Page 28 of Hometown Touchdown
I narrow my eyes. “What doesthatmean?”
“Maybe,” she says, far too casually, “you should get back on the horse.”
And there it is.
“Here we go.”
“What?” she says, all innocence and raised eyebrows. “You’re single. You’re adorable. You could be dating. Cedar Falls is full of eligible men.”
“Is it?”
“Well, okay, notfull. But there are a few. Enough for a night out.”
I lean back and cross my arms. “Mom, I know where this is going.”
“Tuesday night.”
“Oh my God.”
She smiles like she’s just landed a deal onShark Tank. “His name is Eric. He works at the bank. Manages loans or something respectable. And—get this—he has a rescue cat named Biscuit.”
I blink. “That’s…objectively cute.”
“Right? I knew you’d like that part. He bakes, too.”
“Bakes what? Feelings into loaves?”
“Bread,” she says, pleased. “From scratch. I told him you love sourdough.”
“Idolike sourdough,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I want to marry a guy who names his cat after it.”
“Biscuit isn’t sourdough,” she corrects. “Anyway, he’s sweet. A little shy. Wears glasses. Lives with his grandmother—but he’s remodeling the house so she can age in place.”
“Oh, wow.” I point my straw at her. “You’re laying it on so thick I need a snorkel.”
She shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? It’s a good match. Tuesday at seven. Just drinks. Maybe dinner. At The Driftwood.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“But you haven’t said no.”
I groan and take a long sip of tea, weighing my options. On paper, a blind date with a soft-spoken cat dad isn’t the worst thing in the world. But off paper? I’m still reeling from running into Knox. Not that I’ve told her that. Or mentioned the breakup from six weeks ago. Or that my current emotional state could best be described as “fragile shell of sarcasm held together by caffeine and avoidance.”
Still, her eyes sparkle across the table. She’s excited. She’s trying. And, somehow, that makes it harder to say no.
“Fine,” I say. “But if he shows me pictures of Biscuit in little outfits, I’m sending you the bill for therapy.”
Her grin stretches ear to ear, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “You’re gonna love him.”
I doubt it—mostly because there’s already someone I can’t seem to stop thinking about. Someone who doesn’t bake bread or rescue cats, who wouldn’t know a sourdough starter from a spreadsheet, but still manages to occupy too much of my head. He has a voice that’s deep enough to linger, broad shouldersbuilt like they were made to carry the weight of the world—and mine, if I let him—and a stubborn streak that rivals my own. And despite trying to avoid him, he keeps showing up everywhere.
And just my luck—he lives on the other side of my wall.
Chapter fourteen
Brynn
7:18 p.m.
