Page 57 of The Overtime Kiss

Once I hit the main floor, I find Sabrina curled up on the living room couch, reading a book about coachingtechniques. She looks up from it and says, “I checked on them as soon as you fell asleep. They’re reading, but I figured it’d be best if I stay here in case they needed anything.”

Like a responsible adult.

Wincing, I scrub a hand against my neck, relieved but disappointed in myself. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“No problem,” she says.

Sure, this isn’t the first time I’ve crashed midday on them. They’re old enough to entertain themselves while we’re under the same roof. One time, we were watching an animated movie about a plucky dog leading some kind of resistance movement when I conked out on the couch only to wake up with a bandit mask over my eyes—part of Parker’s Halloween costume and pretty damn clever. Another time, I found a cardboard placard on my chest that saidWorld’s Greatest Snorer.

Still, I should do better. I can’t be napping at the nanny’s.

Sabrina rises, closing her book with a quick snap. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “I really should prepare for my lessons next week anyway.” Once again, she helped out on her own, going the extra mile, like she did with the stars and moon.

“Thanks again,” I say as she makes her way out of the living room.

Before she leaves though, she turns around. “I use it on my calves. The Theragun. They get sore.”

And you know what? That’s still fucking hot. And I still want to be the one to use it on her.

“Let me know if you ever need help,” I say, my voice a little gravelly with remnants of sleep.

“I will,” she says, her gaze…is it hopeful?

I head to the staircase to check on the kids.

Before I reach it, she says, her voice tinged with nervesbut also excitement, “Tomorrow’s your home opener. I can bring the kids. We should really all go, don’t you think? To cheer you on.”

I can’t think of a thing I’d rather have right now than all of them in the stands. “Yes.”

15

BEDAZZLING

Sabrina

I might have returned the hoodie Tyler gave me on my wedding night, but it seems to have boomeranged back to me. When I wake up on Sunday morning, I find a peach-colored gift bag outside my door with a sweatshirt inside. The same one I returned months ago, I think.

I tug it out, and a note flutters onto the floor.

I don’t know if you have any Sea Dogs gear, but I know this—you need it tonight. Don’t break my heart by wearing anything but team gear, Snow.

P.S. If you like jerseys better, I left one of those too. The kids will wear theirs. Remember—matchy-matchy is cool. At least Ijust decided it is.

—T

A smile tugs at my lips as I slip my hand back into the bag, pulling out a jersey in royal blue with his number—forty-four—and his name emblazoned across the back.

My mind immediately whirs with plans for it. I can’t help but imagine ways to make it my own. But first, I pick up the note and head back into my apartment. Inside, I cross the small living room, already mentally filing the jersey gift underperfectly unexpected things Tyler does.

I set the note carefully into a journal I keep on my nightstand, the one I use to jot down a good thing that’s happened to me each day. The journal is pink and white with illustrations of sassy women in flouncy skirts and teetering heels crossing cobblestoned streets.

Isla picked it up for me for my birthday since she’s a notebook devotee too—though she’s hooked on planners. Well, that’s understandable. Planners look fun.

Sometimes I feel a little silly keeping one. Do adults keep journals? But it’s a reclaiming of all the tracking I did when I was a teenager. Rather than record the minutes I worked out—and really, in retrospect, would an extra fifteen minutes a day of squats have changed my fate at the Olympics?—I now write down one good thing.

Flipping it open, I tuck the new note beside the one from the sheets and the first one he left—the one from the hotel room that morning after. But I stop and reread it, the kind words hitting me right in the solar plexus all over again, especially this line—You deserve someone who lets you shine.

Then I flip forward a few pages and read last night’s good thing—we’ll be shopping for disco balls soon!

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