Chapter 13
I was halfway through working on a set of sage and white invitations for a customer when I received a message from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN: Miss Sullivan? It’s Coach Thatcher.
The ink on the tip of my pen could have died out for how long I stared at the black screen on my phone after the notification disappeared. When it popped back up at the two-minute reminder, another text came through.
UNKNOWN: I’d love to see you again. Off the sidelines.
I carefully placed my pen down and picked up my phone.
You don’t have to do this, Noah. I understand it’s unexpected.
NOAH: How about dinner? We can discuss the chances of it all over burgers.
Ugh. I do love a good burger.
NOAH: How about Thursday evening?
Kendall has an appointment. Saturday?
NOAH: I can make Saturday work. How about seven?
Seven is perfect.
NOAH: I will see you on Saturday, Miss Sullivan.
Placing my phone down, I chewed on my bottom lip at the thought of seeing Noah again. Not only seeing them but seeing them. Somewhere we could talk without kids, knowing a little more of each other, with the possibility of something.
Could something work? Kendall would be on the team next year if all went right. Could we make that work?
I dropped my head in my hands.
Why was I even thinking about it? Of course it wouldn’t.
Kendall was eight when Parker died. He didn’t understand death and hadn’t settled on the fact his father wouldn’t be coming home until the late age of eleven after starting therapy.
I’ve never spoken to him about dating again. It wasn’t something I concerned myself with. Just because I slept with someone doesn’t mean I should date.
Noah was Noah. I was touch starved and they were there, and they are there. I couldn’t get into my head about it.
Dating wasn’t a card I understood how to play. I’d been with three people my whole life, one I married.
Then again . . . I had been with three people my whole life and married one of them. Dating was something I could owe myself.
One date couldn’t hurt.
It’s only a date.