Page 18 of Winning the Quarterback
But she didn't have to. Because everything inside me is screaming that I can't leave. Not now.
"Gram," I say aloud to the empty room, "I could use some advice right about now."
A sudden gust of wind rattles the windows, sending a shower of golden maple leaves against the glass. Outside, the late afternoon has softened toward evening, the sky taking on that particular autumn glow that makes Whitetail Falls look like it's been dipped in amber.
The Fall Festival will be in full swing now. Acorn Circle transformed with strings of lights, vendor booths, music, and the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke. The whole town gathering to celebrate the season.
Including Nora.
I grab my jacket, decision made before I've even consciously formed it. The Chicago opportunity will wait. This won't.
The streets of Whitetail Falls bustle with activity as I make my way toward Acorn Circle. Families with children clutching caramel apples, elderly couples walking arm-in-arm, teenagers laughing in groups—the town is alive with celebration.
I scan the crowd for Nora, heart pounding with an urgency I haven't felt since my playing days. Music drifts from the bandstand in the center of the circle, something folksy and warm, fiddles and guitars blending with laughter and conversation.
She's not at the cider booth. Not at the pumpkin carving station where children squeal with delight at their lopsided creations. Not among the couples swaying to the music on the makeshift dance floor.
Then I spot a banner for Moonlight & Manuscripts, the bookstore where she works, set up near the edge of the festivities. A small crowd has gathered around a table piled with books, and there—her blonde hair catching the golden festival lights, her curves wrapped in a deep burgundy sweater—is Nora.
She's talking animatedly to an elderly woman, gesturing toward a book in her hands, smiling bright despite it not quite reaching her eyes. Even from this distance, I can see the slight tension in her shoulders, the careful way she's holding herself together.
And it hits me, with the force of a blindside tackle, how much I want to spend the rest of my life making sure that smile reaches her eyes.
I wait until the customer moves away, then approach the table. Nora looks up, and the flash of emotions across her face nearly stops my heart.
"Devin," she says, my name soft on her lips. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I needed to find you." My voice is rougher than intended, urgent with everything I need to say.
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Is everything okay?"
I glance around at the crowded festival. "Can we talk? Somewhere quieter?"
Hesitation flickers across her face before she nods. "Give me a minute." She turns to a young woman arranging books nearby.
The woman's eyes dart between us, curiosity evident. "Take your time," she says with a knowing smile.
Nora steps around the table, and I fight the urge to pull her into my arms right there. Instead, I place my hand lightly on her lower back, guiding her away from the crowd toward a quieter corner of the festival grounds, beneath a massive oak draped with twinkling lights.
When she turns to face me, the festival lights reflect in her eyes, turning them to liquid amber. She's breathtaking.
"How did the calls go?" she asks, arms wrapped around herself protectively.
"They went," I say, suddenly unsure how to start. I've rehearsed this a dozen times on the walk over, but now, faced with her guarded expression, words fail me.
"Chicago sounds exciting," she offers, voice neutral. "A great opportunity."
"It is." I step closer, close enough to catch the vanilla and cinnamon scent that's uniquely her. "But I'm not going."
Her eyes widen. "What? But you said—"
"I know what I said." I reach for her hands, relieved when she doesn't pull away. "But I've spent the past hour sitting in Gram's cottage, staring at the walls, thinking about you. About us. About this town."
"Devin..." Her voice wavers.
"Let me finish," I say gently, squeezing her hands. "I've been running my whole life, Nora. Running after something bigger, better, more important. The next win, the next championship, the next city. Even coming back here, I thought it was just a pit stop. Somewhere to lick my wounds before the next race."
I take a deep breath, the words finally flowing freely. "But then I met you. And for the first time, I don't want to run anymore. I want to stay still. I want to be here, in this ridiculous, beautiful town with its pumpkin festivals and nosy neighbors and leaves that somehow know the exact perfect moment to fall."
