12. Gia

twelve

Gia

"You sure are cleaning fast." Grace stands back as I shuffle my empty dessert pans through the dish area, blast spraying each one before pushing them into the automatic dishwasher. Normally, I wait for the hired dish boy to do this. However, he's been on his break for longer than usual, and I'm anxious to get on the road. "I have plans to go to a football game." Hot water steam fogs the little wispy hairs that frame my face, and I brush them to the side.

"I thought you swore off football after Rocco…you know." Grace is always the curious type, poking her nose into my business, but she does it in the most loving way, I can't even pause.

"Not NFL. High school. Actually, my old high school where I used to cheer. However, I'm going to watch the coach , not the players." I can't resist a lofty smile as I do one final inspection over the kitchen, not wanting to leave any messes. I've restored it to predinner status with gleaming countertops, and every pot and pan is hung neatly in its place. The only thing left to do now is pull meat from the back freezer for tomorrow, but Grace always insists on doing that on her own, since she's the head chef.

When I finally draw my focus back to her, her feathered brows waggle at me. "Oh, is that so?"

"I think it is so…" I chuckle airily, as this whole week I've been extremely giddy, lighthearted, and nothing can put me in a bad mood.

She smirks knowingly. "So that's the real reason you spent all weekend at home?"

"No." I shake my head, as the stacks of boxes still cloud my brain. "I went there to clean, but I reconnected with someone, and well, we are connecting." My voice trails off into another giggle. "I'm excited to see him again. And, then tomorrow, I'll clean out all the junk."

She sighs, as if she's holding back hordes of advice, but heads back to her prep area, where pans of chicken breast are already prepped, but because she's a perfectionist, she grabs a ramekin of olive oil and a brush and dabs a little on each one. "What are you doing with all the purged junk?"

"Ah, it depends on what it is. If it's worth the money, I'll sell it online. If it's usable, but not worth any money, I'll donate it." The dish boy still isn't back, but I turn to Grace anyway. "If it's okay, I'm going to head out early. All my brownies are cut, plated, and chilling. I even did all the dishes, which clearly isn't the job of a sous chef."

Her grin is instant, teasing yet supportive. "I'm going to need a full report on Monday, but have a great weekend."

"Thanks." My cheeks heat, as I head to the back door, and grab my coat off the hook. Despite being in a hurry, I still pause to peer at the ocean, my daily unwinding, and the sole reason I moved here. I'd dreamed my whole life of living near the ocean. With the meager wages of a cook, I never got close, but I get to work on beachfront property every day, which is close enough for me.

The sun is setting off a kaleidoscope of colors in the sky that reflects off the low tide. There's a soft wave teasing the shore, bringing in random strings of algae as sea treasure. I inhale the salty air and can't help but feel blessed. It's a tad interesting how I had been in a hurry to leave my hometown, but now I rush back home with butterflies in my gut. I'm left wondering if maybe my being in a huge hurry to move away made me miss out on something—or someone—better?

It's first and ten when I scramble through the already-filled bleachers to find a seat near the team. Friday night football is like a holiday in our town, and I quickly determine I'm going to the nosebleed seats. As I pivot to climb the stairs, a husky voice bellows out above the cheers of the crowd, "Gia! I saved you a spot."

A couple of women near me give me a sly smile, and suddenly I'm sixteen again with my first crush, all the butterflies spiral into my gut. I practically float down the steps. True to his word, North saved me one of the best spots, right behind the guys. Across the steps, the band toots out the school song, and it's all I can do not to make a cheerleader high V, as I practiced this song so much, I could dance to it in my sleep.

"I hope this is okay." North quickly leans in, putting a Nike on the bleacher below me. "I had to bribe a lady with a bucket of popcorn to give it up."

"It's perfect." The air is crisp, and stings to inhale. I pull my canary-yellow knit mittens out of my coat pocket and slip my hands into them.

"I'm glad you made it. I'll find you after the game." He strolls backwards onto the field, waving at me. One side of his lips is higher than the other, and a single dimple drops below it like a little exclamation point to his smile.

"Good luck!" I tug my beanie lower to cover the bottoms of my ears. It's been years since I sat outside on metal bleachers in the frigid air. I clearly forgot I should have brought something to sit on. My teeth chatter through each quarter, but there's no way I'm leaving because there's nothing I'd rather do than support North.

North has been amazing for the team—and the whole town knows it—bringing the Bulldogs to the state championship the last two years. It ignited a plethora of school spirit that has taken over the town. Every seat in the stadium is colored white, red, or blue, and flags and posters dot the rows of fans.

A tinge of sadness buds in my chest as I recall how the crowd used to cheer like this for Rocco when he was the town hero. I never assumed he'd always stay in the limelight, but I sure didn't expect him to become such a disgrace.

"Excuse me, ma'am." A young kid taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to find him holding a hot chocolate out. "This is for you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't order that." I tap my coat pocket, feeling for my wallet to pay because it sounds like the perfect thing to warm me up.

"It's yours, and it's paid for." He pushes it further toward me. "Coach Newson put it on his tab."

"Oh." My lips form a perfect O, as a ping spirals right to my heart, and I eagerly accept it. "Well, isn't that thoughtful." The hot chocolate is the secret sauce to keep my teeth from chattering, and I didn't realize how thirsty I was as I quickly finish it.

Before I know it, the guys line up for their final defensive play, and the ball is quickly intercepted. The crowd jumps to their feet, and everyone screams their hearts out while the ball is carried all the way to the endzone. It's a play for the movies as time runs out right when the winning touchdown is scored. I'm back in cheerleader mode, standing on the bleachers, screaming with everyone else. "Bulldog Victory!"

I pump my fist in the air, and the crowd around me cascades down the bleachers, rushing the field. I get caught up in the excitement and run right to North. His open-mouth grin displays all his joy as he effortlessly scoops me up, swinging me around, and we scream out in excitement all the while I'm acutely aware that I'm in his arms.

Like his strong masculine arms that have never looked better. Yep, those are the ones. They're wrapped all the way around me, and he's holding me right next to his chest.

Yep, that's strong and masculine, too, and I would have definitely remembered if I'd felt that before. The musky scent of his aftershave permeates off of him, and I'm being consumed by it in the best way.

This is better than winning the football game.

After twirling me for more than a few complete circles, North sets me down…but he doesn't let go, his eyes lock on mine. A bolt of electricity slams into my heart, completely disabling me. Being this close to him is all I ever wanted, and it's better than I could have imagined. He's tall, but so am I, and we fit together perfectly. As I tilt my head back just a little, I can see directly into his eyes, and they capture me, drawing me further into his joy. He drops his chin next to my ear, and whispers, "Meet me under the bleachers," before he pulls away, while motioning with his head toward the team huddle. "Wait for me."

My lips curl up, all the while my heart pounds against my rib cage, and I step back, waving until he runs to meet up with his team. His dark wavy hair ruffles under the congratulatory pats on the head. Seeing him so happy makes my heart swell with even more joy.

Taking the long way back to our little spot under the bleachers, I absorb the aroma of the field. Popcorn and fresh air—it all comes rushing back at once. All the nights I watched Rocco play, many years as a cheerleader. After he got kicked out of the NFL, I was embarrassed to show my face anywhere that had anything to do with football, not realizing I lost one of my passions too. I loved watching the games with dad. Even with all those memories of watching Rocco, I can't find one single memory where I wasn't also secretly watching North. He was always in my peripheral vision, but in the center of my heart.

"Hey!" North jogs my way, his voice hoarse from all the screaming. By now the wind is in full force, and light flurries are swirling, causing the tall trees behind the stadium to sway.

"That was fast," I call back to him, while rubbing my mittens together and shuffling my feet. As the sun had gone down below the horizon, it had gotten so much colder out.

"Yeah, it's just nasty out." He slides in beside me as if it's natural for him to reach a protective arm out, wrapping me in his warmth. "You're shaking."

"I'll be okay." I still under the warmth of his arm. "Great game."

His espresso eyes lock on me. "I couldn't be happier."

"I would say," I blurt out over my chattering teeth.

"Not about the game though." His eyes sparkle with so many hues of gold and copper, it's as if they are putting on a tiny fireworks show. "I couldn't be any happier because you are here."

My throat dries, and I swallow as my chatters are stopped with warmth pooling in my chest. I've dreamed of him saying that to me for so long.

That's what this is. A dream.

The best dream.

One I never want to wake from.

I swallow again, gaze into his eyes, and swoon. "I'm happy I'm here too."

Both sides of his lips raise, and I ponder if this is my favorite smile yet. It's hard to decide as all his smiles are his best smiles. "Did you know I had the biggest crush on you in high school?"

"Ah, no. I couldn't tell." The breath rings out of my chest. "You never said anything, other than that time you asked me to save a dance for you."

"Right." He nodded, his movement so smooth, and easy. "I was shy. That obviously didn't do anything but waste a lot of time." He raised his hand, touching my chin lightly with the pads of his fingers.

So much time! I scream in my head. It's been years!

"I assumed you thought I was Rocco's annoying little sister."

His fingers graze my chin as he lowers his lips closer, parting them in the slowest speed setting.

I'm unable to make a sound but my lips part. Drawing his chin even closer to me, the warmth wafts off his skin.

It's surreal.

It's serendipity.

It's our most romantic moment, and I don't ever want it to end. I start to close my eyes and lean in, but he tips his head up and softly presses a smile on my forehead.

Is this right?

Time literally stills as we hold each other – not kissing.

Why aren't we kissing?

After so many several long moments, I wonder if we are frozen before he reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers into mine. Yes that part is amazing, but it's not kissing!

"How about that coffee?" he asks like this is the most casual encounter ever.

"Coffee is always a yes." I force a grin with my un-kissed lips. I don't even have to ask where we're going because he's a man of routines, and his routine is the Coffee Loft.