Page 13 of Curve Balls and Second Chances
Her expression flickered - guilt, maybe.Orannoyance at being read so easily.“Look,Ididn’t come here to fight.”
“Then say what you need to say.”
She stepped closer, voice softer, put her hand on his arm.“YouandI… we had history,Acen.Ijust thought maybe, now that we’re both back, we could talk.Seewhere things stand.”
Acen stepped back, letting her hand fall away.“Nothingstands,Briana.Whateverwe had ended a long time ago.YouandI… we were a mistake.”
She flinched.“That’sharsh.”
“It's true.”
She looked away, then back again, eyes sharper now.“Sothis is abouther, isn’t it?”
“You know damn well it’s always been about her.”
Briana’s jaw tightened, but she nodded like she’d been expecting it.“You’restill chasingRoseMcAllisterafter all these years?Youreally think she’ll ever forgive you?”
He didn’t answer.Hedidn’t need to.
Briana laughed - quiet, bitter.“Goodluck with that.Smalltowns don’t forget.Andneither does she.”
Then she turned and stepped away, heels clicking across the concrete like punctuation marks on a sentence she’d written years ago.
She turned at the door.“She’llnever take you back.Andwe had a good thing once upon a time.Thisisn’t over,Acen.”
That night,Rosesat on her porch swing, the moonlight silvering the edges of her thoughts.
She still hadn’t responded toDeclan’snote.Thefood atTheSilverCatfishwaslegendary, and part of her wanted to go.Totry.Tolet someone new in.
But every time she thought about it, she sawAcen’sface.Notjust how he looked now—but how he’d looked back then.Ateighteen, leaning against the hood ofRiley’scar, telling her he was leaving.Tellingher he lovedher, even though he had kissedBriana, but he was going anyway.
And then the weeks.Thesilence.Thelong, hollow years.
She closed her eyes, gripping the swings’ chain until her fingers ached.
Her phone buzzed.Amessage fromDeclan:
Still hoping for a yes.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then typed:Dinnersounds nice.Tomorrow?
She hit send before she could change her mind.
Let the past stay where it belonged.
CHAPTEREIGHT
TheSilverCatfishwasn’t fancy by city standards, but forPickwickBend, it was as close to date-night elegant as it got.Tuckedagainst the curve of the river, the restaurant boasted an old-fashioned porch, stone fireplace, checkered tablecloths, and the best house made slaw this side of theMississippi.
She’d textedDeclanearlier in the day asking to meet him at the restaurant.Teampractice had run late.Andshe’d still had the smell ofAcenin her mind when she went home.So, she’d made the request,Delcanhad replied yes but with concern about why, and she’d showeredAcenright out of her mind.Shehoped.
Declan stood when stood when she walked in.
She hadn’t worn anything fancy—just jeans and a fitted navy blouse—but the way his eyes lingered made her feel like she’d stepped off a movie screen.
“You look…”Hehesitated, then smiled.“ExactlyhowIhoped.”
