Chapter 38 - Sadie
thirty-eight
Sadie
Colson
morning
want to come over?
i’m making breakfast
Me
wait
you know how to make more than pb and j?
not sure about that
guess you’re going to make me prove it
guess so
see you soon
I practically jump out of bed to get dressed and drive to Colson’s. A man offering to make breakfast? Again, it doesn’t seem real.
Breakfast is one of my favorite types of food.
It’s something I had to learn to love again because Nick sort of tricked me into thinking the opposite when we were together.
I used to love making breakfast on the weekends, trying new recipes.
But Nick wasn’t a breakfast guy and typically wouldn’t even try what I made.
After a while, cooking for yourself, when you have a partner you live with, gets kind of depressing. So, I stopped. And instead I almost convinced myself it wasn’t something that brought me joy.
Spoiler alert, Nick was the joy stealer.
My phone buzzes and I look to see a picture of me and my dad filling the screen. Smiling, I tap the answer button and put the phone to my ear.
“No morning practice? Have you started to go soft?” I tease and my dad huffs a breath. I love getting a rise out of him.
“We’re starting in a few minutes. Good morning to you too, Sadie.
” I can hear him smile and it makes me miss my parents.
Part of me wondered if staying back home after everything imploded with Nick would have been the right move, but I simply couldn’t find a seed of joy in that idea.
Plus, Nick kept telling me how much happier I’d be back home—relocating to Golden Harbor was also partly done in spite.
It was the right move.
I’ll never forget the day my mom called, saying Nick had shown up for a quick visit, thinking I’d be there. It was about a month after the wedding was called off and I’d already moved to Golden Harbor. Oh, that was a solid day. He thought his way was always the best way and hated being wrong.
“How’s the team looking?” I ask.
A ball bounces in the background; my dad must already be at the court, waiting for his guys to join him. “Young. But the recruitment class seems solid. Should have a chance at making the tourney this year.” The hopefulness in his voice carries through and it makes me grin on the other line.
Some of my favorite memories would be when my dad and the team would have dinner together the night of the bracket reveal, learning if they did enough to make it into the tournament.
Sometimes, they won their conference championship which cemented their spot, but it was all about what side of the bracket they ended up on.
When I was in college, my mom always made sure to be at our viewing party for women’s basketball. I knew my dad wanted to be there, and he did end up making it to one, but it always felt like this thing that brought us closer together.
After my injury, my dad tried not talking about basketball. He was having a successful tourney run but he felt like it would be rubbing it in my face. I begged him to keep me in the loop. To not let my injury take anything else from me.
Now, my dad calls me about his team at least once a week once the season is in session. I love it.
“How’s the rec center? Almost ready for you to put the kids back in there yet?”
My muscles ache at the mere thought of the amount of work we’ve done to try and expedite the process. “Slowly but surely. Shouldn’t be too long.”
More balls bounce in the distance and I know my dad’s about to be pulled in another direction. “Well, Sadie, just wanted to check in. Hope you’re having a good Sunday.”
“Love you, Dad,” I say, hand on my car door, about to get in to go to Colson’s for our breakfast date.
I can’t help but think about my parents on the short drive to Colson’s.
After hearing about Colson losing his mom and not really having a dad, it really shines the light on how great my childhood was.
How supported I’ve felt. I’ve always known I was lucky, but Colson’s experience breaks my heart in a way that’s hard to try and understand.
I wish he had more.
My chest warms when I think of him, then my cheeks flush when I think of the way he makes me feel when he touches me. It’s unreal. Unlike anything else in the world. Nothing has ever made me feel the way Colson does.
My daydream is cut short when I realize I’m already on his porch, knocking on his door. He yells for me to come in. The second I step inside, I stop short.
The house smells warm, like butter melting into something sweet. Like sugar and bananas. But there’s also something savory that makes my stomach flip with excitement before my brain can even catch up.
“Wow,” I gush, taking my shoes off. "Doesn't smell like PB and J.”
Colson laughs from the kitchen. “Rude.”
I follow the sound of his voice and find him standing at the stove in only his gym shorts, flipping tiny pancakes.
There’s a plate stacked with golden mini banana pancakes with steam still rising.
Next to it rests an omelet folded perfectly over bacon, parmesan, and caramelized onions—actual caramelized onions, not the rushed, sad version people lie about online.
I blink at the spread. “Colson.”
“Mm?” He doesn’t look up, very focused on not burning anything.
“I was told you only know how to make PB and J.”
He finally looks at me, smug. “I never said I only knew how to make it. I said I’m excellent at it.”
I laugh, stepping closer as he slides an omelet onto a plate.
I lean against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen and ask, “What’s the occasion?"
He shrugs. “I like breakfast. And I overheard you asking Maren about some diner when we were with the kids. You seemed awfully interested in the breakfast menu.”
My chest does a small, annoying flip. The thing about Colson is he doesn’t miss a detail. Before I can respond, he nudges a mug toward me. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
I glance down at the French press and freeze. The smell hits me now—rich and familiar, a little nutty, with that gentle sweetness I recognize.
“What kind of coffee?” I ask quietly.
He pauses. “Picked it up at the bakery.”
The same coffee I brought the day I watched him paint his address above the garage. When I asked if he’d be interested in helping me with the summer tournament. The day we almost kissed.
Our fingers brush, and he leans in enough to press a quick kiss to my temple before putting his fingers under my chin, lifting before his lips touch mine. Like he can read my mind.
“Breakfast is served,” he announces.
I take a sip of coffee, then a bite of pancake, and close my eyes for a second.
“Colson,” I groan seriously, “This is so good.”
He beams at me and my soul seems to jolt back into place. Colson feels like a key piece in coming back to myself.
We’re cleaning up after a slow breakfast. Another pot of coffee is brewing in the French press. I open the fridge to grab some cream, and when I close it, I notice there’s a short list on the door that seems like a new addition. I’m guessing it’s a woman’s handwriting and a few bullet points.
“What’s this list for?” I ask.
Colson sighs and then says, “Found it. I think it was some of the things my mom wanted to do when I came up here in the summer. Just—” He rubs his face with his hands. “Never got the chance.”
My heart. It hurts.
I reach for his hand and hold it. “Well, looks like we have some work to do.”
Colson nods, threatening a smile but doesn’t let it come through.
“The Basement? Oooh—”
He launches into an almost panicked explanation.
“Yeah, I’m really not sure what she means because the basement of this place is fully renovated.
She has this projector, and a screen, and all the storage she asked for.
A full guest suite. I even called the contractor, there was nothing waiting to be finished. I don’t know what—”
I take a finger and put it over his lips.
“I don’t think she meant this basement, I think she meant The Basement.” I hold back my amusement of Colson trying hard to figure it out.
“What the hell do you mean?” He laughs. “What’s the difference?”
I turn, looping my arms around his neck and kissing him. “Colson, The Basement is a place. It’s kind of a Golden Harbor secret.”
“Okay?”
“It’s a speakeasy. Hidden entrance. Cocktails and apps. Something that doesn’t really fit with the small town vibe. It kind of started as a joke, but it’s sort of perfect.”
“A speakeasy? You’re kidding me.”
“No. Not kidding. We should go tonight.”
Colson shrugs his shoulders and says, “Works for me.”