Page 95 of Hometown Touchdown
“I mean, I wasn’t thrilled to be crouching behind your dryer, but it’s not because she’s scary.” I chew my lip. “It’s just...complicated. She was there when everything fell apart before. I guess part of me wonders if she still thinks I’m the girl who broke her son’s heart.”
Knox lifts my chin gently, his thumb brushing just below my jaw. “You think my mom’s mad? Brynn, she and your mom literally tried to set us up a few weeks ago.”
I groan. “True. That was about as subtle as a wrecking ball.”
He leans in. “If anything, she’s going to be smug that she was right the whole time.”
Knox gives a slow, amused smile. “So we’re trusting the two women who run the church bake sale, sit front row at every football game, and somehow know who gets hired at the bank before HR does?”
I grin. “We’re trusting them to love us more than they love Cedar Falls gossip. Hopefully.”
“That’s a gamble.”
“It’s a prayer,” I correct. “A hopeful, desperate, please-don’t-end-up-on-the-bulletin-board kind of prayer.”
He pulls me close again, kisses my forehead. “Then we do it together. Just the parents. No announcements, no small-town headlines. Yet.”
“No awkward Target run-ins with Mrs. Gibbs asking if we’re ‘back together back together’ or just ‘testing the waters.’”
“God,” Knox groans. “She still thinks I’m a virgin.”
I burst out laughing. “We both know that’s a lie.”
He grins, then looks down at me with something gentler. “Once we tell them,” he says, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth, “I think it’ll make things feel a little easier. Less secret rendezvous, more...normal people stuff. And I really do think they’ll be happy—our parents, the town. Hell, half of Cedar Falls has probably had bets on us since senior year.”
The words land gently, like he’s offering me space to see things differently without pushing me too hard. And somehow, it works.
Because for the first time, I let myself picture it. The parents who never really stopped hoping. The town that never fully let go of the idea of us. The possibility that this isn’t a mistake or a secret that needs guarding, but something real—something worth showing.
I tuck closer, breathing him in. And the idea starts to feel less like a risk and more like something I might actually want.
His hand tugs at the sheet, revealing my bare skin as a wicked grin forms on his lips, bringing me back to this moment.
“Get back on the counter, baby girl. I want to finish my breakfast.”
Chapter forty-eight
Knox
Sundaydinnerwasn’texactlymy idea. Left to my own devices, I’d have offered to break the news over coffee or maybe a cautious “hey, by the way” in the produce aisle. But Brynn had this look in her eyes when she suggested it, this wide-eyed, nervous kind of bravery that made me want to make it easy for her. For us. So, dinner it was.
I’ve vacuumed twice. I didn’t need to, but the thought of both our mothers inspecting my baseboards like it's a qualifying round for domestic husband of the year sent me into a cleaningspiral that ended with rearranged spice jars and a candle labeled “Mountain Rain” burning in the guest bathroom.
Cam would never let me live this down if he saw it.
Brynn’s voice floats over from next door, light and a little breathless, like she’s corralling cats. Her parents must’ve arrived. We agreed she’d bring them over once everyone was here. My mom and dad are already settled on the couch with a glass of wine and a container of pumpkin bars. She didn’t trust me to bake them correctly on my own.
I take a breath and glance around the kitchen one more time. The roast smells good, the Brussels sprouts haven’t turned to mush, and the wine is breathing, which apparently is a thing. I don’t know if this night will go exactly how we planned, but it already feels like more than I ever thought I’d get again with her.
There’s a soft knock on the door before it opens. Brynn steps in first, her eyes flicking to mine in that silent way we’ve started communicating again, like there’s a wire stretched between us, buzzing with a thousand unsaid things. Her parents follow, just a few steps behind.
Her mom, Susan, greets me with a familiar smile, the kind she used to give me when I showed up at their door back in high school, soft, a little amused, like she’s still not quite sure how I convinced their daughter to love me the first time around. Her dad, Frank, gives a firm handshake, steady and brief. No silent warnings, no posturing. Just mutual respect.
“Hi, Mrs. Dalton, Mr. Dalton,” Brynn says as she takes the Tupperware from my mom with an easy smile. She lifts the lid of the container to inspect the contents. “Are these your pumpkin bars?”
“They’re still warm,” my mom replies with a nod. “I remember how much you love them!”
“I can’t wait.” Brynn places it on the kitchen island and grabs the brussels sprouts and heads for the table. “Let’s all sit down.”
