Page 56 of Hometown Touchdown
When she reaches the table, I manage a half smile, trying to look calm. I know I don’t. I probably look like someone just handed me a miracle and dared me to believe it was real.
“Hey,” she says softly, and I swear the sound of her voice settles something in me that’s been restless for years.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice low, rough with everything I’m still afraid to say.
She slides into the booth across from me, crossing her legs, and I catch a glimpse of those familiar heels beneath the table. The same kind she used to wear when she’d tease me about being too much of a sucker for long legs and confident women.
She has no idea. No idea that I’ve been a man holding his breath since the moment she left—and now I’m finally exhaling.
I pick up the menu again, even though I still have no clue what I’m ordering. Doesn’t matter.
She’s here.
Chapter twenty-eight
Brynn
Knoxisalreadyseatedwhen I walk into the diner. He's turned slightly, elbow draped over the back of a booth, his eyes scanning the dining room. Waiting. For me.
And he’s dressed up.
Not in a flashy, trying-too-hard way, but in that maddeningly understated way he’s always had. Dark button-up, sleeves rolled, top button undone just enough to be unfair. His hair is styled, but it looks like he’s run his hand through it a dozen times since he left the house. Like maybe he’s been nervous. Like maybe this means something to him too.
The nerves that have been buzzing in my stomach all afternoon spike. But I keep walking.
And then he sees me.
He stands halfway, his eyes sweeping over me. His brown eyes going a little wider when they reach the hem of my dress before he speaks.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Wow. You look…” He exhales, like the word got stuck in his throat. “You look incredible, Brynn.”
My throat goes tight, but I manage a smile. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He lets out a soft laugh and gestures to the booth. “Can I offer you a seat, gorgeous?”
That earns him a real smile, even if my heart’s still pounding.
I slide into the booth and place my purse beside me, letting my gaze drift over the diner’s checkered walls and the specials board with chipped lettering. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. Except nothing about this feels like the past anymore.
He sits too, clearing his throat and reaching for the menu. I follow his lead, grateful for something to hold.
We both hide behind the laminated pages like they’re armor.
“I didn’t know how weirdly passionate this place is about waffles,” I say, scanning the section labeledWaffle Wonderland.
Knox snorts. “Right? Like, they have a whole sub-menu for toppings. I had no clue that banana pudding waffles were a thing.”
“Or the jalapeño and cheddar one.” I wrinkle my nose. “That feels like a cry for help.”
His eyes focus on my nose as he smiles. “I feel like we should order it out of respect for the chaos.”
I laugh, and just like that, the edge softens. The tension doesn’t vanish, but it thaws a little.
“I kind of want the classic,” I admit, “with the whipped cream and strawberries.”
