Page 158 of Mending Hearts
Painfully, beautifully ordinary.
He looks up when he hears me. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
He passes me a mug without asking how I take it. Black. Always black. The familiarity of that small thing settles something in my chest that didn’t quite rest overnight.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Define sleep,” I say before taking a sip of coffee.
He huffs. “That bad?”
“Just light. Nothing dramatic.”
He watches me for a beat longer than necessary, like he’s measuring whether I’m minimizing it. Then he nods once and lets it go. That’s new too. Eight years ago, he would’ve pushed. Or retreated. Now he just files it away.
“My shoulder’s good,” he says, rotating it slightly like he’s proving it. “They’ll tape it anyway. Coach is paranoid.”
“He should be,” I reply. “You’re valuable property.”
He snorts. “Don’t say that.”
“Asset? Investment? Franchise cornerstone?”
He points at me with his toast. “I hate when you use business words about my body.”
I grin. “You’re the one with the contract worth nine figures.”
“Still hate it.”
He finishes his toast and checks his watch. “Practice till noon. Media after. I’ll probably be out by one thirty.”
“I’ve got a session I might dial into,” I tell him. “West Coast time, so late afternoon here.”
Ollie arches a brow. “Might?”
“I’m feeling selective.”
“You’re avoiding them,” he says easily.
“I’m curating my presence.”
“That’s code for avoiding.”
I give him a look. “You have practice at 7:00 a.m. and you’re calling me out?”
He leans back against the counter, smirking slightly. “Seven fifteen.”
“That’s worse. That’s showing up early to show off.”
“That’s called leadership.”
I laugh. “That’s called being insufferable.”
He nudges my hip with his. “You love it.”
I don’t answer immediately. He notices and smiles anyway.
