Chapter 19
nineteen
Colson
I’m on a ladder stenciling house numbers above the garage while I think about the third note tucked into the mailbox.
MAIL HARD TO DELIVER. PLEASE FIX VISIBILITY.
I snort under my breath. Like the other two weren’t clear enough. How much mail am I even getting here?
I’m situating the stencils, making sure they’re straight, before I grab the onyx paint. I step down a rung, tilt my head, then adjust the stencil by half an inch. Can’t really screw this up without a ton of cleanup so taking my time seems like the move.
I’m trying to be annoyed at the ask for the address numbers to be visible, but honestly, it gives me something to do. A distraction. So I’m not running through the same thing over and over again.
Last night.
Sadie, sitting on the beach with the sunset painting the sky, reflecting into the water. The way she listened. The way she didn’t rush me when I started talking. How easy it felt to open my mouth and not regret it immediately after.
She was gorgeous. Not in a trying-to-be way. In a grounded, unguarded way that made it hard to look away once you noticed. It’s not the first time I caught myself staring, but it was the first time it was only the two of us for a while.
I climb back up the ladder, happy with the stencil placement, and set the small can of black paint and paintbrush within reach. Carefully, I dip the brush and start filling in the stencil.
I’d rested my head against hers, made it okay for us to be like that. That alone feels dangerous to think about.
Sadie Becker. I won’t pretend I didn’t Google that name last night and read a ridiculous amount of news articles, even watched some highlights.
Fuck, she was a special kind of player. One that could’ve made a difference for the sport.
My chest squeezes when I think about how an injury, a fluke, took her out with no whisper of a warning.
My shoulder feels really good today, serving as a reminder of how I’m still capable. This will fully heal and I could come back to the court. To the game.
Maybe I could.
That’s the difference between me and Sadie.
I kept thinking about how if I hadn’t seen the scar or asked her about it, I’d have never known.
I’ve been so wrapped up in all my shit that I quickly realized I don’t know a whole lot about her.
Her life was supposed to be different, but here she is, smiling like it’s her job and spending her summer with kids.
The contrast isn’t hard to decipher. I’m a moody bastard and she’s gracious, full of a glow I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Wow,” a voice says from below. “Didn’t realize you were an artist.”
I freeze. Like an idiot, I wonder if I’ve thought about her too long and she’s simply appeared from the universe.
I look down to see Sadie standing at the end of the driveway, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, carrying a tray of two coffees and a brown paper bag. As always, her smile is absolutely unapologetic.
“You—” I clear my throat. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to confirm you have more talents than advertised,” she says.
I scoff, finishing the number I started, then set the paintbrush down. “It’s a stencil. Not much talent required.”
She laughs, stepping closer, shading her eyes to look up at me. “You look good up there.” Her voice is velvety smooth.
The bag is stamped with the bakery logo, matching the coffees. The lightbulb goes on as I cross my arms across my chest. She’s going to ask me for something.
I climb down, suddenly aware of the ladder, the house, the spot of black paint on my index finger.
She looks around before her eyes land on me. “I was actually coming to find you,” she admits. “Wanted to ask you...”
My stomach tightens on instinct. I knew it.
“Dangerous sentence,” I say.
She shrugs. “You’ll live.”
She takes a breath, suddenly more careful. “We have a basketball tournament. A few local rec centers come together to play against each other. A few weekends in August. And I was wondering if you’d help coach.”
There it is.
I hold back a laugh as my chest goes tight. My mind races ahead of me, already inventorying ways I could mess this up. Commit and not be enough. Say yes and disappoint her. Get too close to the thing that still hurts.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say slowly.
She nods, like she expected that, but something shifts anyway. Small. Tucked behind her eyes. “You don’t have to answer right now.”
Sadie sets the bag and the tray down, grabbing the coffees, and offering me one. I take it carefully, our fingers brushing for half a second too long before she pulls back.
Too quick.
“I mean—I get it. It's a lot,” she continues, talking faster now. “A few weekends is a commitment, and you’ve got things going on, obviously. And I probably should’ve mentioned it earlier instead of just showing up here, like you don’t have anything to do.
Clearly, there are things on your list.” Sadie gestures to the ladder.
She laughs, but it doesn’t quite land. Her weight shifts from one foot to the other. She won’t look at me.
“I thought it could be fun? But it’s totally fine if you don’t want to—” She finally looks up, eyes searching. “—or if you don’t want to spend that much time… here.”
With me, hangs unspoken between us.
My chest tightens. She thinks I don’t want to spend time with her.
“Sadie,” I say gently.
“Seriously. I can ask someone else. I have other options. Don’t feel like you have to–”
I interrupt her again. “Sadie.”
She stills.
I take a breath, hoping to still the shaking fingers I know are about to show themselves. “I don’t want to let you down,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can overthink them. “That’s what this is.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I grip the coffee cup, trying to get a hold of myself. “I’m afraid if I say yes, I’ll find a way to screw it up. You need someone you can count on and I’m not sure that’s me.”
I look at her then. Really look. Her eyes seem more understanding with each word, soft and hopeful like your morning coffee. The silence that follows me coming clean about my anxiety is different.
“It’s not about not wanting to be around you,” I continue quietly. “It’s about being scared that I’ll disappoint you if I am.”
Sadie exhales slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. That’s… not what I thought.”
“I gathered that.” I bring the coffee cup to my mouth, taking a sip.
A small smile returns to her mouth—careful, but real. “I think you’re someone I can count on.” She swallows past something, taking a step closer to me. “The fact that you’re worried about it shows me you’re the right person to ask.”
Her words swirl around me, like when you’re trying to get warm in the winter and the blanket on your shoulders finally helps. Sadie, with the right amount of pressure to make a decision.
She thinks she can count on me. Fuck. That means more than it probably should.
“Honestly,” she says, gentler now, like she’s giving me an out on purpose, “let me know when you make a decision. Either way, I’ll take your assistance—any way you can offer it.
” Sadie tips her head toward the rec center, sunlight catching along her cheek, her collarbone, the bare skin of her arms. The morning light hits her just right, warm and unfiltered, like it’s trying to make a point.
Something in my chest tightens; not with fear this time, but with the urge to step into the space she’s offering.
To say yes because I want to be near her.
Because I want to see that smile again when things go right.
Because I want to be part of something that feels hopeful instead of heavy.
Because I like how I feel when I’m around her.
She gives me one last look, patient and kind, before offering me the brown bag. “Cherry scones. They’re almost impossible to get unless you’re there when they open.” She shrugs her shoulders.
Her thinking of me this morning is enough to push me into a decision. I can’t imagine telling her no.
“You’re good at this.” I tip the coffee to her before opening the bag, the smell of sugar and cherries making my mouth water. “I’m in. I’ll help you with the tournament. If it’s possible, don’t put my name on any coaching roster or anything.”
“People will recognize you. You know that right?”
Nodding, I reply, “Yeah. I do. Hopefully by August, I’ll have things figured out.”
I kind of like the idea of having an internal timetable—the thing that will make this situation different. Everyone will know that Colson Burke has been hanging out in Northern Michigan. I’m not sure it even matters, but flying under the radar has definitely made things more manageable.
I take a bite of the scone and it’s better than it smells. The tartness of the cherries mixes perfectly with the sweetness of the base. Crunchy sugar is on the top.
“Tell me how good it is,” Sadie says, waiting for my confirmation. Her mood has completely shifted from the nervous and panicking woman a few minutes before. “You’ve got—” She gestures to the corner of my mouth.
My hands are full with coffee and the bag in one and the scone in the other. I try to use my shoulder to get it but Sadie laughs, meaning I’m probably unsuccessful.
Her fingers lift, hovering for half a second like she’s checking herself. “Can I?”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice.
She brushes her thumb lightly against the corner of my mouth. Slow. Careful. Like she’s aware of exactly how much that touch matters. Her hand lingers a beat too long.
Everything slows. The pad of her finger is still close to my bottom lip.
The space between us shrinks. My focus narrows to her eyes, like glinting amber. I tilt forward without meaning to. I swear, she does too. The urge to kiss her runs deep, as if it’s something I’ve pushed down more than I’d care to admit.
For a split second, I’m sure this is it. We’re a breath away, so close, I can almost taste her.
Her phone buzzes loudly between us. We both flinch and step back.
“I should go. And you,” she takes another step back, “have stencils and paint.”
Desperate to respond, I say, “Thank you. For the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” Sadie smiles, turning to leave, glancing back at the last minute. “Try not to fall off the ladder, Coach.”