Page 299 of Seasons of Love
Most days, I’m at the coffee shop, the school, or traveling between. I love both my jobs, but it can leave me with little time to do anything else. Enter my obsession with Coach Riley, and I have even less time.
Last night, I lost myself in the music. I stopped thinking about anything and just felt. It was beautiful, and then I opened my eyes and saw Coach watching me from his window.
He seemed lost while staring at me, so I wondered if he was even watching. When he vanished from the window, I knew I was right.
Now all I want to know is if he liked it. And I’m terrified that the next thing out of my mouth will be something that’ll push him further away.
I stop and look up at the sky, filled with snow clouds. “Grandma, you need to give me a hand with this. If he’s the one, I need something. Anything. Come on, it’s Christmas, and you already owe me a bunch of presents from all the years you’ve been gone.”
By the time I get back to the cabin, it’s almost lunchtime, so I take a hot shower and then make myself a warm drink and something to eat.
I feel rejuvenated from my walk, so I think I’ll make the cookie dough for the Christmas cookies this afternoon.
The cabin has a TV, but I don’t feel like watching anything. I tune into a local radio station on the Crawford’s stereo.
Christmas music fills the cabin, and I twirl around as I line up the ingredients I need to make the cookie dough.
There’s no mixer in the cabin, but that’s not a problem because I brought mine, just in case. I set it on the worktop, which is when I remember I’m not wearing my apron. And I’d rather not get flour all over my clothes.
I’m whistling along with the tune on the radio when my phone dings.
I grab it mindlessly and see a message from my friend.
Bubble, I owe you big time. I nailed the audition, and they’ve offered me a part. I’m going to be a backup dancer in an off-Broadway show.
I am going to kill that little bastard. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I type my reply.
Brandon, you sneaky little shit, why didn’t you say THAT was what you were going for?
The speech bubbles start immediately.
Because you’d have been more nervous than I was. This way, I got pure unrestrained Bubble. And it worked. You really should come to New York.
I smile.
Nah. Too big for me. My bubble would burst too quickly, and there would be no more Bubble left.
I see the speech bubbles again, so while he’s typing, I quickly run to my bedroom to get the apron from my suitcase.
As I return, I glance out the window and see smoke coming from one of the windows on Coach’s cabin.
Oh shit. Shit. Shit.
I slide my feet into my boots, not bothering to tie them, and run over there as fast as possible. I knock on the door.
“Coach? Are you there?” There’s no answer.
Ugh, can I knock the door off? I mean, I can do a bunch of cheerleading stunts, so I can try.
I knock again. “Riley! Coach? Are you okay?”
I’m banging so hard on the door that when it opens, I fall forward and land with my hands on a chest. A naked, hairy chest.
Grandma, I never knew you had it in you, but thank you. Best. Christmas. Ever.
I take a step back, reluctantly letting go of that oh-so-de-ugh-licious chest, which is when I notice there’s nothing but a towel around his waist.
Don’t hyperventilate, Bubble. And for the love of all things sweet. Do. Not. Look.
