Page 31 of Scrum Heat

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With Evie out of town and my heat lockdown officially lifted, I’ve spent the past three days cautiously reclaiming my sanity—and, more importantly, finally seeing Alderbridge for myself.

Turns out, it’s annoyingly charming.

The streets are narrow, the houses are old and all lean at slightly different angles, and everyone knows everyone else’s breakfast order, blood type, and dating history. People actually wave when you walk past them. Not even in a creepy way—just in a “we definitely already know who you are” kind of way.

It’s nothing like the city.

Everyone here seems to have a strong opinion on baked goods, weather, and who should be starting fly-half this season. In my first two hours of exploring, I’d had five strangers welcome meto the town. Two of them were holding dogs. One of them was a vicar.

None of them asked for my name.

On my first afternoon out, Finn walked me to the bakery—for air and sugar, apparently. He’s clearly a regular. The women behind the counter lit up the second he stepped inside—one waved, one pinched his cheek, and the third asked if he’d remembered to stretch after training.

I didn’t even make it through the door before one of them looked me up and down and said, “You’re the club’s new social media girl.”

Then she handed me a gingerbread rugby ball and offered to introduce me to every single man in town who’s under forty.

She apparently keeps a spreadsheet. Color-coded.

That evening, I needed some more shampoo. Jax offered to walk into town with me, quiet as ever but steady at my side. We didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… calm.

I’m starting to like the way he’s silent. It feels solid.Safe.

We ended up at a small grocery store run by a retired winger named Steve, who squinted at me, looked at Jax, and said, “Solid head on your shoulders for someone surrounded by that much thigh.”

Jax said nothing—just handed me a basket and paid once we were done. I tried to pull out my purse, but he shot me a look that shut me up instantly. I’m still not sure if that was support or pity. Possibly both.

On Wednesday morning, Theo decided I needed a smoothie. His logic? They all have protein shakes after training, so obviously Ineeded one too—to "match the vibe." I told him I was fine, but he ignored me and insisted on taking me toPulse & Press, which sells smoothies, shakes, and quiet judgement.

Two local high school girls stared at him the entire time we were there. One of them actually dropped her phone because she was ogling him so hard. The guy behind the counter took one look at me, clocked who had accompanied me, and said, “So, you’re the one responsible for Theo lunging in slow motion?”

I didn’t answer. Just took my smoothie and left.

In my defense, the clip he was referring to had only gone up the night before. Evie had reviewed and approved the edit remotely from whatever Denton Vale conference room she was currently dominating, and despite the club’s basically nonexistent online presence, the post had already pulled decent engagement overnight.

For a local team with no real socials before this week, I’ll take it.

Even Rory got involved in my tour of the town. He took me on a supply run to the club’s off-site storage facility—basically a glorified shed with attitude. He had a clipboard and a plan, though that seemed to go a little south when the woman working the till at the hardware store asked if we were bonded.

I choked on my own saliva. Rory scanned the barcode on a multipack of microfiber towels, glared at her, and said: “No.”

So. That’s Alderbridge.

Nosy. Friendly. Way too confident about everything.

But also… kind of lovely.

On top of that, I’ve now met the woman who runs the florist and apparently used to babysit Theo, I’ve been offered a part-timejob by a man who sells folding chairs, and I’ve learned that trivia night at the local bar is deadly serious and ends with laminated certificates and long-term grudges.

People stop me in the street to talk about the team. Not gossip—just casual commentary. How Finn looked sharp at training. Whether Jax was actually injured or just pretending not to be real. One elderly man even gave me a full tactical breakdown of the club’s forward pack using a paper napkin and two wine gums.

And yesterday, in the middle of all that, my mother called to touch base.

I told her I was good; that I was working hard, getting settled, and actually—against all odds—enjoying it here. I kept my voice light, and kept things breezy. I definitely didn’t mention the scent triggers, or the laundry situation, or how I’d nearly sobbed when someone offered to hold the door for me at the post office; but I said I was happy.

And weirdly enough… I think I meant it.

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