Page 5 of Winning the Quarterback
"I'm not most men." The words come out more intense than I intended.
Nora clears her throat. "So, how's the unpacking going? Eleanor's place was always so cozy."
I accept the subject change, following her to the breakfast nook where we sit across from each other. The sun spills across the table between us, warming the wood.
"Slow but steady." I cradle the mug between my hands.
"You were close to her." It's not a question.
"Yeah. She was..." I search for the right words. "She was the one person who never wanted anything from me. Just wanted me to be happy."
Nora nods, understanding in her eyes. "She bragged about you constantly."
The thought makes my chest ache with something between grief and gratitude. "She called me after every game. Win or lose."
"When did you decide to move back?" Nora asks, her voice gentle.
I stare into my coffee, considering how to answer. The truth is complicated—involves a busted knee, painkillers that became too necessary, and the hollowness of fame once the game was gone.
"After an injury, I needed a fresh start," I say finally. "Somewhere that felt real. Denver was great during my playing days, but afterward..." I shrug. "It started to feel like I was playing a part in someone else's story."
"And Whitetail Falls is your story?"
Her question hits closer to home than she could know. "It used to be. I'm trying to figure out if it still can be."
Nora's expression softens. "For what it's worth, I think Whitetail Falls has a way of making room for people to find themselves. It's small, but it breathes."
"You've lived here your whole life?"
She nods. "Born and raised. I went to college in Burlington, but came right back. Some people think that makes me boring or unambitious, but..." She gestures around her. "This is where my stories live."
"I don't think you're boring at all," I say, meaning it.
Her smile is quick and genuine. "Well, you just met me. Give it time."
"I'm counting on it." The words slip out before I can filter them, and her eyes widen slightly.
When Nora gets up to refill our coffee, I notice her laptop still open on the desk. "So what kind of romance do you write? Sweet and steamy, or just sweet?"
She nearly drops the coffee pot. "Um. Both? I mean, there are... elements of both."
The blush spreading down her neck makes me wonder exactly how steamy those elements get.
"I'll have to check them out," I say, enjoying how flustered she looks.
"Please don't." She returns with my refilled mug. "I'd die of mortification knowing you were reading them."
"Now I'm definitely reading them."
She groans, covering her face with her hand. "You're terrible."
"Just curious." I take the mug from her, our fingers brushing. The brief contact sends a ridiculous jolt through me, and from her sharp intake of breath, I suspect she felt it too. "About what kind of stories you tell."
For a heartbeat, we're just looking at each other, something unspoken crackling in the air between us. She smells like vanilla, and it's intoxicating.
"What about you?" she asks, breaking the moment as she settles back in her chair. "What are your weekend plans? Besides unpacking and traumatizing your new neighbor."
I laugh. "Actually, I volunteered to help set up the Fire Department's Haunted House." A thought occurs to me, impulsive but irresistible. "You should come."
