Page 6 of Dear Coach's Daughter
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BROWNIE
As if it wasn’t hard enough to get Hunter out of my mind, his face is plastered all over the news and social media. I can't get away from him. And if I'm honest, I don't want to either.
“It’s not funny,” I say to Taylor the following day.
I’ve spent much of the morning looking for a job. I didn’t have a lot of time to find something new before moving back home. After his heart attack, I knew I needed to get back here as soon as possible. I’ve been doing some freelance web design, but that’s not sustainable in the long run for me. And I’m not going to ask my dad for money.
“That’s where you are wrong, Bea. This is hilarious. The first guy that catches your eyes in almost a year, and he’s on your dad’s team. I guess your rule about dating football players has gone out the window.”
“No. It hasn’t.”
This stops Taylor’s laughter. “Are you serious? You are going to let one asshole football player from ten years ago ruin a chance at a future with Hunter Delaney?"
“We met once. There is no future.”
“I saw the way he was looking at you. And for that matter, the way you were looking at him. Don’t be an idiot and let love slip through your fingers because of some stupid rule you made when you were a heartbroken teenager.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say. “Quit trying to distract me. I need to find a job unless you want me to keep staying in your spare room rent-free."
"By all means, mooch. Please don't let me stop you from finding a job."
“You love this mooch.” I chuckle and bat my eyes at her.
She shrugs like she could take me or leave me before cracking a smile. “You’re just okay.”
The apartment buzzer rings.
Taylor gets up to answer it. “Yes?”
“Delivery for Brownie Moreno.”
Taylor looks at me, but I shake my head, not knowing what it could be. All my stuff was delivered a couple of days ago. She buzzes up the delivery guy. I set down my laptop and open the door.
As the guy walks up the steps on the landing, I can see what looks like a bouquet of some sort, but it doesn’t look like flowers. He stops at the door holding whatever is in his hand delicately.
“Brownie Moreno?”
“That’s me.”
“This is for you," he says, holding out an envelope and then hands me the bouquet. I scribble my name with my finger on the electronic pad he holds out to me.
“Thanks.”
"Have a good one," the delivery guy says before heading back down the steps.
“What is it?” Taylor asks from behind me.
I turn around to show her. “It’s a bouquet of brownies.”
There are twelve heart-shaped brownies with red frosting on them. Each one perched on a long white dowel and wrapped in a brown burlap cloth with a red ribbon tying it all together.
“Oh, he’s good.” She plucks one brownie out of the edible bouquet and starts walking down the hall to her room, chuckling to herself. “You are so screwed.”
She’s not wrong.
Taking my treats over to the couch, I set them down on the coffee table and sit down. I flip the envelope over in my hands. It doesn’t say who it’s from, but it’s pretty obvious who sent it. Opening this envelope could change everything, but the temptation to find out what he wrote is stronger than the pull of the desserts sitting in front of me—and that’s saying something.
