by Cindi Madsen
When the noise died down, he glanced at Jemma and found her looking back at him. Her hand was on her knee, and his fingers twitched with the urge to take it in his.
Did she lean in, or did he?
Either way, his attention turned to all things Jemma. Her dark, wavy hair, her blue eyes, so full of wonder and tenderness. The kind smile she so freely gave to people whenever they crossed her path. Suddenly he understood the full meaning of the word “magnetic,” because she was a magnet, pulling people in.
Pulling him in.
“Wait.” Two creased formed between her eyebrows as she lowered them. “Why did the refs blow their whistle?”
The question jerked him out of his trance, and luckily he was able to figure out what’d happened and explain the call. She asked a few more questions, and he clarified the rules she was fuzzy on.
He’d drifted closer in order to be heard over the crowd, but even after she stopped asking questions, he couldn’t gather enough motivation to move away.
“I wish I could’ve seen you play,” she said.
“I used to dominate, so it was quite a sight.”
“Sounds like you were super humble, too.”
He laughed, full-out, and a couple of people turned toward him. But he didn’t care. Let them talk—they were going to anyway. “It was the first time I felt truly good at something. For a little while, the rest of the world disappeared and it just came down to me, my team, and tearing it up on the court.”
He ran his palms down the thighs of his jeans, inhaling sharply when his pinky brushed Jemma’s. “I always figured I’d teach my son how to play and go to games the way my dad came to mine—it was about the only time he’d leave the ranch. Then along came Bailey Rae. Of course I realized I could still have that, only with my daughter. But she’s completely uninterested. Not a competitive bone in her body. She’ll probably be a cheerleader, a decision I’ll fully support, for the record.”
Jemma observed the girls on the side of the court who were shaking their pompons. “I always wanted to go out for cheerleading, but I chickened out. I was sure I’d get cut.”
“One thing I like about Haven Lake is that kids get more of an opportunity to try everything. Sports, extracurriculars. They get a chance to learn and see if it’s something they enjoy instead of getting cut and never knowing.”
“That would’ve been nice. And extracurriculars are so good for students. Usually their grades improve, they get into less trouble, and it gives them a built-in friend group.” She swept her hair behind her ear and bit her lip. “Sorry. I went into administrator teacher mode. I’d tell you I can shut it off, but the truth is, I can’t.”
“You’re a really good teacher, Jemma.” He’d needed to hear her compliment, and he figured she didn’t hear it enough. It was true too. He could tell. “I can’t believe the difference I’ve seen in Bailey Rae this past month, and I know a lot of that is because of you.”
Jemma ducked her head, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. She—and all my students—mean a lot to me.”
They sat back to enjoy the game. Between him and Camilla, they taught Jemma a lot about basketball, including the boys’ names, and by the middle of the second quarter she was cheering along with the crowd. She got so into it, jumping to her feet every time the ball was shot.
Her enthusiasm was catching, and she should’ve been a cheerleader, because he was cheering louder than he had since high school. Every time she sat down, her knee bounced, or she crossed her leg and that foot went to wiggling. He’d always wondered how elementary teachers kept up with so many kids at once—with Jemma, he suspected they had to keep up with her right back.
The clock ticked down the last three seconds of the quarter, and one of their boys shot from half court.
And made it.
The crowd erupted, everyone who was physically able jumping to their feet. Jemma turned to him, and he wanted to hug her, but his brain insisted he keep lines in place.
Instead, he held up his hand for a high-five. She smacked his palm, then pivoted and did the same to Camilla.
His former classmate then studied him studying Jemma, just like she’d done throughout the first half of the game. This time she went the extra mile, tipping her head toward Jemma, like, see how awesome she is?
He gave a conciliatory nod to say of course he did. He didn’t know a silent way to convey that unfortunately it didn’t change things. He couldn’t bring anyone into Bailey Rae’s life unless she was going to be there for good. And Jemma had a lot of her life ahead of her. She probably wouldn’t want to be tied down, not to the town or to him.
Whoa. Why’d my brain have to go there?
It was getting ahead of itself, something it did too often around Jemma. But tonight was one of his few free nights, so he decided to just let himself enjoy it. While reminding himself not to get too attached.
The extra adrenaline in the air coursed through Jemma as well, and she glanced at Wyatt again. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. There were these occasional moments where she thought maybe he felt this thing between them too. But they were so fleeting, and he hadn’t made a move.
Hadn’t she decided a move would be bad, though?
With him this close, she was once again having trouble reminding herself why falling for the cowboy next door was a bad idea.
He opened his mouth, and she held her breath—he’d talked quite a bit tonight, and it only made her want him to say more.
“That last shot was amazing, right?” The man at half court said, the microphone up to his lips. “And it just so happens that our half-court competition is tonight.”
He listed off a couple of people who’d asked to take part then said, “I hear Wyatt Langford is in the audience tonight. Do you guys remember the cutthroat state championship game when he made that beautiful three-point shot that secured the win?”
The crowd roared, and Jemma gaped at him. “I take it back. You were being humble.”
“Not very,” he said with a laugh.
People began chanting his name, and the guy with the microphone gestured for him to come on down.
The line of Wyatt’s shoulders tightened, his hesitance clear. “This is what I get for attending a town function,” he muttered before standing and starting down the bleachers.
People held out their hands as he made his way to the floor, and he smacked them like a rock star at his own concert.
“Was this a setup?” Jemma asked Camilla.
“I don’t think anyone knew he’d be here, so I’d say no. But we were in the same graduating class, and he really was a big deal. More three-pointers than anyone else in history—and the record still holds.”
Camilla turned to fully face her, and Jemma felt like she should pull up her shoulders for some reason. “Speaking of Mr. Three-Pointer, don’t tell me you’re going to deny that you guys have crazy chemistry. I sat here and witnessed it myself.”
“We’re friends,” Jemma said, and her friend rolled her eyes.
The movement at center court stole back her attention—she didn’t want to miss Wyatt’s shot. The two teenagers who’d volunteered for the competition launched the ball, both missing by about a yard or so.
The announcer extended the orange ball to Wyatt, but instead of taking it, he leaned in and whispered something to him.
The guy chuckled and lifted the microphone. “I just got word that our newest town resident and the fill-in for Mrs. Anna Lau’s third grade class is also in the audience.”
Everything inside Jemma turned to stone.
“Miss Monroe, would you care to join us?”
Heads swiveled her way, making it impossible to give the no thank you response caught in her throat.
Especially when they started cheering.
She slowly pushed to her feet a
nd carefully made her way down the bleachers, smiling at everyone who tossed encouraging words her way. They were also chanting her name, which seemed more like a bad omen than a cheer.
She aimed a glare at Wyatt as she approached, and he had the audacity to grin wider. She dipped her head to speak into the microphone. “You guys keep chanting miss, Monroe, and I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what’s about to happen.”
The crowd sniggered, and she was too hot and too cold, and yet a sense of acceptance and community also wove through her, leaving her feeling a whole lot at once.
Wyatt smoothed a knuckle down her arm, and everything inside her calmed before going berserk. Just what I needed. A few more emotions added to the mix.
“I couldn’t help it,” he whispered, causing goose bumps to sweep across her skin. “If I have to be at the center of attention, I want you with me.”
He probably didn’t mean it in the way it sounded, but for tonight they were a team, and that made it a great night. So she’d shoot an air ball and let the crowd laugh at her lack of coordination. Afterward, she could insist Wyatt console her. Bonus, this would make good blackmail material for whenever she had one of her livin’-in-the-country-type disasters and had to call on him for help.
“Who’s going first?” the announcer asked.
The notion that bad news should come before good news meant she should, right? She took the ball. Stared at it. Stared at it some more.
It was grippier than she’d expected, and heavier too. The air was another thing that seemed heavier down here, but she was fairly sure that was the suspense and weighted expectations of a hundred plus pairs of eyes.
“Need a few tips?” Wyatt asked.
Swallowing took more effort than usual, and she managed to nod. “Not that they’ll help, but yes, please.”
He demonstrated shooting and following through with an invisible ball.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the ball, flat in her right palm as she steadied it with her left one.
Wyatt placed his hands on her shoulders and squared her off toward the basket. “Just focus on the white square on the backboard…”
His warm breath hit her neck, and seriously? She was supposed to focus on something besides how close he was?
“Tell you what. If you miss, I’ll take you out for ice cream. And if you make it, I’ll take you out for ice cream.”
Desire swirled into her tornado of emotions. Every nerve ending was on high alert, both from Wyatt and the buzz of the crowd.
Finally, she fired the ball, throwing her entire body into it.
It landed about halfway to the basket, but the arch had been more impressive than any other time she’d shot a basketball.
One of the kids retrieved the ball and threw it to Wyatt. He squared off at the half court line, and she wondered what he’d do if she went to help him and give him a pep talk. Maybe whisper in his ear.
Only, they were in front of most of the town, and she’d never be able to play it off as a casual move. Not to mention she rarely made moves. Nope, she waited for the guy, and sometimes it meant waiting forever, only for them to let her down easy.
That same adrenaline from earlier filled the air, and Wyatt took his shot.
Without thinking, Jemma grabbed his hand, needing a lifeline to hold on to as she waited to see if the ball would fall through the white netting.
The ball hit the rim, and Wyatt gave her hand a squeeze, the pulse of it echoing in the beat of her heart.
The big orange ball bounced for an eternity, bump, bump…
Swish.
Hoots and hollers filled the gym, so loud she was sure it shook the rafters.
And Wyatt held on to her hand, his eyes locked on to hers, as if she were the only person in the entire room.
Chapter Sixteen
The roar of the game and celebratory cheering still rang in Jemma’s ears as Wyatt walked her out to the parking lot. He started right as she turned to go left, and she bumped into him, her hands coming up to grip his biceps as she worked to remain steady on her heels.
“I’m that way,” she said with a giggle, her breath coming out in a frosty white cloud.
Wyatt cupped her elbows, ensuring she stayed upright. “I’m the other way. But I just assumed I’d drive us to the diner for ice cream. I owe you, after all.”
“Oh. Right.” She hadn’t known he’d meant tonight, and her insides gave a little leap over the fact that she didn’t have to say goodbye just yet.
Every version of Wyatt was melding together to give her a better whole picture, and this version was extra fun. He seemed at home and more carefree than usual. She had a feeling he didn’t take a time out from his busy life very often, and after burning herself out with school and work, she knew how important it was to take a break.
“Then I guess I’ll let you lead,” she said.
He offered his elbow, and she linked her hand in the crook of it. When she shivered, he tucked her closer in a sort of side hug that made her feel imbalanced in the best sort of way. She essentially glided to his truck, where he helped her inside before circling the hood, climbing inside, and firing up the engine.
The radio played in the background, a twangy tune she never would’ve considered her style. It used to not be. But sitting across from a real-life cowboy, driving down Main Street so they could hit the small town diner, she glanced around at what she’d originally declared the middle of nowhere and decided she might be a little bit country after all.
Naturally, the diner was full of everyone Wyatt had ever known. He should’ve thought through his plan better, but he didn’t have ice cream at his house, and with the way he couldn’t stop staring at Jemma, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to be alone with her without giving in to the temptation to kiss her.
And yet, there was something comforting about the familiarity of a packed diner to celebrate a win. The full tables, din of dozens of conversations and clattering plates, plus the scent of greasy food took him back to high school all over again, when his life had revolved around basketball.
And his girlfriend.
It was before the complications, back when he hadn’t known how many of those the universe could throw at you at once.
After a handful of years of not being sure he believed in the kind of romantic love that lasted forever, he hadn’t expected to feel the glimmer of it ever again. But tonight, at half court when Jemma had taken his hand, spark after spark had fired through his body until it was more than a glimmer—it was a full-on blaze.
He’d let it cloud his reason, and right now, he didn’t want the haze to clear.
In fact, he stepped a tad closer to Jemma, placing his hand on her lower back so it could flood him again.
After ordering milkshakes, they sat at a tiny table, the booths too full to have a chance at getting one to themselves. Again, he told himself that it was good. Being smack dab in the center of the action would keep him in better control. As they waited for their order, several people stopped to chat.
Tyrone Willis gave the two of them a wide grin and then patted Jemma’s shoulder and told her she just needed some practice and she’d at least be a decent free-throw shooter. Others stopped to rehash glory moments from the game and talk about their half-court shots, and there was also talk about state championships of yesteryear and, of course, the weather.
“I’m starting to struggle to remember names,” Jemma said, concern creasing her brow. “They all know mine too, so it makes me feel that much worse.”
“Well, that’s partially because you’re new, and partially because they announced it at one of the biggest games of the year.”
“Still.” Her lower lip popped out, and he fought the urge to tap it.
He settled for placing his forearms on the table and creating a more intimate bubble with their bodies. “Gloria, the woman with
the pen and pad who took our order, has worked at the diner since she was sixteen.”
“And she’s now…?”
Wyatt leaned closer. “No one knows. But my dad remembered her serving him in high school, and that was over five decades ago.
“Then you’ve got Norman Morrison…” He gestured with his chin to the grizzled old man who looked like he’d be able to take on anyone he met in a dark alley. “He’s served in two wars, and every evening he comes to the diner, orders the exact same meal—double bacon cheeseburger, no pickles—and takes home three ketchup packets and two containers of cream. Back when they used to have ashtrays, he’d take one of those home.”
Jemma blinked, soaking it in as if there’d be a pop quiz later. “I was trying not to listen to gossip while I was in the coffee shop earlier this week, but they were talking about this carpenter dude and how mad his wife is that he didn’t get a different job after cutting off his fingers.” She bit her thumbnail. “Ever since, I’ve been dying to know did that really happen, or where they exaggerating?”
Wyatt nodded. “Tony Garcia. Yep. Only has two and a half fingers on one hand now.”
Her jaw dropped.
“The accident was last year, though, and he’s still a great carpenter. He just readjusted and went on with life like it wasn’t a big deal. If you see him and his wife out and about, she’ll most likely drag you into a discussion about dangerous jobs, and he’ll proudly show off his missing fingers and make jokes about it.”
Gloria set their milkshakes in front of them, and Jemma thanked her by name.
“Sure thing, honey,” came the gravelly reply.
Jemma attempted to suck her drink out of her straw, but it must’ve been too thick, because she abandoned it and tipped the glass to her lips. When she brought it back down, she had whip cream on her lower lip and the tip of her nose. “Oh my gosh, why haven’t I had one of these here before? Like, how didn’t you tell me to grab one the second I got into town?”
