Quarterback Sneak (Red Zone Rivals #3)(32)

I nodded, sitting up again. “Well, I guess I can look forward to another game of me showing up bright and early like always, except instead of having purpose, I just look like a lost puppy now.”

Julep offered a sympathetic smile. “Why do you show up early if you don’t need to?”

I shrugged. “Because I always have.”

She nodded, considering, and then said, “What if we changed it up a bit, did something before the game to take your mind off things?”

Surprise made me sit up more. “You want to hang out with me, Polerina?”

“Never mind,” she said instantly, lips flat.

“No, no,” I said, reaching for her as she stood up and started to walk away. I didn’t touch her though, just ran a hand back through my hair. “It’s just… it’s an early game,” I reminded her. “Kick off is at noon. I may not need to get here early, but what could we possibly do before official team report time at ten?”

Something in her eyes told me she regretted making the suggestion, but still, her lips curled into a smile. “I have an idea.”





Julep



“A yard sale?”

Holden made a face, blinking at the hand-written sign with balloons that had an arrow pointing down a narrow street before he turned to look at me. I just smiled and hit the blinker, heading toward our first stop.

“Maybe a few, if you’re lucky,” I corrected, and I reached between my seat and console, fishing out a small stack of papers that I handed to him.

“You actually mapped out a plan,” he mused, cocking an eyebrow as he filtered through the pages. I had red circles with numbered ratings in all the suburbs surrounding the city.

“Oh, you’ve got to. Every bargain hunter knows that. You scope out the best neighborhoods first, early — before anyone else gets there. And of course, you want to try to avoid driving back and forth across town, get the best routes. But then again, it’s worth the gas and the time to hit the most coveted spots first.”

If I hadn’t been watching the road, I would have been smiling at Holden’s expression, his jaw a bit unhinged as he listened to me.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I just laughed.

Leaves rained down overhead as we drove a beautiful street of brick houses with lush, expansive yards. It was one of those perfect fall days, the sky gray and cloudy, breeze rushing in a cool front that would likely wash away the last bit of summer that had been trying to hold on to New England. Growing up down south, I never had much of a fall, so I marveled at the trees changing colors, and felt a true sense of joy for the first time in ages all because I could wear jeans and a sweater without sweating my ass off.

“It’s a perfect day for football,” Holden mused, looking out the window like he, too, was appreciating the sudden rush of fall.

“No football talk this morning.”

He arched a brow at me. “It’s game day.”

“Who cares? You’re not playing.”

His face sagged, and I inwardly cursed at my social inability to recognize when something like that was inappropriate to say, when it might hurt.

“What I mean is that today, we’re going to shift focus from what we can’t control to what we can,” I amended, and even I was impressed at how adult that sounded. Holden seemed surprised by the statement, too, judging by the way his expression softened.

“Which is, by your definition, hitting all the best yard and garage sales in Boston before nine AM?”

“Precisely.”

We pulled up to a nice house, modest in size but with a kept lawn and a literal white picket fence. The really nice houses never had yard sales. They were rich enough that they usually just donated their lot or had someone who worked for them take care of it. Estate sales were the real jackpots, huge mansions with antiques galore. But I hadn’t found any for today, so yard sales would have to do.

I parked along the curb, and a forest green minivan pulled in right behind me. An elderly woman hopped out of the driver seat like it was on fire, giving me a look over her glasses that said she would trip me with her walker if I dared to get in her way.

I nodded my head in a sign of respect, which made her lift her chin a bit before she made her way up the small driveway toward the sale.

“I didn’t realize how brutal these things got,” Holden murmured, his brow reaching for his hairline as he joined me on the driver side of the car.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

He followed me up the drive to the sale, which hadn’t even been touched yet. It was just past seven in the morning, and the owners of the house were still setting up, but they greeted us and the older woman with wide smiles.

“Good morning,” the female owner said. She looked to be in her fifties, with brown skin and black hair that showed a touch of gray at the roots, and oversized, wire-rimmed glasses that gave her a warm, studious vibe. She dropped a box of toys on one of the folding tables. “No price tags, just make an offer if you see something you like. I’m Geraldine, and this is my husband, Howard,” she said.

Her husband didn’t look as pleased to be up this early moving boxes, but he managed a smile and lifted one of his large hands at us in greeting before he got back to moving an old dresser out of the garage and into the driveway.