Page 16 of Falling for Mr. Wright

Crap. He’d forgotten that he’d scribbled down Logan’s favorite cereal on the note he gave her. “His one vice. He’s been eating them ever since he was a kid.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve always said I wanted to cut back on sugar. There’s no time like the present to start.” She reached for the grocery bag below her feet and placed the last of the cinnamon rolls in it.

“I don’t think you need to change your ways, but youdoneed to know what you’re getting yourself into with Logan. Pack rat, predictable, sugar-free…”

She reached over and poked him in the arm. “Coach Wright. I call foul.”

“Foul?” He scrunched his face. “For what?”

“You’re supposed to be helping me find stuff Logan and I have in common, but you’re not giving me anything useful. I don’t care that he holds on to things way past their prime, or that his go-to equipment at the gym is the treadmill. Give me some real stuff.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something that means something to him. Tell me how you guys met. I want to hear how the infamous friendship between you two began. Everyone in the office knows you grew up together, but that’s it.”

“It’s hardly infamous. We met when we were six, and have pretty much been inseparable ever since.”

“Wow. Were you neighbors?”

That question caught him off guard. He’d never told anyone, especially not Sarah, about how he grew up, but it might come up this weekend. Would she judge him? He focused his attention on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “You could say that. My mother was a maid for the Scotts. We lived in a small two-bedroom cottage on their mansion property.”

“Really?”

He glanced over, not surprised at all by the astonished look on her face. “Yep. My dad left when I was six. Decided he’d have enough of being a husband and father and hit the road. Left my mom broke with two kids and no family in the area.”

“Wow… I’m so sorry.”

Pity instead of disgust. He wasn’t sure which was worse. This was why he didn’t talk about it, but he was in too deep now. “We were better off without him,” he said firmly. “My mom met Mrs. Scott at the homeless shelter where we were staying. Mrs. Scott was volunteering there or something. She offered my mom a live-in housekeeping job. That’s how I met Logan.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not something I talk about.” He hadn’t meant the words to come out as sharp as they did, but there it was. He pressed his lips together. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She fiddled with the lid of her coffee cup. “Is your mom still a maid for Mrs. Scott?”

“No. She retired three years ago. She actually lives in North Carolina now with my aunt Frankie.” He smiled at the thought of the two women together. “They’re like two peas in a pod and spend most of their time together getting into trouble. She’s enjoying retirement, though I could go for less late-night calls asking to bail them out of whatever mess they’ve gotten themselves into.”

She laughed. “Good for her. I’m sure being a maid was hard work, and she deserves to have fun.”

“It was, but she never showed it once to Bridget and me. She sacrificed a lot to take care of us and keep a roof over our heads.” He smirked. “It just happened to be on the grounds of a much nicer and much larger roof.”

“Did you and Logan play together?”

“All the time.” He had so many memories of Logan and him riding their bikes all over the grounds. “Logan never looked down on me and Bridget. Not once. Even when my sister and I showed up to play in our secondhand sweaters and faded jeans. He was kind to us. I respect him for that.”

When Ryan looked over at her, he expected to see more of that pity in Sarah’s eyes, but all he found was warmth and understanding. “I bet you and Bridget were good for him, too. Was it hard growing up in Westbrook without…” She paused.

“Money?”

“Yeah. I mean, from what I read on the internet, it’s a pretty affluent town.”

“It is, but you know, it didn’t really phase me at first—probably because I was only six when my mom took the job as their maid. She would bring us up to the main house, and Bridget and I would run around the kitchen, pretending like we lived there. We had dinner there almost every night, so in some ways itwashome.”

That memory produced a genuine grin. It was in the Scott’s massive kitchen after school that Bridget learned to bake, while he sat on a barstool with his colored pencils, designing buildings on sketch paper.

“I think that sounds like a lot of fun,” Sarah said. “I’d love to pretend I lived in a mansion.” She chuckled. “Even now.”

“Itwasfun. Mr. Scott gave me my first pencil set and sketch pad for my seventh birthday. He’d invite me into his office where Logan and I would sit at a small conference table and draw for hours. It became our routine, even when we were in high school, to sketch with Mr. Scott.”

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