Page 38 of Kellan & Emmett
“Figured as much,” Ethan said, sliding open the case. “Nobody comes in here for the bran muffins.” He set two plates on the counter, steam rising off the rolls. “Still the best in the state, by the way. Twenty years straight, until they finally just gave us the lifetime title and killed the category. Saves the judges the trouble.”
I let out a low whistle. “Guess I picked the right morning to come back.”
Ethan smirked as he reached for a cup. “Funny seeing you two here together again. Back in the day, it was always Kellan-and-Emmett, Emmett-and-Kellan. Thunder and Lightning, right? Half the school thought you were joined at the hip.” He chuckled, sliding the coffee across. “Good to know some things don’t change.”
Heat prickled at the back of my neck, though I managed a smile. “We’ll take the rolls before you start digging out more nicknames.”
“Fair enough.” He pushed the plates across the counter, grin still in place. “Enjoy, fellas.”
A minute later, we carried our plates and coffee to one of the two-seater tables. The Formica was chipped at the edges, same as always. I glanced around, taking it in. “Feels smaller than I remember. Didn’t nine of us cram into one of those booths once?”
“Yep,” Emmett said, settling across from me. “And you complained the whole time you couldn’t feel your legs.” His mouth curved, easy with memory. He tore off a piece of roll, steam curling between us.
Before I could answer, a voice called from one of the booths. “Well, if it isn’t Kellan Miller and Emmett James.”
I turned. Mr. and Mrs. Dobbins sat side by side, silver hair catching the morning light through the front window. They both wore the kind of smiles that made it impossible not to smile back.
“Morning,” I said, giving them a little wave.
“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Dobbins.” Emmett greeted the couple with a broad smile.
Mrs. Dobbins leaned forward, eyes bright. “My grandson’s in that rec program—you should hear the way he goes on about Coach K. Comes home every evening talking a mile a minute about drills and how you make them all run plays twice until they get it right.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “We’ve never seen him so excited about practice.”
Heat pricked my neck, though this time I didn’t mind it. “Glad he’s enjoying it,” I managed.
Her husband chimed in, voice warm. “And Emmett, your inn’s looking fine, son. Brisk business, from what I hear. Miss Cole would be proud.”
At that, Emmett’s shoulders tipped, just slightly, but his voice was steady. “Thanks. I try to keep it the way she’d have wanted.”
Mrs. Dobbins nodded, satisfied. “Well, you’ve done more than that. We’re thinking of staying a weekend ourselves. Our sixtieth’s coming up.” She reached for her husband’s hand across the table, fingers laced, soft and sure.
“Congratulations,” I said, genuine. “That’s something to celebrate.”
They both beamed. “Good to see you boys sitting together again,” Mr. Dobbins added. “Takes us back. Some things change, some things don’t.”
Emmett gave a modest nod, but I caught the flicker of pride in his eyes.
After a few more pleasantries, the Dobbinses turned back to their coffee, voices dropping to the soft hum of the room.
For a moment it was just us again, two plates between us and the low clatter of forks from the other tables. Emmett tore a piece of roll, watching the steam curl up before he spoke.
“It’s been a couple of weeks now,” he said, glancing at me. “How’s it going over at the rec? Settling in with the kids?”
I nodded, brushing my thumb over the edge of my plate. “Yeah. They make it easy, honestly. We run drills, play scrimmages, but half the time they just want someone to notice them. They don’t care about scholarships or scouts yet. They just want to play.” A grin tugged at my mouth. “One kid looked at me like he’d won the damn Super Bowl just because I high-fived him after a goal.”
Emmett huffed out a soft laugh. “Sounds like you’re good with them.”
“They make it easy,” I said again, quieter this time. Then I leaned back, letting the thought expand. “Some parents hang around the whole practice, cheering from the sideline. Others just drop ’em off, let them burn energy before dinner. And some… well, you can tell they’d like to be there, but work or whatever else keeps them away. It’s all kinds.”
Something snagged in his voice. “My folks… they were always there. Always cheering.” He broke off, tearing another piece of roll like it needed his hands busy.
I knew the rest. Everybody in town did back then. The plane that went down on its way to Georgia, taking his parents with it when he was nine. The way his grandma, Miss Ruth, stepped in, tough as nails and soft where it counted, raising him until she passed a few years later.
I didn’t need him to spell it out. I’d watched him live it. Watched him turn loss into armor.
He cleared his throat, gaze fixed on the table. “Guess that’s why I held on so tight to the inn once Miss Cole left it to me. It’s the only thing that felt like something I could hold, something that was mine.”
For a beat, silence threaded between us. Not heavy, not awkward. Just full.
