Page 13 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

I kneel, running my hand over one of the petals. “She sounds like she was a pretty great lady.”

Ellie nods, her expression serious. “She was. We miss her a lot.”

Ellie tugs on my hand again, dragging me toward the restaurant. The dining room is cozy, with wooden tables and big windows that let in the afternoon sunlight. The smell of something amazing—garlic, maybe—wafts in from the kitchen.

“You’re gonna love it here,” Ellie declares. “It’s the best place ever. You’re going to stay here aren’t you?” I laugh at how precocious she is.

“Maybe,” I say, glancing at Sam.

Ellie doesn’t seem to notice the way Sam is staring at me like I’ve just flipped her world upside down.

“You should be a camp counselor!” Ellie says suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “We always need someone to help with outdoor stuff. You can teach us football!”

I laugh, ruffling her hair again. “You think I’d make a good counselor, huh?”

She nods enthusiastically. “The best!”

I glance at Sam again, and this time she’s shaking her head, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“Ellie,” she says, her tone sharp but not unkind. “GiveJake some space.”

Ellie pouts but lets go of my hand, and skips off toward the kitchen.

As soon as she’s gone, Sam steps closer, her arms still crossed. “What brings you to town, Jake?”

Damn, she’s defensive.

“Just getting my knee looked at by someone your dad recommended a few towns over,” I reply, keeping my tone easy. “And maybe seeing an old acquaintance while I’m at it.”

She narrows her eyes. “And you think now is a good time to visit?”

I grin. “Why not? It was nice seeing you at your dad’s party.”

Her cheeks flush again, and she shakes her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Maybe,” I say, leaning against the counter. “But you can’t deny the spark between us. Besides, Ellie’s happy to see me,” I plead my case.

Sam sighs, running a hand through her tendrils hanging near her face. “Ellie’s five. She’d be happy to see Santa Claus if he promised to play football with her.”

“Fair enough,” I say, laughing.

For a moment, we just look at each other. Her hair’s still falling out of that messy bun, and there’s a little crease between her eyebrows that I find weirdly adorable.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “You gonna show me to a room, or should I just let Ellie take over?” I joke in the hopes it will lighten the mood.

Sam rolls her eyes but smiles, just barely. “I’m not dressed. I was in the garden before I hit the laundry room,” she says, as she smoothes her hands over her T-shirt with the name of an old rock band and looks at her bare feet.

“It’s fine, you have cute toes!” I smirk. I didn’t know she had such cute toes, and they were painted a bright pink.

She blushes and waves her hand through the air like I’m making this up on the fly.

“You’re a pretty woman, Sam. Take a compliment!”

“Your room awaits,” she smiles, bowing and making a sweeping gesture with her arm, and acts as if she’s embarrassed by my compliment.

As she walks away, I can’t help but watch her. She’s got this energy—this determination—that’s almost magnetic. She’s not the same girl I remember years ago, but there’s still something familiar about her. Something that makes me feel like I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.

I can’t take my eyes off her and how her hips fill out her jeans. She’s authentic and I find it refreshing.

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