Page 22 of The Longshot

Four minutes, 57 seconds.

The last five minutes of any day are always my favorite to count down from, especially when I know that I’m going into the weekend.

Since arriving in Crawley, Ruby has always given me Saturdays off. Sure, I don’t do much, but Saturdays are my time to rest, reset, and, most importantly, focus on me.

While I was in school, I’ve been trying my best to re-ignite some of my old passions—ones that took a back burner. But now that I actually have some time to myself, I’ve slowly but surely been ticking each one off my list.

Number one: reading.

In the past month alone, I’ve read over thirty novels. Once upon a time, I loved romance, but now I’m diving into other genres instead. I don’t want to read about Romeo and Juliet. Give me gore, give me horror, give me anything but happily ever after. I’m not in a headspace to think about that right now.

Number two: running.

There’s nothing quite like having music blasting through your eardrums as you jog around the picturesque countryside. The campus had some of the best routes to run, but if I’m being honest, Crawley is a close second. I’m even starting to discover new spots for myself…

And finally, number three: Hanging out with friends.

Number three has posed to be a challenge. All of my friends are back at the campus, Holly included, and being the newbie in town has proven difficult when it comes to mastering the friendship game.

Nine times out of ten, the people who walk through this bakery are older—retirees or maybe those with small families. Very rarely do I get a plethora of twenty-something-year-olds rolling through my door, and even if I do, they don’t care about becoming my friend. They care about sinking their teeth into a pastry.

I suppose there are some exceptions. Sometimes said twenty-something-year-olds drop a whole cake over themselves and beg for your help. Not sure that quite constitutes a friendship though.

What was his name again? Gary?—

The chimed rattle against the front door darts my attention away from the clock as I watch a mum with her son step inside.

What did I tell you?

“Hi,” my voice is cheerful as always, even more so given that these are likely the last customers of the day. “Welcome to Ruby’s Bakery. What can I get started for you?”

“Hiya,” the mum speaks up. “We’d like to get two loaves of white bread thickly sliced and a chocolate chip biscuit.” She peers down at her son, who stands to her right. “Please, and thank you.”

“Coming right up.” I nod my head agreeably, reaching for the final two loaves of bread that line the shelf. “You’re lucky.” I smile, walking them toward the slicer. “These are my last loaves of the day.”

The mum smiles back, a look of relief washing over her face. “We meant to stop by earlier,” she explains. “But we were running late to the game. Thought we’d test our luck after.”

I nod, bagging each of their loaves as they make their way through the slicer. Only when I peer back over at them that’s when I take into account the fact that they’re both dressed the same.

“Do you like my jersey?” the young boy asks, smiling wide as he points proudly down towards his chest.

I place the freshly sliced loaves on the countertop, propping myself up onto my tiptoes so that I can peer down at the logo on the front:

Crawfield Football Club.

“Rowan’s a big footy fan,” his mum exclaims, pulling him in close. “Aren’t you, Ro?”

Rowan nods his head eagerly as I reach for his biscuit in the display cabinet.

“So, does that mean you’re going to be a footballer one day?” I ask, handing his mum the treat, a smile looming over her lips as she notices the extra one I snuck inside the bag with a wink.

“Yes! I want to play for Crawfield one day,” Rowan cheers excitedly. “They’re my favorite team ever.”

It’s just precious—seeing the way a child’s eyes light up at the mention of their dreams. The look on Rowan’s face is part of the reason why I want to go into teaching so badly. I want to be a part of the joy a child has when they learn. I want to encourage them to explore their passions, academic or not. Because frankly, there is nothing greater in life than knowing what you want and chasing after it.

“Well then, I can’t wait to see you play one day,” I tell him with a nod of encouragement, looking back over at his mum to cash her out at the front. “How was the game?” I can’t help but wonder, curious just how good Rowan’s favorite team really is.

“Close match,” his mum recalls. “But they won. Two-one. They’re having an amazing season so far. We’ve been lucky enough to go to every game, haven’t we, Ro?”

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