I rake my fingers through my hair, the strands catching on my rings.It’s a useless, frustrated gesture.What I truly need—more than the tea, more than the quiet—is to stop thinking about the way Hartley’s presence felt like a physical weight in the air.
The porch boards creak behind me as a soft voice drifts over to me.“Mind if I join you?”
A familiar redhead with her own paper cup of something steaming hot in hand smiles easy and warm at me.
“Wren, right?”
She brightens.“You’ve got a good memory.”
I gesture to the chairs.“Pull up a seat.Just don’t tell me you’re here to give me what for on Hartley’s behalf.”
“Not exactly.Patsy texted she had a new guest, and I had a feeling it might be you.I thought I’d stop by.See how you were settling in.Maybe smooth out some rough first impressions.”
“Rough impressions?You mean Hartley being an ass?”
Her lips twitch, amusement flickering.“I mean Mad being Mad.”
“So, that’s the official diagnosis around here?”
Her shoulders rock with a quiet laugh.“He’s not usually that sharp with people.You caught him off guard.”
A smile nudges its way onto my face.“Good.He deserved it.”
“I don’t disagree.”She leans back, gaze drifting over the quiet street.“He’s just… protective of his privacy.The town’s proud of him, but he hates being doted on.And the whole retirement thing…” Her voice softens, thoughtful.“It hit him harder than he lets on.”
I study her for a moment.The affection.The history.The worry tucked under her words, and something all too familiar prickles at the back of my neck.
“What’s hit him hard?”I lean toward her, studying her features for the slightest tell.“Wasn’t the retirement his choice?”
She straightens, eyes widening like she said the wrong thing.“Uh, yeah.It’s just that…” Her hand waves in the air, and I can’t tell if she’s flustered or it’s a distraction.“Coming home, it’s still an adjustment, and he doesn’t like to talk about it.I mean?—”
I cut her off, internally kicking myself for not parking the reporter in me.“Hey, I get it.”My gaze dips to the dark pool in my mug.“You two are close.”
“Friends since we were five.”She shrugs with fond exasperation.“He’s like an older brother—if your brother happens to be a six-foot-three pain in the butt.”
“That tracks.”
Her laugh rings out again.“Anyway, I wanted to let you know.”Her pause is contemplative, almost like she hasn’t quite made her mind up about what she’ll say next.
“There’s an away game tomorrow.Varsity boys’ basketball.Mad’s the team coach this year.I mean, he coached the latter part of last year when he started at the high school as department head for physical education, gym teacher, and head coach, but Coach Bell was there to guide him—his predecessor.This year, he’s running things.”She nibbles on her lower lip and tightens her hold on the cup.“That’s the game he was talking about.It’s a big deal to him.”
My lips quirk, although she isn’t telling me anything I haven’t already researched or figured out.“That explains a lot… Well, that and the whistle hanging off his ego.”
Her grin spreads.“If you want a real look at him, you should go.He cares about the kids, loves the game.Coaching brings out a different side to him, not the glared-at-you-in-the-Grill side.”
“Should I bring protective gear?”
It is tempting, but I’m not going to ask why she’s doing this.My guess is Hartley would be fuming if he knew she was here, inviting me to the game, no less.
“Can’t hurt.”She lifts her drink like a toast.“Maybe don’t open with the whistle line.”
“No promises.”
She hesitates, swirling her cup.“We usually ride together.I volunteer as assistant coach, but I’ve got a thing tomorrow.And he won’t admit to it, but… he’ll need the extra support.”
“Support?As in water bottles?Bench wrangling?”
“Oh no, definitely not.I mean support as in someone noticing what he’s like.You know, someone observing, like as in the reporter here to do a feature on him.”