11. Landon
Malcolm came back from Crème & Chill holding brown sugar praline and wearing an expression no cup of ice cream had created by itself.
I watched him take another bite. “You went over there for dessert or conversation?”
“Both.”
“That productive?”
“Hell yeah.”
I glanced toward the booth. Nolani stood near the Scoops & Stories display, helping a mother while two little girls flipped through books beside her. Nyla had returned to the register, looking entirely too composed for whatever apparently happened five minutes earlier.
“You learned her name.”
“Yep.”
“That fast?”
“She made me work for it.”
“That sound like Nyla.”
Malcolm took another bite. “She told me to go coach something.”
“And you’re pleased?”
“She could’ve told me to get the hell away from her.”
“She ain’t tell you yes either.”
“I know.” He looked at me. “I’m flirting, not filing a claim.”
“Good.”
“You worse than HR.”
“My woman gotta hear whatever foolishness you do with her sister.”
“She gon’ hear I was charming.”
“She gon’ hear whatever version Nyla tells.”
Malcolm paused.
“Damn.”
“Exactly.”
He looked toward the booth. “Still worth the risk.”
I laughed and shook my head.
My attention found Nolani again.
Fine as hell.
That was obvious.
What got me now was everything beauty had introduced me to afterward.
She was crouched beside a little girl holding a book, listening like the whole festival could wait until that child finished explaining whatever mattered on the page. Earlier, I’d watched her start toward a problem at the booth, catch herself, and let her people handle it.
Hershey had come to Self Springs with her own work, her own purpose, and her own people.
I liked seeing my city make room for her without swallowing anything that already belonged to her.
Malcolm followed my attention.
“Man.”
“What?”
“You gone.”
“Where?”
“That woman.” I looked at him. He laughed. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah what?”
“I’m gone.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Go coach.”
“See how love made you hostile?”
“Go.”
He left laughing.
For the next forty minutes, the kids got everything I had. We moved the younger group through passing drills before setting the older ones up for defensive footwork. One boy kept dropping his shoulders before every directional change, telling the defender exactly where he planned to go.
I demonstrated once.
He repeated the mistake.
I brought him back beside me. “Your body telling the truth too early. Keep your shoulders neutral. Make him guess.”
He tried again.
Better.
“Again.”
By the fourth rep, he had it.
His face lit.
I slapped his hand. “See? Magic.”
He frowned. “You said it wasn’t magic.”
“Magic is what people call work they didn’t witness. You did the work.”
That grin followed him to the back of the line.
I was resetting cones when fingers touched my elbow.
I turned and temporarily forgot athletics existed.
Nolani stood beside me holding two bottles of water and a small, insulated bag.
Heat had left a soft sheen across her skin, a few curls had escaped near her temples, and the Crème & Chill shirt tied at her waist had spent most of the morning interfering with my concentration from an unreasonable distance.
“Hershey.”
“Hi, baby.”
That damn word.
Every time.
I stared long enough for amusement to brighten her eyes.
“What?”
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“Mean.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
She handed me a water bottle. “Drink.”
“I’ve been drinking.”
“How much?”
“That question invasive.”
“Landon.”
I opened the bottle and took several swallows.
Her expression said correct answer.
“You came across the whole festival to police hydration?”
“You make trips all the time.”
My hand stopped around the bottle.
She saw it, then smoothed the front of my polo where no wrinkle existed.
That little touch almost did more damage than the dress from our first date.
“Come here.”
“I’m already here.”
“Closer.”
“You’re sweaty.”
“And loved.”
Her eyes held mine.
“That wasn’t my concern.”
“Still relevant.”
She stepped into me anyway.
I wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. Players could clown me until graduation. Didn’t give a damn.
“You good?” she asked.
“Now I am.”
“You’re corny.”
“You committed tenderness first. Don’t regulate my response.”
Her laugh brushed my chest before she stepped back and lifted the insulated bag.
“I brought you something else.”
“Food?”
“Dessert.”
“You crossed the park to sell me ice cream too?”
“No.”
Something in that answer changed the moment.
She unzipped the bag and pulled out a pint with no printed label. Just a white sticker in her handwriting.
For Landon. Not for sale.
I read it twice.
Then looked at her.
“Hershey.”
“Taste it first.”
“I’m looking at the label.”
“Look later.”
“What’s in it?”
“Brown butter vanilla, peach cobbler pieces, cinnamon streusel, and a little salted caramel.”
My next breath stalled.
Mama.
Sunday afternoons.
A hot pan cooling on the stove while I cut the corner piece before dinner and rearranged the rest like geometry might save me from consequences.
“You called my mama.” Nolani pressed her lips together. “You called my mama.”
“She likes me.”
“That ain’t the issue.”
“I needed information.”
“What did you ask?”
Her fingers settled around my wrist.
“What you loved before you learned how to answer questions like a grown man trying to be sensible.”
Yeah.
That got me.
“You spend a lot of time noticing me, Landon. What I read. Whether I ate. What I touch when I’m nervous. What I want and talk myself out of wanting.” Her eyes stayed on mine. “I wanted to know something about you that existed before I met you. Before Coach. Before the degrees. Before Big Lando.”
I opened the pint.
A folded strip of paper rested beneath the lid.
You notice me so beautifully. I wanted you to know I’ve been paying attention too.
I read it once.
Then again.
“Hershey.”
“You still haven’t tasted it.”
“I’m trying to maintain dignity at a youth clinic.”
She smiled.
I put the pint back into the bag because I needed both hands and pulled her against me.
“You didn’t even try it.”
“I’m gon’ eat every bite.”
“You might hate it.”
“I love it.”
“You haven’t tasted it.”
I eased back enough to look at her.
“I ain’t talking about the ice cream.” She stayed right where she was. I touched her cheek. “Thank you, baby.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You made something only I get?”
“One customer.”
“Lifetime membership?”
“Don’t push it.”
“I’m negotiating.”
“Poorly.”
“I got exclusive product. Evidence suggests otherwise.”
She laughed.
I kissed her forehead.
“Go coach, baby.”
“You keep doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Calling me baby like you don’t know what happens to my cognitive function.”
“You have advanced degrees. Recover.”
“Education has limits.” She backed away laughing. I watched her for one more second. “I love you.”
Her steps slowed.
She looked at me.
“I know.”
Then she smiled and headed back toward the booth.
No panic in her face.
No pressure in mine.
She knew where I was.
I knew she’d get there in her own time.
Malcolm appeared beside me about thirty seconds later. “Coach.”
“Don’t.”
“She made you your own ice cream?”
“Malcolm.”
“Handwritten label too?”
“I’ll create an equipment position specifically to make your life miserable.”
“You don’t supervise equipment.”
“I’m resourceful.”
He laughed while I finally opened the pint.
The first spoonful gave me brown butter, cinnamon, peach, caramel, and Sunday afternoons I hadn’t thought about in years.
My eyes closed.
Malcolm made an offended sound. “You ain’t gon’ offer me none?”
I pointed the spoon toward the label.
“You see what that say?”
“For Landon.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m Malcolm.”
“Congratulations.”
“That’s cold.”
“Go buy some.” He started away. I shook my head. “That fast?”
Malcolm looked toward Crème & Chill.
“Ice cream good over there.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And the customer service fine as hell.”
“Go to work.”
His laughter followed him.
I took another spoonful and looked toward the booth.
Nolani was already watching me.
I lifted the spoon.
Her smile reached me from across the field.
Whatever she was moving toward, I didn’t need to hurry it.
I could wait.
Seventy-five miles had taught me how.