Page 8 of Just One Season
For so many reasons, I’m happy to be here.
For now.
“And it’s the ideal town for a dog lover like you.”
“I am not,” I scoff as we turn onto the busy main street.
Atticus gestures to the large bowl of water in front of an antique shop just ahead. “Everyone brings their dogs everywhere.”
Zeus strains against the leash and dunks his entire head into the water bowl, then shakes aggressively, splattering water on my jeans. A few droplets make it all the way up to my face.
“Hey! Come on!” Zeus runs ahead, causing me to almost trip on the leash and fall on my face.
“There are even dog parades.” Atticus calls ahead as I struggle with Zeus.
“Dog parades?” Once I get my balance, I wipe my cheek with a sleeve.
“Over the summer, I witnessed an enormous parade of corgis.”
“That sounds ridiculous.” Zeus weaves in and out of my legs, threatening to trip me again. “I will never be part of a dog parade.”
“There were flags and everything. It was wild.”
“Jesus. Heel, Zeus!” Zeus barks, stops, and rolls onto his back. I sigh and tug on his leash until he gets up. “Anyway, it’s temporary.”
“What’s temporary? The dog?”
“Yes. All of this. The dog, me living with you, this job.”
“If you say so.”
I can feel Atticus staring at my profile, but I ignore him and face straight ahead.
We walk past a few closed businesses. Thai food, Italian, a swanky-looking bar called Black Diamond.
“Right here.” Atticus gestures toward a storefront—Deep Roots Cafe. I duck inside ahead of him.
“Ohhh, this place is so perfect!” It’s an adorable little coffee shop with a chalkboard list of drinks, a case containing baked goods, and sturdy wooden tables throughout. It smells amazing,like warm muffins and crumb cake. There’s a doorway to a cozy-looking bookstore with a sign announcing A Good Book above the wide open internal double doors. A cute guy with a beard and wavy dark hair smiles at me from behind the bookstore counter. I look away.
I have no desire to date any guy, or even flirt. Because I’m not sure I’ll ever be enough for someone, even if it seems like I am. I can’t trust that feeling.
“And what, exactly, do you intend on doing with this dog when you move to England?” Atticus waves me to follow him.
“I don’t have the job yet. I’ll figure out what to do with Zeus after I pass the phone interview, the video interview, and the in-person interview.” I stop behind my brother in the line for coffee.
“That’s a whole lot of interviews.”
“You have no idea how normal people jobs work.” I huff. “You’re a professional hockey player. And this is my dream job.” We step closer to the register.
“Is it a dream because the work is so good?” Atticus ignores my comments. “Because you love soccer so much? Or because it’s in England, which is almost as far from your life in D.C. as you can get?”
“Oh, shut up.” I push his arm and hope he doesn’t notice I’m not answering his question. “New Zealand would be much further.”
But the answer is all of the above.
The job with Winchester FC would be a promotion from director of marketing at DC FC—a level I’ve been stuck at for years—to senior director of PR and marketing. And there’s potential for growth.
And yeah, it’s far, far away in England.
