by Emma Hart
“Leo! Your dinner is ready!”
“Aw, Momma! Five more minutes!”
I poked my head out of the back door. He was standing in front of the back wall, goalkeeper gloves on, holding his favorite tattered soccer ball. I knew he’d been practicing his solo drills using the wall, but he’d already been out there for ninety minutes.
“Nope. I let you go out there before you did your homework. You need to come in, eat your dinner, then do your math before your dad calls you tonight.”
“Ohhh. That’s not fair.”
“Fine, then I’ll tell your dad not to call you.”
“Momma!”
“Dinner, Leo.” I stepped to the side and motioned inside the kitchen for him to come in.
With a huff, he threw his ball down, then tore off his gloves and did the same with them.
“Without the attitude,” I said in a firm voice. “Or no practice tomorrow.”
His expression dropped. “But that’s not fair!”
“Neither is your attitude toward me and your belongings. Your actions have consequences, and if you carry on like this, you won’t have practice. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Momma.” He looked down. “I’m sorry.”
I ruffled his hair. “Just calm down, okay? All I’m asking for you to do is eat dinner. We made a deal, but if it’s going to be a problem, I won’t be doing it again.”
“Okay. Can I go out after my homework?”
“After your dad calls. If your homework is all done after that, you can have another twenty minutes before you shower.”
He sat at the table and shook his hair out. “Okay. This looks yummy.” He smiled at me hopefully.
“Nice try,” I muttered, passing him some shredded cheese to put on top of his spaghetti. “Enjoy, monster.”
“Thanks, Momma.”
I ruffled his hair again and left him to eat happily in the kitchen, then checked my phone. I had two messages—one from Christopher saying when he’d call that I confirmed, and another from a new number to me.
UNKNOWN: Is this London?
Uh…
ME: Yes. Who is this?
UNKNOWN: Thank God for that. I’ve texted two wrong numbers already.
UNKNOWN: Sorry, it’s Oliver.
Oh! Right. I’d given him my number. What an idiot.
ME: Oh, hi! I’m sorry, I forgot you’d be texting me.
OLIVER: It’s fine. To be honest, I should have probably signed my name. ;)
ME: There’s that too. What’s up?
OLIVER: Are you free tomorrow? I’ll be in town in the morning so can meet you for lunch if you’re free.
ME: I have no plans. I usually take it at twelve-thirty, but I have a little more freedom now I’m working solo.
OLIVER: Twelve-thirty works. Anywhere in particular? Somewhere quiet, I guess?
ME: I have an idea. Give me a minute.
I flipped the conversation to my chain with Holley.
ME: Any chance I can borrow the bookstore for a while over lunch tomorrow?
Her reply was instantaneous.
HOLLEY: When and what for?
ME: I’m interviewing Oliver but need somewhere quiet so I can record it.
HOLLEY: I can give you 45.
ME: Perfect. What time?
HOLLEY: 12.30 on the dot.
ME: You’re the best.
HOLLEY: Stop at Piper’s and get me a donut.
ME: Jerk.
HOLLEY: You’re welcome.
I quickly flipped back to the original message thread with Oliver.
ME: Can you meet me at Bookworm’s Books at 12.30 tomorrow? We have 45 minutes so don’t be late. I’ll bring sandwiches.
OLIVER: You’re bossy.
OLIVER: I’ll be there.
ME: See you then.
CHAPTER FOUR – OLIVER
RULE FOUR: PRETEND LIKE YOU WANT TO BE THERE.
“Why hasn’t she asked me yet?”
I looked up from my phone at Dylan. As the only other Brit living in the area, he was my closest friend. He was also the sole reason I was here—I was considering going home when my job in New York went tits up.
I was still considering going home, if I was honest.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like Montana. I loved it. But it wasn’t home, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel at home in America.
“She just happened to be at the class,” I replied. “I was there. It was spur of the moment.”
“She still could have asked me. I fixed her sink three weeks ago.”
“Are you... whining?”
“No, I’m just wondering why she doesn’t want my input. I’m Sebastian’s partner in it, for fuck’s sake.”
I laughed, locking my phone. “Fucking hell, Dyl. I don’t think she’s set anything up with anyone yet. Did you get the email with the release form from Fiona this morning?”
“Yeah, I got it. That’s when I started wondering what I’d done.”
“Nothing. She’s just not got through everyone yet. Bloody hell, what’s wrong with you today?”
Dylan rubbed his forehead. “Saylor’s a woman. There were no donuts this morning. Do I need to elaborate?”
I shuddered. He did not. I knew what that meant.
Saylor was also… Saylor.
She was spiky on the best of days.
“All right, well, I’m going to go and meet London. I’ll put a good word in for you.” I finished my cup of tea, got up, and clapped him on the shoulder. Dylan grumbled something, but there was no way he’d argue with me as he was about to interview for yoga instructors.
This sports center had everything.
I was going to leave him to his temporary misery.
Sometimes, it wasn’t all that bad being single.
The bookstore was a bit of a strange place to stage an interview, but if it was quiet there, then I wasn’t going to argue. She also said she’d bring food, but I wasn’t the kind of person to let that go without contributing.
I swung past the bakery for a box of cupcakes and headed for the bookstore. I knew enough to know that the car park by the café was the closest I was going to get to the shop, so I made the journey on foot.
I got there right before twelve-thirty like she’d said to and peered through the window. It was empty inside except for London. She was sitting at a large table area with sheets of paper spread out next to her, typing at her laptop. She looked so engrossed in what she was doing that I hated to disturb her, but I got the impression she wouldn’t be too happy if I was late.
Gently, I rapped my knuckle on the window. Her head jerked up, and her mouth broke into a smile when she realized it was me.
Dear God, the woman was bloody beautiful.
I had no business being attracted to the mother of one of my students, but I couldn’t see a situation in which I wouldn’t be attracted to her.
Yes, she was physically stunning with her dark hair, brown eyes, and a smile that could stop traffic, but she was just beautiful inside, too.
She always smiled. It didn’t matter who you were, she had a smile and kind word for you. She cared more than I thought any human being should care about anything or anyone, and she was always the first to offer to help out.
She was an inherently good person.
London opened the door with that same beaming smile still on her face. “Hi. Come on in.”
“Thanks. I brought cupcakes.” I held the box up somewhat awkwardly. “Since you were bringing sandwiches, I thought I’d bring dessert.”
“Ooh, and you went to see Piper! Her cupcakes are the best.” She closed the door behind me and led me to the table. “Take a seat. Let’s eat, then we’ll talk after. Do you mind if I record it?”
“Video? Or just voice?”
“Just voice.” She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and smiled, this time almost shyly. “I’ll take notes as we talk, but sometimes I miss things or I need to clarify points, so the recording helps.”
“Not a problem
.” I sat down a couple of chairs away from her.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made a few different sandwiches.” She rummaged through a picnic cool bag and pulled out several foil-wrapped subs. “There’s tuna and cucumber, cheese and tomato, ham…”
“Tuna’s great,” I said, fighting back a grin. “You could have asked.”
“I know, but by the time I realized I hadn’t asked you, it was too late.” She shrugged and handed me one that had a fish drawn on top in green pen.
“You’re quite the artist.”
London’s cheeks flushed. “I forgot what the tuna was called and all I could find was Leo’s pens.”
“You forgot what tuna was called?”
“Have you ever tried to use your brain while arguing with a small person?”
“At least once a week.”
“Good for you. This morning, I had a debate over whether Leo needed to use toothpaste or if water was adequate to clean his teeth.”
“Did you win?”
“Of course I won. One, I’m a woman, and two, I’m in charge.”
I laughed, unwrapping the sandwich. “Both very valid points.”
“Thank you. I thought so.” She unwrapped her own that was just plain ham. “Do you mind if I just finish this email while we eat?”
“You go ahead.”
“Thanks.” She typed with an impressive speed. She wasn’t even looking at the keys, but I guessed she was so used to typing that she didn’t need to. It would probably take her longer if she did look.
I pulled up the sports news on my phone while we ate. It was a weirdly comfortable silence between us, with the only noise that of her tapping her nails against the keys as she wrote.
“Okay, done. Whenever you’re ready.”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and peered over at her. “Ready when you are.”
“Okay.” She set her phone between us, plugged it into the cable attached to the laptop, and swiped at the screen, tapping a big red button on an app I didn’t recognize. “Dictation app,” she said quietly. “It’ll also transcribe the conversation for me so I have numerous points of reference.”
“Smart,” I agreed.
“Okay, let’s get started. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me today—I really appreciate it. You’re one of the most popular coaches at the center with both kids and women alike.”
I almost choked on a laugh. “Thank you for taking the time to invite me. As for the last part, I can’t say I’ve noticed.”
She grinned. “Well, if it helps, I think most single women in the town have a betting pool on who’s going to go out with you first. Although they’re probably not fans of me telling you that.”
“Duly noted. What’s the bet for you so you can win?”
She blushed again. “I’m not a part of it, sadly, but I don’t turn down free food if you’re offering.”
I laughed and motioned to the cupcakes.
“Let’s get started. You are, obviously, British. Can I ask you about your life back in England and what led you to end up here in White Peak?”
Bloody hell.
How long did we have?
“I grew up in a small town in the south of England about an hour from London. My dad worked for one of the major Premier League teams as their team doctor, so I was invested in football from an early age. Unfortunately, an injury in an academy game cut my career short, so I decided to go into coaching. I initially came over on a short work visa, but when my contract got extended, I decided to stay longer.”
“You were in New York, right?”
“That’s correct. I grew up in the countryside and struggled with the fast pace, so when Dylan called me and said he had a job for me here, it was a no brainer. I was about to quit and go home anyway, so I had nothing to lose by moving.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your injury. That must have been hard.”
“It was extremely hard for sixteen-year-old me. I could have continued playing, but the chances of me getting injured again and messing my ankle up for good were too big to risk.”
“Well, let me say very selfishly that I’m glad you’re here coaching. On a personal level, my son has improved immensely under your guidance. What made you go into coaching children and not adults?”
“It’s much easier to coach children, for a start, when you don’t have years of football experience under your belt. Many of the top coaches and managers you see in the game were players for many years. On the other hand, my coaches when I was a child made a huge difference in my life. They were big inspirations to me, and without them, I wouldn’t be here now. I guess that’s what I wanted. To make a difference in these kids’ lives.”
“You absolutely do,” London said, typing furiously at her keyboard. She paused to flash me a small smile.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“Let’s talk about soccer. You said that your father was a team doctor for a Premier League team—that’s the top soccer league in England, for readers unfamiliar with it—but I imagine that took a lot of time away from you. Was that all that got you into the sport?”
I nodded. “It did. I started playing in the back garden with my cousin as a means to spend more time with him when he was home or during the summer when we have the off-season. Eventually, he realized I had some real talent and signed me up to a local team, and I discovered a true love of the game.”
“What position did you play?”
“I was in goal.”
She paused, fingers hovering over the keys, and smiled. “Well, that explains a lot. Was it your chosen position?”
“No, actually. I wanted to play in midfield, but my first team had a rule that we all had to try a position in every part of the team at least once. I’ve always been tall, and my then-coach recognized I had quick reflexes, so encouraged me to focus on it.”
“That’s interesting. I remember not long after I signed my son up and the soccer classes started that you did a similar thing to test them all. Was that inspired by your first coach?”
“Absolutely. Most kids dream of being a striker like Messi or Ronaldo and scoring hundreds of goals for all the glory, but it’s a team sport for a reason. Sometimes a kid who wants to be up front is better talented to being in defense. It’s also just great for them to understand the dynamics of a team and the fundamentals of each position. In my opinion, it makes them better team players if they know how hard their teammates are working.”
“That makes sense. It’s a good philosophy to have, and those team-building skills are invaluable in life in general.”
“Exactly. Even if they don’t pursue a career in sports, the underlying lessons will serve them well.”
“So you’re not just coaching them in soccer. You’re also giving them skills they can use later on in life.”
“Unintentionally, but yes. Everyone involved in a child’s life helps shape who they’ll become, and if that means I have a hand in shaping some great kids into great adults, then I’ve done my job well.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
London went on to ask more about what I did at the center. It was all very general stuff—the classes offered, the age groups, boys and girls, too. It definitely turned more into a minor advertisement than an interview, but I was pretty happy about that.
I’d talked enough about myself.
“Well, that’s about everything. Thank you so much for sitting down with me today, Oliver.”
“Thank you for having me. It’s been a pleasure.”
London reached over and hit the same button on her phone, presumably ending the recording. “I’ll write the introduction and close it out when I’ve written it up and edited it.” She tapped the mousepad with a flourish and sighed, then turned to me with a big smile. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you for lunch. You make a great tuna sandwich.”
She dipped her head with a smile. “Thank you. You get a bit used to it when your child never sits st
ill and is constantly hungry. The day he learned to make his own sandwiches was the best day of my life.”
I laughed. I could relate to that—that was me when I was a kid. “My mum always told me she was dreading me being a teenager because my older brother didn’t run nearly half as much as I did and he never stopped eating.”
“I don’t think I want to ask how much food she went through.”
“Probably best not to.” I winked.
London checked her phone. “I’m sorry, my lunch is done and I have to get to the office. Seb will be calling soon to set up our interview.”
I held up my hands and gathered the rubbish leftover from our lunch. “You go ahead. I’ll tidy up here.”
The bell over the door rang. “Holy shit, he tidies, too? Can you talk to Dylan about that?”
I turned to see a grinning, pink-haired Saylor. Her hair was up in what I’d come to learn was her signature look—pigtail buns. “I can try, but we both know he isn’t going to listen.”
She grunted. “You got that right. He woke up in a dreadful mood today. I told him to get out of my bed and go back to his own if he was going to have his man-period.”
“She’s not a morning person,” London whispered, slipping past me with one of the cupcakes in her hand. “Thanks for the store, Say!”
“You got anymore of those cakes?” Saylor peered over at the box on the table.
I pushed the box over toward her. “All yours.”
“Damn. Can I swap Dylan for you? You’re both British. It doesn’t matter to me.” She dove into the box and pulled out a chocolate one. “You pick up the trash, you bring cupcakes… Ugh.”
I laughed and held up the rubbish. “Do you have a bin for this?”
She blinked at me. “Bin. Trash can. Right. Yeah. Just behind the counter.”
“Your translation was quick. I’m impressed.”