Page 9 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

He made a bold move. And in those fleeting moments, it felt like I’d seen a glimpse of something real. We had a connection.

Or was it in my head?

“Will we see Jake again?” Ellie asks, tilting her head.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t know, Ellie. Maybe.”

Will I see Jake again? Do I want to see him again? What would I say?

The thought of him having me in his arms again sends a shiver down my spine, and it’s with equal parts of excitement and fear. Because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that Jake Rivers isn’t like anyone I've ever met.

And that scares me the most.

She accepts that answer easily enough, skipping ahead to the next line as I gather our bags. But for me, the question lingers. I doubt he’s thinking of me. I’m nothing special. He’s used to the bright lights and the big city, and models—gorgeous women. I can’t compete with them. Besides, I’m sure Jake’s forgotten me.

We pass through security and approach our gate.

Ellie skips ahead of me and into the waiting area. Her dark curls bounce as she heads straight for the little corner booth near the window—the one I’ve unofficially claimed as her space. Her pink backpack lands on the bench with a thud, and she slides into her seat with a triumphant grin.

“Spring break is coming up and I can’t wait for camp. This year will be the best ever,” she declares, pulling outher sketchpad.

“Sweetheart, you haven’t even gone yet,” I remind her.

“But it’s going to be awesome,” she insists without flinching. Her eyes are wide with excitement. “They have painting class, and?—”

“Glitter?” I interrupt, raising an eyebrow.

Ellie’s grin stretches wider. “So much glitter!” she moans as if it’s an edible food. The expression on her face is priceless.

I suppress a laugh. Glitter is her jam but it’s my nightmare. Glitter is the evil twin of Playdough. Both of them stick to everything and are impervious to my efforts to get them off the tile and carpets. After an art project, I find myself vacuuming glitter out of every corner of the house for weeks, but the way Ellie’s face lights up when she opens a container of it makes it all worth it. Well, almost.

Our flight is announced and we board. I look at the numbers so I can find our seats. I set my laptop bag on my seat and make sure she’s buckled in first. When I’m situated, I open my laptop and look over the inn’s reservations.

“All right, kiddo,” I say, ruffling her curls. “How about you draw for a bit while I check in with Maggie before we take off?”

She nods emphatically and sets her activity pad on her lap.

When the plane is in the air I assume the illicit thoughts of the sexy football player will be left in Maine as well—won’t it?

Home. My version of it, anyway. I find my car and we drive through the lush, rolling hills.

There’s something to be said for familiarity breeding contempt. I went to college in New York City so I’m not a stranger to large cities. I know what it’s like to ride public transportation and to have a viable city at my fingertips. At times, Imiss being able to go to an all-night café, or a club with friends on a minute’s notice.

But Cherry Point is where we’ve built a home and I’m giving Ellie the childhood I grew up with and I don’t have any complaints. Besides, this sleepy town has been good to us.

I’m anxious to check on the restaurant. Far be it from me to relinquish control even if my competent friend Maggie is at the helm.

The radio is on and Ellie is busy singing along to the words of her favorite pop star as we drive home from the airport. I realize I would be lonely if it weren’t for Ellie.

I never planned on being a single mom, but I love being a mother to her so I suppose it’s for the best that we’ve got each other. We never knew who Ellie’s father was. My sister lived her life on her terms and she carried us on her journey—her life was filled with promise.

Mom and Dad never blamed her for being a single mom. Ellen had her life under control and made all her endeavors look effortless. She was an aspiring actress, and she loved big city lights. Perhaps that was what made her unapproachable to many. Her zest for living on the edge intimidated me.

She was a force of nature. And I learned early on that I can’t compete with her. She could light up a room as soon as she walked into it. I need to carry a streetlamp to get the same effect.

We walk into the restaurant tucked inside the Dragonfly Inn. I always dreamed of having an inn.

The bell above the restaurant door chimes as Ellie and I step inside. The familiar smells of freshly baked bread and herbs greet me like an old friend. The restaurant is alivewith servers rolling silverware, and the hum of the espresso machine is music to my ears. I hear the distant chatter of staffers wafting in from the kitchen.

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