Page 1 of Winning the Quarterback
Chapter 1 – Nora
The trouble with being a romance novelist is that you start to see meet-cutes everywhere.
That jogger who stops to pet your dog? Potential love interest. The barista who remembers your complicated coffee order? Definitely marriage material. The guy across the street unloading moving boxes who just happens to have shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of your considerable emotional baggage?
Well…
I adjust my oversized cardigan and sink deeper into my porch swing, pretending to focus on my laptop screen while actually watching him over the rim of my coffee mug.
"I'm not staring," I inform Pudding, my orange tabby, who sits beside me with an expression of profound judgment. "I'm... conducting research."
Pudding's tail flicks in a gesture that clearly translates to:Keep telling yourself that, Nora.
But seriously, what else am I supposed to do? I've been stuck on Chapter Twelve of my latest manuscript for days, and the universe has kindly delivered distraction in human form. Tall, broad-shouldered human form, with faded jeans that hug in all the right places and a baseball cap shading what appears to be an unfairly handsome face.
The moving truck backed into the house twenty minutes ago, and I've accomplished exactly zero words since. The golden October sunlight spills across the street, turning the cascade offallen maple leaves into a carpet of fire. Against this backdrop, Mystery Man hefts a box labeled 'KITCHEN' with enviable ease.
"It's professional curiosity," I explain to Pudding, who has begun grooming himself with theatrical disinterest. "What if he's the perfect inspiration for my hero? Derek needs more... dimension."
Pudding pauses mid-lick to give me a weird look.
For the record, I'm not usually the type to spy on my neighbors. Whitetail Falls is small enough that everyone generally knows everyone's business anyway. But there's something about New Guy that keeps drawing my gaze back. Maybe it's the confident way he moves, or how he stopped to help Mrs. Finch corral her recycling when the wind kicked up.
Or maybe it's just that I've spent too many hours alone with fictional people and my judgmental cat.
I attempt to focus on my manuscript. Derek and Jenny are about to have their first kiss after twelve chapters of torturous sexual tension, and I can't quite capture the—
"Pudding! No!"
My cat chooses this moment to make his daring escape, leaping from the swing and darting down the porch steps with surprising agility for a creature who sleeps twenty hours a day.
Andof coursehe heads straight across the street.
I'm on my feet instantly, laptop clattering to the swing. "Pudding! Get back here!"
But my traitorous pet is already halfway to his target: New Guy, who's bent over another box on his driveway.
I hurry after him, my oversized sweater flapping behind me, cursing under my breath. The last thing this man needs on moving day is my cat's unwanted assistance. I've only made it halfway across the street when Pudding reaches him, weaving figure-eights around his ankles.
"I am so sorry," I call out, breathless more from embarrassment than exertion. "He doesn't usually—"
New Guy straightens, and oh.
Oh.
Up close, Mystery Man is even more devastating. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the kind of smile that feels like a secret being shared. They're hazel, gold and warm like the October light filtering through the trees.
"Hey there, buddy," he says, crouching down to stroke Pudding's head. My cat—my standoffish, people-hating cat—instantly arches into his touch, purring loud enough to be heard from where I stand frozen in the middle of the street.
"Traitor," I mutter.
New Guy laughs, a warm, rich sound that settles somewhere beneath my ribs. "I think we're being insulted," he tells Pudding, who has now flopped shamelessly onto his side, exposing his belly.
"It took me two years to earn belly privileges," I say, finally finding my voice as I close the distance between us. "You managed it in ten seconds. I'm questioning everything I thought I knew about our relationship."
His smile widens, revealing a slight dimple in his left cheek. Dimples should be illegal on men who already look like this.
"I've always had a way with... cats." There's just enough pause before the word to make my cheeks warm.
