Page 69 of Just Like Home

“I just had an idea to run by you,” Charlotte said. “All of you.”

All of them? Like the teenagers who made up his football team?

“I listen better when I’m eating,” Dunbar said with a shrug.

A chorus of agreements rang out and Charlotte’s face turned a pale shade of pink. “Sorry, maybe I should’ve asked before I filled you guys up on sugar.” Her eyes seemed to ask for Cole’s permission to open the box.

At his continued silence (what waswrongwith him?), Bilby jumped in with quick reassurances. “It’s fine. They eat anything and everything, including donuts.”

Cole didn’t miss Matt’s pointed glare.

Asher opened the box and the guys dug in. When they finished, the box looked like it had been ransacked, only a few donuts remaining.

“Want one, Coach?” Asher asked.

“I’m good,” Cole said, holding up a hand, and—he was sure—coming across as a first-class jerk. He had no reason, other than unwanted thoughts about Charlotte, to be acting this way. Apparently, his vow to be a better coach ended on the field. He should probably vow to be a better human first.

Asher turned to Charlotte. “Go ahead, Miss Page—we’re all ears.”

Charlotte smiled. “You can call me Charlotte.” She wiped the palms of her hands on her shorts and Cole caught the slightest side glimpse of her triceps. The definition in her arms was impressive. It turned out, there were many impressive things about Charlotte. He knew because he’d gone home after their trip to Haven House and Googled her.

And he’d never admit that out loud in a million years.

He’d heard she was one of the best in her field, and now he’d seen it for himself.

Charlotte had been named the youngest principal dancer at the Chicago City Ballet, which further reading told him was a pretty big deal. The “principal dancer” was the star. Entire ballets had been created just for her.

Artists created with her in mind. One guy even called her his “muse.” That was a kind of influence Cole couldn’t even imagine. He read about her childhood, her professional career, her strict regimen.

One article chronicled “A Day in the Life of a Professional Ballerina,” giving him a peek into her typical schedule. The reporter must’ve followed her around for an entire day because he outlined her schedule from breakfast (two eggs with a slice of turkey bacon, a small cup of fruit with chia seeds, and some other froofy garbage Cole had never heard of) to training to fitness classes to rehearsals to physical therapy, to hair, makeup, and costumes, and then finally ending with her performance that night. Cole was exhausted just reading about it. No wonder she’d come looking for a quieter, more peaceful life.

Did Charlotte have anything in her life besides ballet?

He understood her a little better after doing a little research. Her life was solitary and regimented. She set goals and then she crushed them. Maybe she’d worn herself out in the process. All of a sudden, her starting over in Harbor Pointe made a lot more sense.

He didn’t stop with the one article, he was embarrassed to remember. He read what her critics wrote about her. He clicked links to YouTube videos of her performances and watched them all—one right after the other.

Charlotte in a red tutu number with bright red lips and a wild red headpiece. Charlotte in a white dance costume encircled by a sparkling white tutu. Charlotte in a blue and white dress playing the title role in a ballet production ofRomeo and Juliet.

She defied gravity. She made it look easy, the way she moved—effortlessly—when he knew it absolutely was not. It was impressive, to say the least. He didn’t know anything about ballet, but he did know reaching her elite level took more than talent. It took work and dedication and focus.

And he respected the heck out of that.

Maybe he should have her come and talk to his team. They seemed to lack all of those things.

If anyone had caught him poring over dance videos, he would’ve not only felt like a stalker, but a fool.

Because he’d gotten more than carried away in his admiration. His sister probably would’ve used the word “smitten” and she wouldn’t have been wrong.

But he was intent on shutting those thoughts down. Charlotte Page might be special, but that didn’t matter. Cole wasn’t about to make another giant mistake in the romance department. His had been colossal enough to last a lifetime.

So why did he feel like she could read his mind, standing across from him, among his players, preparing to pitch what would most likely end up being a ridiculous idea.

She looked at him.

His mouth went dry. Instead of encouraging her to go ahead and make her speech, he looked at his watch.

Classy.

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