Page 10 of Red, White, and You

And that’s a problem I definitely didn’t see coming.

Chapter 6

Gigi

Bythreeo'clock,we'vesold out of everything except a lone chocolate cupcake with slightly lopsided frosting—my practice round from this morning that I couldn't bring myself to throw away.

"I can't believe we sold everything," I say, collapsing into the folding chair behind our now-empty booth. "Even Mrs. Henderson bought something, and she hates sweets almost as much as my mother.”

She just wanted to see Phoenix… and who can blame her?

Phoenix is counting the cash box, and the concentration on his face is oddly endearing. For someone who probably has accountants to handle his finances, he's being surprisingly meticulous about our small-town fundraiser money.

"Two thousand, four hundred and thirty-seven dollars," he announces. "That's amazing."

"It is." I can't keep the pride out of my voice. It’s more than double what I made last year. "The fire department is going to flip."

"You should be proud. This was incredible."

There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. He's not just being polite. Despite it being chump change to someone as wealthy as him, he genuinely seems impressed, and not in the condescending way people sometimes get when they're surprised by small-town success.

"You weren't terrible either," I admit grudgingly. "For a jock.”

"Former jock," he corrects, settling into the chair across from me. "I'm retired, remember?"

"Right. What does a retired NFL player do with his time, anyway? Besides shoot television commercials?"

Phoenix is quiet for a moment, watching a group of kids chase each other around the gazebo with sparklers. "Honestly? I'm still figuring that out."

There's something vulnerable in his admission that catches me off guard. I've been so focused on seeing him as my parents' golden boy that I forgot he might be dealing with his own stuff.

I didn’t expect to feel… anything. But now here I am, watching him admit he doesn’t know what comes next, and something in me untangles a little.

"It must be weird," I say. "Going from having every minute of your life scheduled to... not."

"Weird is one word for it." He leans back in his chair, and for the first time today, he looks tired. "Since I was a kid, my entire identity has been tied up in football. Training, games, recovery, repeat. Now I wake up every morning and have to decide who I want to be."

"Hence the Hart Health thing?"

"Hence the Hart Health thing." He gives me a rueful smile. "Your parents offered me a contract when I was still trying to figure out what came next. It seemed like a good fit at the time."

"And now?"

Phoenix looks at me, and there's something in his dark eyes that makes my stomach do a little flip. "Now I'm starting to think there might be better ways to spend my time."

Oh.

Before I can figure out how to respond to that loaded statement, a little voice pipes up beside our booth.

"Excuse me, are you all out of cupcakes?"

I look down to see a girl who can't be more than seven, clutching a crumpled dollar bill and looking absolutely heartbroken. Behind her, a harried-looking woman—probably her mom—is juggling a baby and looking like she's been chasing kids around the festival all day.

"We are," I say gently, then glance at the lone chocolate cupcake sitting on our table. "But you know what? I think I might have one more hiding back here."

The little girl's face lights up like Fourth of July fireworks as I hand her the slightly imperfect cupcake.

"How much?" her mom asks, reaching for her purse.

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