Page 37 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

She doesn’t even glance up when she hears my voice. “I’ll have fun when the rush is over, Jake.” I wish she would cut loose and have some fun. The smiles of our family beach day are in her rearview mirror and she’s back to business.

Her tone is sharp, but there’s a spark inher eyes when she finally looks at me like she’s daring me to keep pushing because she knows I love a challenge.

“Come on, what’s the point of a festival if you’re not enjoying it?” I ask, gesturing to the crowd behind me. “You’re going to be the only person here who doesn’t try the dunk tank.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “If you think I’m climbing into a dunk tank in front of half the town, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Well, then,” I say, tapping the counter, “I guess it’s up to me to bring the fun to you.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

Before she can protest, I duck behind the counter, grabbing an apron from the hook and tying it around my waist. “You’re about to see what I’ve got, Sam.”

“Jake, this is not—” She starts, but I’ve already moved to the grill, and I nudge her aside, grabbing a pair of tongs from her and stepping in to flip the burgers with practiced ease.

“I’ve worked fairs, and concession stands to fundraise for my high school football team, This is in my wheelhouse,” I smirk.

The truth is, I’ve spent way more time in a locker room than the kitchen, but I’ve always been decent with a grill. Watching her try to figure out whether to stop me or let me help is worth every risk of ruining her flow. She stands with her hands on her hips and if she thinks she can intimidate me into giving her back the spatula, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You’re going to scare off my customers,” she complains.

“No chance,” I say, flashing her a grin. “If anything, they’re lining up to see me in action.”

The look on her face is priceless when she turns around she sees the high school football team in jerseys standing in the line along with their father’s.

She scoffs when she can’t deny the obvious. But when Mrs. Holloway comes strolling by and gives me a sly smile, Sam’s face falls.

“Jake! Fancy seeing you here. Cooking, no less,” she says, her Southern drawl—warm and teasing. Her eyes sweep me up and down before they land on Sam. “He’s a keeper, isn’t he?”

Sam’s cheeks flush, and I can’t resist shooting her a smug look. “I aim to please,” I say to Miss Holloway plating up ribs and handing it to her. She gives Sam a wink as she hands her a string of tickets to pay for her food and says, “Well, don’t let this one get away, dear.” She then saunters off humming cheerfully to herself.

Sam glares at me, but there’s a hint of amusement behind it. “You’re impossible. And Mrs. Holloway is biased,” she huffs.

“And you love it,” I counter, pulling a burger off the grill, plating it, and adding the crisp bacon to it. I move to the toppings and pile sautéed onions on it before adding a slice of sharp cheddar cheese. When I hand her the plate, she raises an eyebrow.

“What’s this?” she asks eyeing the plate I hand to her.

“Your lunch,” I say, folding my arms. “You can’t survive on coffee and stubbornness, Sam.”

She hesitates, weighing her options. It’s a tricky decision because admitting I’m right would be giving me too much credit. She rolls her eyes as she picks up the plate and her hunger wins out as she takes a bite. Her eyes widen and she looks genuinely surprised.

“Not bad,” she says reluctantly.

“Not bad?” I echo, pretending to be offended. “That’s the best burger you’ve ever had, and you know it.”

She doesn’t argue, which I take as a win. I watch as the crowd outside the tent mills about. It feels easy, standing here with her, and the feeling that I have is that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. She’s the woman I want to come to at the end of a road trip. She’s the woman I want to bear my kids.

She’s mine—mine to protect, and mine to love.

She just hasn’t conceded to me—yet.

Sam finishes the burger and wipes the BBQ sauce off her chin with the back of her hand.

I suppress my smirk but I’m enjoying the view.

“Maggie, you’re in charge,” I say. Maggie looks at me, then Sam, and then back to me. Sam nods, and Maggie takes the spatula from me. “Thank you, we have plans.”

Ellie, who was standing next to Maggie, grins and joins us.

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