Page 47 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

I see a smirk tugging at the corner of Sam’s lips, and then she hands Ellie a plate.

Ellie’s eyes widen “Really?”

“Really.”

The kitchen staff watches with something between trepidation and awe, waiting to see if they should intervene or just let whatever the hell this is—play out from a safe distance.

I lean against the counter, smirking. “You know, Sam, I always pegged you as a perfectionist. But this?” I gesture to the shards of ceramic scattered across the floor. “This is next-level chaos. Are you ready for this?”

Her eyes flash like a revelation that has gripped her. She mocks a serious look and says, “I’ve never liked these plates anyway.”

That’s all I need to hear before I grab a plate from the counter, testing its weight in my hands and lifting my gaze to hers. “You sure about this?”

Her lips twitch. “Are you?”

I grin, wind up my arm, and send the plate crashing to the floor.

The impact is ridiculously satisfying. It’s downright liberating.

One of the younger line cooks lets out a startled laugh, then quickly clamps a hand over his mouth like he thinks he’s about to get fired.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Anyone else got a problem with these plates?”

Maggie, arms crossed, steps forward. For a second, I think she’s about to put an end to the whole thing. But then she sighs, shakes her head, and mutters, “Damn things chip too easily, anyway.”

That’s all the encouragement the staff needs.

Another plate flies. Then another. And another.

Laughter bubbles up in the kitchen, hesitant at first, then growing, spreading. The room, which had been so tense, so rigid with stress and expectation, loosens into something else entirely.

Freedom.

Sam laughs—a real, deep, unrestrained laugh that I don’t think I’ve ever heard from her before. It’s infectious, setting something loose inside of me.

I take a step closer, brushing my arm against hers. “You know, I think you might actually be having fun.

She tilts her head toward me, the light catching the mischievous look in her eyes. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

“A little.” I cock my head to the side.

She shakes her head, letting out another laugh. And for a second, I forget everything that’s been bothering me— like the fact that I have to leave soon and that we still don’t have a plan. And for a second, her fear of being perfect has slipped. None of it matters right now. Because right now, she’s being authentic—spontaneous.

Maybe this is the beginning of a new version of Sam. And maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to realize she doesn’t have to carry everything alone and that an accident or a perfectly placed plan that goes awry isn’t the end of the world.

The tension in the kitchen melts away, replaced by something light, something wild, somethingfree. And now that the tension is broken, joyous energy erupts in the kitchen.

Sam isn’t hovering or overthinking thesituation for a change. It’s as if a window has opened inside her because she’s here, and she’s living in the moment. I like seeing her like this—relaxed, free, not carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’s lost her serious veneer, and it makes me love her even more.

She is a testament to my opinion that all of us are capable of change.

Maggie stands at the helm like a battle commander, her voice cutting through the noise as she directs traffic. Maggie is smiling and begins to clap. The rest of the staff follows suit.

“Way to go, Sam!”

Sam takes a gratuitous bow and Ellie follows.

I walk to Sam, wrap my arms around her, and pull her into my chest. “Congratulations, the world didn’t end, did it?” I murmur.

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