Page 119 of The Overtime Kiss

“He was so enamored with her,” Charlie pipes in. “He had a poster on his wall and everything. He couldn’t stop watching her compete, Sabrina.”

“Weird,” Parker says. Because he’s not one to sayew, though it’s clear that’s what he means.

But to me this news is delightful. “Tell me more.”

Trevyn raises a finger. “And leave out no detail,” he adds.

“My dad and I watch figure skating together all the time,” Luna puts in as she grabs a buttery roll.

I sort of knew this—his figure skating interest—but I also didn’t really know how far back it went, or how deep. “And you’ve always been into this?” I ask Tyler, but inside I’m thinking—his nighttime habits with my video make even more sense now.

Tyler doesn’t need to answer since his mom is here to handle it. “He watched every televised competition she was in when he was younger,” his mother supplies, far too pleased to share this.

Lauren Falcon is such a troublemaker, and I adore her for it.

I have a million more questions for him.

But then my phone buzzes in my back pocket, loud and obnoxious. Shoot. I forgot to silence it.

From across the table, Tyler points at me. “You’d better check, in case that’s it.”

“I don’t want to open it in the middle of dinner,” I whisper back, but there’s no point. Everyone can hear us.

“What if it’s the kitten?” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument.

“Is a kitten texting you now?” Leighton asks.

“Sabrina, check it,” Parker puts in with more urgency than I’d expected.

“Is it them? Is it them? Is it them?” Luna begs.

Clearly, there’s no way to ignore this. I take out my phone and beam when I spot a message from Nia, the foster coordinator at the animal rescue.

I read it out loud, trying to rein in my excitement. “We know it’s Thanksgiving, but we got these new little cuties on our steps. Can you foster one of them? We need a foster for the next couple weeks.”

Tyler looks at me with so much intensity I’d swear he just scored a goal. “Say yes. Say it now.”

And Luna and Parker just about lose their minds as I do.

Later, as everyone zones out to a Christmas movie on TV, I help Tyler in the kitchen with the last of the cleanup, then turn to him, something still nagging at me, but not in a bad way. More like I can’t stop thinking about it. “What was that all about with your mother? When you pulled her aside?”

He sighs, peers around, then says quietly, “I told her she has to stop asking you about your dating.”

“Why?” I press since I can’t resist.

His eyes are fiery. His tone, firm. “Because I can’t stand hearing it.”

My heart stutters. “Did you tell her…about us?”

“Some of the truth,” he admits. “Not the private details. But that I’ve had it bad for you for a very long time,” he admits.

A flutter moves through me, even though I already knew how he felt. He’d told me our first night together he’d wanted to ask me out. To take me to mini golf or a baseball game. But hearing him say it again? It’s a lovely reminder.

Trouble is, the more he says sweet, swoony things, the more I start to want them—those dates, those nights, those times with him.

What if I let myself want them? Just for a second?

But I have to ignore that want. There are too many other things at stake. The job. His kids. His life is one thing; mine is another.

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