No. He doesn’t.

  His confidence radiates off him like a plume of smoke.

  I feel him studying my profile, willing me to turn and meet his gaze. I’m too scared to do it. Too scared to see what he’s trying to show me.

  My chest rises and falls as I fist my hands by my sides, trying to endure this moment without my cheeks turning even more red, and then, out of nowhere, he steps back.

  “Have a good night, Birdie.”

  Flustered, I whip my attention back to him just as he turns and walks away. I feel…bereft. Disappointed in my own cowardice.

  Come back, I want to say. Keep playing with me.

  Instead, I quickly pack up my car, wave goodbye to Leanna, and hurriedly drive away.

  The next day is my scheduled day off from the diner, the one day off I get every week. I should be enjoying the fact that I get to sleep in for once, sinking down into my blankets, closing my eyes and forgetting my troubles. What I’m actually doing is staring up at the ceiling, trying to reconstruct Ben’s face in my mind. I have all the important details down: the sun-kissed tan skin, the taunting brown eyes, the bold, cocky mouth. Last night before I drifted off to sleep, I touched myself and got off thinking about him, and even now, there’s residual guilt. It feels like I’m not allowed to want him even in secret. It’s as if even fantasizing about him is off limits.

  My interactions with him are just so out of the ordinary. Since returning to Pine Hill a few months back, I spend my days with Cook and Christine, with my nan and her caretakers. The only man putting the moves on me lately is Patrick, and that creep doesn’t count. I don’t want to keep thinking about Ben, but it’s futile to fight against it. He’s got me wound around his finger already. He barely touched me yesterday, but I swear I should have a mark from it.

  The truth is, he could have done whatever he wanted to me, even in front of his friends. He could have trapped me against the car, locked his arms on either side of my hips, bent down, and kissed me. He could have skated his hands wherever he damn well pleased, and I would have let him. Hell, I probably would have begged for more.

  With that embarrassing realization, I throw off my blankets and get going for the day. Instead of shimmying into my uniform and heading down to Dale’s, I dress in a white t-shirt and jean shorts. I grab my tote bag and fill it with my water bottle, advanced electrical engineering and programming textbooks, and an apple. I don’t bother fixing my hair, letting the long strands whip against my face as I head toward the car.

  I always spend my days off at the care home. Today, my motives are twofold. For one, I’ll get to spend as much quality time with Nan as I can. For two, I’ll be reminded of the harsh realities of my life, beyond Ben and his brief visit in Pine Hill.

  Chapter Eight

  Ben

  I’m the first one at the diner again, ringing the bell over the door as I walk inside. This time, Raelynn looks up and spots me straight away, one of her dark blonde eyebrows cocking up in question.

  I don’t say a word as I head toward my seat at the counter.

  She grabs a mug and sets it down in front of me, watching me with cunning eyes as she pours my coffee.

  “You gonna make this a habit, Castillo?”

  I shrug and bring the mug to my mouth, blowing away the steam for a second before I take my first sip. It tastes like crap, but I don’t come to Dale’s for the coffee.

  “I came by yesterday and you weren’t here.”

  “Did you? Can’t get enough of Cook’s food, huh?” she teases.

  My gaze holds hers for a beat too long, my barely-there smile telling her exactly what I can’t get enough of.

  She clears her throat and gets busy setting up for the day.

  I don’t think she quite realizes what’s happening here, but I can’t say I blame her. She knows nothing about me or what’s been happening in my life this past year. She doesn’t know how rare it is for me to take an interest in someone, anyone. I should be back at Coach Dalton’s compound, resting before practice starts. Instead, I woke up at the crack of dawn and drove myself to a crappy roadside diner so I could have the pleasure of being in Raelynn’s company while she works. She has a magnetism about her—a lure I can’t escape. Maybe it’s just been so long since I’ve been around a woman who’s not a part of the professional athlete scene. I could namedrop some of my friends and she’d probably blink up at me, bored.

  But there’s more to it than that.

  Even if she were in Los Angeles, courtside at one of my games, she’d still arrest me. She’s a ray of sunshine from her golden blonde hair to her freckled cheeks, pink lips, tan legs…

  She looks up and finds me watching her, and she frowns.

  “You have that look about you,” she says thoughtfully.

  I sniff and snap my attention back to her face. “What look?”

  She shrugs. “Just…you have this way about you sometimes. I think it’s the reason I initially thought you might be shy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s…I don’t know…a loneliness.” She’s fiddling with a dishrag, not looking at me anymore as she continues, “Most of the time it’s hard to see what with all that confidence. But like right now, for example, it’s there.” She shakes her head, and I watch her cheeks take on a subtle hint of pink like she’s embarrassed by her honesty. Quickly, she concludes, “I guess, just sometimes you have sad eyes.”

  I have no idea what to say to that.

  I could tell her the truth. That I have absolutely everything anyone would ever want—the money, the fame, the championship rings—and deep down, under the thin veneer, I am lonely. Being in this diner with her is a comfort, and she doesn’t even know it.

  “No one’s ever told me that.” I look down. “About my eyes.”

  It’s the closest I can get to telling the truth.

  “Oh…I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She’s back to wringing out that towel nervously. “Sorry.”

  “No.” I shake my head quickly, warring with the urge to reach across the counter and grab her hand. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be surrounded by yes-people. Nearly everyone in my life is there because I’m paying them to be or because they need me in some way: my managers, my teammates, my friends, my father. Everyone’s motives are fucked up and convoluted and honestly, I’ve lost track of who I can even trust beyond Anthony and Trey. I thought I could trust Shelby, and that backfired most of all.

  “Don’t apologize,” I insist, holding her gaze to let her know how deadly serious I am.

  She cracks a tiny smile, props her forearms on the counter, and leans toward me. I catch a whiff of her shampoo, and it’s such a subtle form of seduction. She doesn’t even understand her sex appeal. Just by her being here, looking like that, I want her.

  “Do you wanna be my friend?” she asks, point-blank.

  “What?”

  The question catches me off guard, namely because I was just thinking some very unfriendly thoughts about her.

  She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. “Sheesh. You should get a load of your face right now. You don’t have to look so offended.”

  “No. I’m…”

  “I just thought you looked like you could use a friend, so I was going to volunteer myself.”

  “Right.”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “So the offer’s off the table?”

  “Oh yeah, buddy. Consider it fully revoked.” She laughs again, shaking her head as she walks away to get back to work.

  I never told her my order, but a few minutes later, the diner’s cook slides a plate of food through the gap between the kitchen and the back counter and calls Raelynn for an order up.

  She drops it in front of me with a teasing look.

  “There you go. Same breakfast you had that first day. I took the liberty of adding some grits. And yes, they’re probably floating in a whole stick of butter, but that’s the Southern way,” she says with a wink before turning, about to walk away.

  “Have you eaten?”

  She frowns as she looks back at me.

  “You want some of this?” I continue.

  Her speculation is evident in the tightly pinched brows. “Why are you trying to feed me?”

  Because I’m worried no one else is, I want to say. Because you look like you need it.

  “You feel bad about turnin’ down my friendship?” she continues lightheartedly as the bell over the door chimes. I turn back to watch a few old men walk in together, slowly ambling toward a booth in the corner.

  “I’ll be over with coffee,” Raelynn tells them. “Anything special today?”

  “No, no. Just same ol’ same ol’,” one of them says, speaking for the group.

  “You doin’ good, Birdie?” the tallest one asks.

  I watch her smile light up the whole damn place. “Just peachy. Thanks.”

  “And your nan? How’s she gettin’ on?”

  Her smile falters for a split second before she recovers as she takes the coffee pot from its warming pad and heads in their direction. I strain my ears to listen to her reply.

  “Good. Yeah. She’s okay.”

  “Y’know I went down to try to see her a few days ago, and Kay told me you had restricted visitors for her.”

  “Yeah. It’s…disorienting for her,” she says sadly. “She’s starting to get real confused with people coming in and out.”

  “I’m sorry, Birdie.”

  “Don’t be. You know her, John. She wouldn’t want any of us worrying about her. In fact, if she knew we were here gossiping about her, she’d chew my hide. Now hold tight. I’ll go put in y’all’s order with Cook.”

  From then on, Raelynn hustles around the diner as more regulars start to pour in. Every one of them greets her with kindness, and she doles it right back out to them. Is that why she works here? Does she like seeing these people every morning? I’d ask, but she doesn’t have time to stop and talk to me anymore. I’m so focused on her I don’t even catch the reporter until he takes the seat beside mine at the counter.

  “Ben Castillo, you eat here often?”

  Jesus Christ.

  I nearly lose my cool.

  At this point in my career, the media knows how private I am. I don’t indulge them with titillating stories or potential sound bites. I answer their postgame questions as succinctly as possible, bordering on rude. Yet still, they try.

  Without a word, I grab cash out of my wallet, slide it under my half-finished plate, and leave, not bothering to say a word to Raelynn on the way out. It’s better if that reporter doesn’t notice her at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Raelynn

  I’m one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every time the bell dings and the diner door swings open, I whip my head around, expecting to see Ben walk in and take his seat at the counter. I’m surprised I haven’t sprained my neck in the two days since he’s been in for breakfast. It’s getting pretty annoying and I’m trying to get myself to stop caring if he visits me again or not, but it’s no use. I’m living on a thread of hope that he’ll be back.

  It’s a dangerous game to play, and half the time I convince myself I made our few encounters out to be more important than they were. Case in point, the last time he ate breakfast here, he didn’t even say goodbye to me on his way out. He left without a smile or wave.

  I’ve convinced myself it’s the last time I’ll see him. The Olympic Games are going to start in a few weeks. Practices could have ramped up. Maybe he’s too busy to visit Dale’s anymore. Maybe he doesn’t find me that interesting after all.

  It’s the late morning and there’s the usual lull between the breakfast and lunch rush. I’m rolling silverware and waiting on Christine to arrive when the bell dings, and I spin around so fast I tweak my back a little.

  It’s not Ben walking in, but for once I’m not disappointed by that fact.

  “Oh my god, that smell,” Leanna says, stopping just inside the front door and inhaling deeply. “I want one of everything you have.”

  I laugh and wave her over to the counter. She’s adorable in her summer dress and flats. She plops her Chanel bag on the counter without a lick of pretense and then grins at me.

  “I’ve come to try out Dale’s for myself. The guys won’t shut up about the food here.”

  “Oh yeah? What do you feel like? Breakfast or lunch?”

  Her eyes light up with all the possibilities. “Hmm…breakfast for sure.” Then she tilts her head, mulling it over. “Or maybe lunch? God, that burger was so good the other day.”

  I laugh and turn to talk to Cook back in the kitchen. “Can you get me a classic breakfast with buttermilk pancakes on the side and a BLT with extra bacon and French fries?”

  I hear Leanna groan in ecstasy behind me. “Yes. Yes to all of that.”

  I head back to her, getting her some water before I lean my elbows on the counter. “Food will be out in a minute. How’ve you been?”

  She shrugs. “Bored out of my mind to be honest. You?”

  I shrug. “Busy.”

  “You work here every morning?”

  “Most.”

  “And then you clean houses after?”

  I nod.

  “Do you have to clean this afternoon?”

  “Yeah, just a short job over at the town’s dentistry office. They close early every now and then so I can give the place a once-over.”

  “Need a second pair of hands?” she asks, hopeful.

  I laugh and point to her Chanel. “If you’re in need of money, you could hawk that handbag and make more than I do in a month.”

  Her cheeks flush with color. “It’s not…I’m fine. Just…you have to clean, so I thought I could help. Maybe if we finish early we could do something fun after?” I must not look convinced because she goes on. “You know before I married Trey, I was a nursing assistant. Which might sound kind of nice, but really, I was a glorified ass-wiper. If you think I haven’t seen it all, cleaned it all, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not some snob.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Alright, fine. But I can’t split the money with you or anything—”

  “Of course. That’s fine. I could just use the company. Now…what should we do once we finish up. Does this town have a spa?”

  Mable’s place reminds me of Truvy Jones’ salon in Steel Magnolias. She operates it out of the front end of her ranch-style house, and when we first walk in, it’s a real feast for the senses. Hot rollers everywhere, messy containers of hot wax, outdated 1980s wallpaper, vinyl beauty chairs, and big hairdos.

  There’s a handful of women inside at various stages of pampering. One sits underneath the heater, soaking in a worn Nora Roberts paperback. Another is getting her hair shampooed in a mint green sink by Mable’s assistant, Belle. She smacks the gum in her mouth and tells us to have a seat by the window until they can take us.

  “You both in for a cut?”

  She’s eyeing our hair like she’s trying to decide where to start whacking.

  Leanna’s eyes are wide when she looks at me. She’s terrified of what these people will do to her lush black hair, and I can’t say I blame her. Mable and Belle know how to do one hairstyle: bouffant.

  “How about just two manicures?” I tell Belle before throwing a little wink at Leanna.

  We end up having to wait a while, but we don’t mind. It’s fun being in Mable’s and listening to the gossip. There’s no shortage of it.

  “Another baby—you’re kidding me! Hardly takes care of the first two they got—”

  “He was supposed to retire last year, but he has his eye on that widow, Mrs. Patricia, and she’s got a real nasty spending habit. She’ll drive him straight into the poorhouse if he’s not careful.”

  “She wants to cancel the chili cookoff at the church and replace it with something healthier. I ’bout slapped her ’cross the face. Who does she think she is messing with traditions like that? The chili cookoff! What’s next?! No more wine with communion?”

  Leanna delights in the conversation, and when Mable and Belle call us up to take a seat, they ask us what color we want on our nails then immediately disagree with both of us.

  “That pink isn’t for you, dear,” Mable tells me with a shake of her head. “No. You try this red instead.” She looks at the bottom of the polish bottle. “Candy Apple’s the name. It’ll drive your man wild. You got a man?”

  I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “What man would I have, Mable?”

  She shrugs innocently. “Pretty young thing like you should always have a man. Want me to set you up with someone?”

  Leanna laughs beside me, but it’s not long until they turn their attention on her and start digging for details.

  “You’re married to one of them basketball players?” Belle asks, her eyes round with appreciation. “Had I known, I would have said something earlier. It’s like we’ve got a real celebrity in our midst.”

  Leanna blushes and shakes her head. “It’s not like that. My husband might be famous in the sports world, but I’m not.”

  “You could be,” Mable says. “With that face, you could do movies or somethin’.”

  Leanna smiles. “Thanks.”

  Then suddenly, she grimaces and jerks back as if in pain, glancing down at her belly.

  “You okay?” I ask, leaning in while Belle and Mable are occupied.

  “Yeah. Just some cramping. It’s never happened before.”

  She looks up and our gazes catch, and I see the worry she’s keeping in.

  “You expectin’, dear?” Mable asks, because of course she was eavesdropping on our conversation.

  We all glance down at Leanna’s minuscule bump not quite visible underneath her dress.

  “Just barely. Still in my first trimester.”

  This elicits excited squeals from both women, who aren’t exactly good at reading the room, but maybe that’s okay. They start talking a mile a minute about all the things Leanna needs to do about the baby—“little whiskey on the gums really helps with teething”—which leaves Leanna in relative peace to worry about what’s going on. She nibbles on her bottom lip, mulling something over. Then her face contorts in pain again, as if she’s having more cramps.