We talk about the team, our friends, and our experiences in sports. At some point she tells me about getting red-carded during a college rugby game after tackling a girl who yanked her ponytail.

“You assaulted someone because they pulled your hair?” I ask.

“She started it.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“She’s lucky she didn’t leave with a broken arm.”

I nearly choke on my noodles.

Then I tell her the story about Lee splitting his football pants during a playoff game during our junior year, exposing his Superman underwear and Kinsey laughs so hard she folds sideways against the couch cushions, clutching her stomach.

“Oh my God.” She wheezes. “Please tell me that someone has pictures.”

“There are definitely pictures.”

“I need them immediately.”

I watch her while she laughs, and something hits me hard in my chest. Because this feels easy, and I wasn't prepared for that feeling. She’s sitting on my couch, eating food, looking comfortable. She looks like she belongs here.

By the time we finish eating and clean up the containers, exhaustion catches up to her. I can see it in the slower movements, the way she rubs at one eye while suppressing a yawn.

“I should probably leave you alone so you can enjoy your incredibly uncomfortable couch,” she says.

“My couch is fine. I’ll just grab a couple of things from my room.”

She smiles softly as we head upstairs together.

I duck into my bedroom and grab a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, a pillow, and a blanket for myself. When I step back into the hallway, Kinsey stands just outside my door, waiting for me.

She looks beautiful standing there in my hallway, barefoot and sleepy, and trusting me enough to stay here tonight.

I shift everything under one arm. “You know…”

Her eyes lift to mine. “What?”

“If this had actually been our first date, I would’ve walked you to your door.”

A small flicker of surprise crosses her face.

“Oh yeah?” she asks softly.

“Yeah.” My eyes drift to her lips. “And I probably would’ve kissed you goodnight.”