Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“I left the truck running, so it’ll be nice and warm,” I said as we walked next to each other. “We aren’t going far.” I opened the door and waited for her to get in before shutting it and jogging around to the driver’s side.
The drive into town was quick. Not that there was ever any traffic unless something special was going on in town. I parked along the curb, and to my surprise, Antonia slid across the seat and got out on my side.
I held the door open as Antonia stepped inside the Ridgeview Diner, the scent of coffee and warm buttered rolls wrapping around us like a familiar embrace. The place buzzed with life. Locals chatting over plates of meatloaf, high school kids huddled in booths, sharing milkshakes. It wasn’t fancy, but it was home.
The hostess led us to a corner booth, one of the few spots that still had some privacy. As she slid into the seat across from me, I let my gaze linger for just a second longer than necessary. I still couldn’t believe she’d even entertained the idea of going out with me or leaving the house tonight.
“This place is nice,” she said. “Miri likes bringing the kids here.”
“Have you been before?”
She shook her head. “Prior to now, I’d come up on the weekends. We’d order pizza or drive over to North Conway for dinner.”
“Ah, makes sense.” Those must’ve been the trips Cutter had told me about long ago.
“Well, since I dragged you here, I feel like I should at least teach you something useful.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly am I learning?”
“High school basketball,” I said, resting my forearms on the table, keeping my tone casual. “It’s the heart of Grove Hill High. That and baseball, but we’ll get to that later. You should know the rules if you’re going to live here.” I let that last part hang in the air, watching to see how she reacted.
Her lips curved slightly, but she didn’t bite. “I don’t know, Weston. I wasn’t exactly a sports girl in high school. But by all means, educate me.”
I leaned forward, closing the space between us just enough that her eyes flickered to mine, like she wasn’t sure if I was going to talk basketball or something else entirely.
“All right, first lesson,” I said, picking up a sugar packet and holding it up like it was part of a play. “You’ve got five players on the court per team. One of them is the point guard. He’s the leader, the one who calls the plays. Think of him as the person who always has a plan.”
“So . . . you?” she teased, tilting her head.
I grinned. “I was a shooting guard, actually. Which means I took the shots.” I paused, letting my gaze drop to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. “Made most of them too.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “So modest.”
“Would you rather I lie?”
Antonia rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her fingers toyed with the napkin in front of her, like she was nervous. Time to push just a little more.
“What about you?” I asked, shifting gears. “What did you do in high school? Besides, you know, prepare to take over the corporate world.”
She exhaled, like she hadn’t thought about it in a while. “Debate team, yearbook committee. I was busy.”
“Of course you were.” I smirked. “What about fun? Anything reckless? Snuck out past curfew? Kissed a boy under the bleachers?”
Her cheeks tinted pink, but she narrowed her eyes at me playfully. “That’s a very specific question. Did you kiss a girl under the bleachers, Weston?”
I chuckled. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
She scoffed, but there was a glint in her eye that told me she was enjoying this. Before I could press further, the waiter arrived to take our orders, but we hadn’t even looked at the menu.
“Can we have a few more minutes?” The young kid, who I didn’t recognize, nodded.
“You didn’t deny it. Which means you have a rebellious streak.”
She huffed out a laugh. “I plead the Fifth.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “You’re going to be a terrible basketball student, aren’t you?”
“Probably,” she admitted. “But I don’t need to know the game to cheer for Cutter, do I?”
I shook my head. “No, you definitely don’t.”
We took a few minutes and looked at the menu. We placed our order when the young man came back and waited for our drinks. Once we had those, I told her more about the ins and outs of the game.
Our food came and we ate, the conversation flowing easily between questions about our lives. She told me about her work at Caldwell & Crest, and I filled her in on my years playing professional ball. We talked about family, her siblings, and how she considered Miri her sister even though she had one. It felt natural, like we’d been sitting in this booth for years instead of just one night.