Page 32 of Hometown Touchdown
“Hi,” I say, trying to be neutral. “Good morning.”
“Well, that’s up for debate,” she says breezily. “How did your date go?”
There it is. I narrow my eyes at the wall. “You tell me.”
A beat of silence. “Excuse me?”
“Eric never showed. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”
She gasps. “Oh my goodness, are you serious? That’s awful. Did he get into an accident? Should I call someone?”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Cut the act. You and Mrs. Dalton were behind this, weren’t you?”
She actually scoffs.Scoffs. “Brynn, I would never deceive you like that. I simply heard Eric was a lovely young man and passed the info along. If he didn’t show, well, I’m as shocked as you are.”
Her voice is just the right amount of innocent and insufferable.
“I ran into Knox.”
“Oh?” Too casual. Way too casual.
“At The Driftwood. Same time, same night. He also got stood up.”
She hums, like she’s tasting a perfectly cooked steak. “Hmm. What a coincidence.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I prefer the term ‘optimistic matchmaker.’”
“Mom,” I whine. “Why?”
“Sweetheart,” she says gently, “you were glowing when you talked about running into him the other week. You tried to act annoyed, but your eyes did that thing where they go all shiny and distant like you were remembering something good.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Youambushedus.”
“I gave you an opportunity.”
“To fall on my face in front of a man I haven’t had a real conversation with in years!”
“And yet, here you are. Still talking about him.”
I hate when she’s right. I hate it even more that Iamstill talking about him. Thinking about him. Feeling that tight pull in my chest that I’ve spent years trying to loosen.
“It’s not that simple,” I whisper.
She softens. “I know, honey. I do. But don’t let the hard parts scare you away from something that used to make you so happy.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I change the subject.
I end the call with a half-hearted promise to check in later, then lie back on the couch, eyes locked on the ceiling like it might spell out the answers I’ve been avoiding. Something about the silence makes it worse—makes the thoughts louder. I try to shake them off. Try to push back the creeping realization that maybe…I got it all wrong.
I need to move. Breathe. Shake the dust off my spiraling brain.
Just a brisk walk, I tell myself. Some sun. A hit of endorphins. Anything to keep me from replaying the way Knox said my name. Or the way his knee rested against mine on the ride home.
