Page 73 of Penalty Kiss
Her gaze holds mine, unflinching. “I don’t need you to be perfect. Perfect’s dull. And what happened at the house? It was an accident. That’s all.”
My chest loosens. I'm about to kiss her when my phone buzzes. Text from Lily.
Lily:Heard about the excitement at Tara’s. My staff told me you’re at the loft now. Levi and I are five minutes away… with pizza.
I groan. Of course. Nothing kills the mood faster than my goalie and his candy-queen wife crashing date night with carbs.
The door rattles with enthusiasm rather than courtesy.
"Open up, you domestic disaster," Levi bellows, somehow loud even through solid wood. "We brought provisions."
I swing the door open to find not just Lily and Levi with pizza boxes, but Scott still in his turnout pants and CFFD t-shirt, Vicky Kennedy carrying what looks like homemade pie, and Mrs. Henderson leaning on her cane with a thermos clutched like contraband.
"Well," I announce to Tara, "apparently we're hosting."
“I heard there was an incident," Mrs. Henderson declares, pushing past me with the authority of a four-star general. "Brought my calming tea."
"It's mostly bourbon," Scott whispers to Tara, earning a sharp look from Mrs. Henderson.
"It's medicinal bourbon," she corrects with dignity.
"There's a difference?" Vicky asks, setting her pie on the kitchen counter.
"One's for health, one's for fun. This is for health."
Lily appears at my elbow, balancing pizza boxes. "We figured you'd need feeding after your adventure in arson."
"It wasn't arson," I protest. "It was—"
“Guys,” Tara cuts in smoothly, eyes twinkling. “Save the semantic banter for another day. What Ireallywant to hear about is Scott’s mysterious neighbor.”
Scott freezes in the act of opening a pizza box. "What neighbor?"
"Jamie," Tara says innocently. "Pretty blonde, yoga pants, called the fire department like a responsible citizen?"
“Jamie whom you tried to give your number three different times?” I add, helpfully fanning the flames.
"Oh." Scott clears his throat. "Right. Jamie. It was just professional courtesy."
"Professional courtesy doesn't usually involve writing your personal cell number on the back of a grocery receipt," Tara deadpans.
Scott's ears turn red. "How do you people notice everything?"
"Small town," Mrs. Henderson says pragmatically. "We notice everything because there's not that much to notice. Makes Jamie interesting."
"She's not—I mean, it's not—we just—"
"Oh, honey," Vicky says gently, "you've got it bad."
"I don't ‘got’ anything," Scott mutters, but he's smiling despite himself.
Levi hands out pizza slices like he's distributing communion wafers. "So what's the story? Childhood sweethearts? Secret romance? Tragic misunderstanding?"
"There's no story," Scott insists.
Mrs. Henderson snorts. "Son, I've been watching Cedar Falls love stories unfold for seventy-three years. Trust me, there's always a story."
I catch Tara's eye across the room. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, watching this chaos with the kind of soft expression she gets when Cedar Falls shows its heart. Like she can't quite believe she gets to be part of it.
