Page 29 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
"...who'll step up if he's out?"
I pretend not to hear, focusing instead on the ice pack being strapped to my knee. The cold seeps into my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the locker room.
"Alright, lads," Coach booms, silencing the murmurs. "Snow's tough as old boots. He'll be right as rain in no time. Now, let's talk about that second half..."
As Coach drones on about strategy, my mind wanders. I think of the farm back home, of Dad's weathered hands guiding mine as I learned to mend fences. "There's always another way, son," he'd say. "You just gotta be stubborn enough to find it."
I set my jaw, determination flooding through me. This isn't over. Not by a long shot.
The physio couldn’t give me a clear answer yet—still waiting on the MRI results, and the tests earlier didn’t tell us much. I’ve felt worse, sure, but this knee… it’s different. There’s something in the way it’s holding me back, something that feels like more than just a knock. But I can’t afford to think about that right now.
I’ve made up my mind. The second I’m cleared to get back out there, I’m going. I can’t wait around for answers. The team needs me, and damn it, I need the game.
11
A week later
LIV
The words on my phone screen blur as I blink rapidly, trying to process what I'm reading. My fingers tap a nervous rhythm against the glass display case, sending tiny vibrations through the rows of carefully arranged pastries.
"No way," I mutter, squinting at the review as if that might somehow change its contents. "This can't be right."
But there it is, in stark black and white: "Disappointing stodge from an overhyped newcomer. Save your money and your taste buds."
My stomach lurches. I've poured my heart and soul into this café, into every cannoli and pastry that leaves my kitchen. Stodge? How can someone dismiss it so casually?
A customer approaches, and I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile. "Hello! What can I get for you today?"
I box up their order, and my mind races. What if this review drives people away? What if all my hard work crumbles like... well, like badly-made biscotti?
No. I take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of coffee and warm pastry. Nonna Sofia's voice echoes in my head: "Liv, mia cara, remember - a good baker never lets her dough fall flat. You knead it, you shape it, you make it rise again."
I straighten my shoulders. One bad review doesn't define me or my café. I think of the way Nonna's eyes crinkled with pride when I told her I was opening this place, of the countless hours we spent perfecting family recipes together.
"Thank you," I say to the customer, handing over their package with a genuine smile this time. "Enjoy your day!"
As they leave, I glance around my cozy café. The early morning sunlight streams through the windows, glinting off the polished espresso machine. The air is rich with the aroma of fresh-baked pastries and brewing coffee. This is my dream, my passion - and no nasty review can take that away.
I roll up my sleeves, determination settling in my chest like a warm cornetto. "Alright, universe," I mutter, heading towards the kitchen. "You want to challenge me? Bring it on. I've got some seriously delicious revenge to bake."
"Order up!" I call out, sliding a plate of my signature scones across the counter. The customer, a regular with a passion for floral flavors, beams at me.
"Liv, you've outdone yourself again," she gushes, inhaling deeply. "These smell divine!"
I flash her my brightest smile, pushing down the nagging worry that's been plaguing me all morning. "Thanks! I hope they taste even better than they smell."
As I turn to grab the next order, I catch a glimpse of a phone screen over a patron's shoulder. My heart sinks as I recognizethat blasted review, its harsh words seeming to leap off the screen.
"Everything okay, love?" An elderly gentleman peers at me over his newspaper, concern etched on his weathered face.
I force my lips into a cheerful curve. "Absolutely! Just thinking about my next baking experiment. How about a slice of tiramisu on the house?"
His eyes light up, and I bustle off to the kitchen, grateful for the momentary distraction. But as I reach for the mascarpone, I wonder – is my passion enough to keep this dream alive? Or am I just fooling myself, like Nonna's stories of magical kitchen spirits that helped her bake?
I shake my head, dusting my hands with cocoa powder. No. I won't let one nasty review break me. I've got flour in my veins and determination in my heart. And right now, I've got a cafe full of hungry customers who deserve nothing but my best. I let myself get distracted; that’s the only reason that bad review happened. But if I stay focused from here out, I’ll be fine.
"Chin up, Liv," I mutter to myself, channeling Nonna's no-nonsense tone. "Time to show them what you're made of."
