One Look: A grumpy, single dad small town romance(18)

My phone buzzed with another voice mail from Gary Whitman, and anxiety crept up my back.

What the hell did I do?

“Hello?” My aunt Tootie’s singsong voice echoed down the hallway.

“Back here,” I called, slipping my phone into my pocket.

Penny ran down the hall and into my aunt’s arms. They hugged and swayed in a circle. Tootie smiled at me. “It’ll do?”

I nodded. The house was one of the few properties the Kings hadn’t yet scooped up, as it was a part of the Sullivan family farm. They’d have the fight of their lives on their hands if they ever tried to move in on the old farmhouse Tootie and Dad had grown up in. Though it wasn’t the main farm parcel, Tootie refused to sell even after Dad’s health declined, and I loved her for it.

While I figured out how to juggle my career while not emotionally scarring my daughter for life, we could stay.

“Oh, one small thing I forgot to mention. The apartment above the barn is being rented for a bit.”

My brows pitched down. “You forgot to mention that?” I didn’t need some stranger lurking around when Penny was playing outside or bugging us for a cup of sugar or something equally annoying.

Tootie waved her hand in the air in dismissal. “It’s nothing. Lark is a friend. You won’t even know she’s there.” Tootie booped Penny on the nose. “Just don’t go bothering her without permission.”

Lark.

The woman whose perfect heart-shaped ass was permanently implanted in my memory. The mysterious woman who’d breezed into town and had everyone talking. The woman I couldn’t stop thinking about. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate.

This is a problem.

When I said as much, Tootie only laughed and bustled Penny into her car, giving me time to deep clean the house before we officially moved in.

A girls’ day she called it.

As the car disappeared down the driveway, my eyes moved to the small window above the aging barn. It was cramped and dark and the insulation was thin, so you could often hear the barn cats lurking around after dark. In high school it made the perfect place to sneak a few friends and throw a party, but that was a long, long time ago.

I needed to get to work cleaning the house up if Penny and I were going to make it our home for the summer. Cleaning the layers of grime and dust that time had placed on the home was surprisingly satisfying. I didn’t hate the mind-numbing break from the stress of my everyday life. Unfortunately, when my phone rang and it was Gary Whitman again, the tension that lived between my shoulders came back with a vengeance.

“Hey, Gary.”

“You in town?” He sounded annoyed. Pissed off. This was not good.

I looked around the dusty living room, cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear, and lifted the window open. “I’m not. I won’t be staying locally for the summer.” He started to protest, but I’d been backed by the board, so I plowed on. “My schedule won’t change. I have a plan to be available and take care of what needs to be done.”

“Well, I hope you included three unruly college students in that grand plan.”

“Three?” I was still working through figuring out what to do with Michael and Kevin.

“Joey Lupo. Fractured his pinkie.”

I sank down on the open windowsill and released a frustrated sigh. “He did what now?”

“Ultimate Frisbee.”

“Jesus.” Joey was a wild card. A showboat. Reckless. He was naturally talented, but that also meant he wasn’t hungry. He expected everything to come easily and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it—it usually did.

“Between him, Kevin, and Michael, you’ve got your hands full. We need those boys at full capacity for the season. Keep a close eye on them. Help them stay out of trouble. I expect them to be fresh and eligible if we’re going to have a winning season.”

A winning season. Everything came down to a winning fucking season.

“I’ll take care of it.” I ended the call abruptly and tossed my phone beside me on the couch.

I stared at the black mirrored screen, contemplating what the hell I was going to do next. My entire life was imploding. On a sigh, I reached for my phone and dialed one of my best friends, Mitch, a long snapper from the last team I played for.

Thankfully, he picked up on the second ring. “Ready to come back already?”

I scoffed. “Fuck no. I’m living the easy life.” I swallowed past the guilt at how easily the lie slipped out. “Just making sure you’re not getting into trouble in the off-season.”

“You know me; there’s always trouble, baby!”

I laughed at his arrogance, and we fell into a comfortable rhythm of catching up. He asked about Penny and shared his concerns about signing with the Steelers.

“I don’t know, man. Sometimes I think you got out right in time. First time I’m starting to feel old, you know?”

I hummed in agreement. Every year we played together we’d commiserate that the new players felt younger and hungrier. If you were lucky enough to keep playing beyond your late twenties, you were practically ancient.

“It’s been an adjustment,” I admitted. “Sometimes I think it was easier to show up, throw the ball, and go home. Now I’ve got an entire program riding on my shoulders.”