Page 149 of Hometown Halftime

I jump at the sound of Gordy yelling from the kitchen.

“Table six needs another refill!”

I shove my phone into my apron pocket, throw the rest of my wrap in the trash, because my appetite is gone. Then I force myself to move again, even though it suddenly feels like there’s a countdown clock ticking quietly in the back of my mind.

The dinner rush starts early.

Every table fills before five-thirty, while football plays across the mounted televisions overhead. I move between drink orders and food tickets almost on autopilot, pouring beer, sliding baskets of fries across the counter, and dodging Haddie Carmichael's attempts to interrogate me about my "mysterious roommate situation."

After Debbi recorded Riley and me the night he practically carried Bob out of the bar, we've been a popular topic on the town Facebook page. Brynn worked with Haddie to keep it to just speculation, but she's still relentless.

I’m reaching for a bottle of vodka when a woman slides onto the last open stool at the far end of the bar. Her hazel eyes scan the restaurant with sharp curiosity before landing on me.

I walk over while grabbing a coaster. “What can I get you?”

“Gin and tonic, please,” she says before smiling. “Maybe a double? I’ve braved Lowery’s and the shops this afternoon and I feel like I’ve just returned from war.”

A laugh slips out of me. “You got it.”

I mix the drink while she props her elbow on the bar.

“I’m waiting for my little brother,” she says casually. “Apparently, he’s running late.”

I look around the bar and say, “Well, I’ll watch for a table to open up, but we've been slammed all day.”

“No worries, he can stand if he needs to.” She squeezes the slice of lime into her drink. “You probably know him. Riley Weston?”

I freeze, then brace my hands on the bar. “Yeah, of course I know Riley. He’s my assistant coach at the high school.”

“Oh!” she exclaims. “You must be Kinsey!”

I flick my name tag. “In the flesh.”

She offers me her hand, and I shake it.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says before retracting her hand. “He’s said so many great things about you.”

“Good to know.”

Now that I’m talking with her, the family resemblance is there. Poppy takes a sip of her drink before studying me for a second longer than what feels comfortable.

“So,” she says casually, “you coach rugby with him?”

I nod slowly. “That’s how we met.”

A knowing little smile tugs at her mouth.

“I haven’t seen my brother this happy in a long time,” she says quietly.

The comment catches me off guard enough that I don’t respond to her statement. Poppy traces one finger against the condensation on her glass before continuing.

“Riley’s always carried everything on his shoulders. Even when we were kids.” She shakes her head. “Taking care of people is just built into him.”

Emotion shifts strangely inside me because, God, I know that already. I’ve experienced his care through the injections, the comfort in the way he notices every tiny change in my mood before I even say anything. Poppy glances toward the televisions overhead briefly before speaking again.

“Football’s always been the one thing he’s wanted purely for himself, though.”

I stay quiet and let her continue.