When he lands, he whips around to me. His eyes are bright, and, for a moment, he looks far younger than high school age. He’s a kid at Christmas, that first present finally ripped free of its paper and smelling of toy store.
“You can stop the suicides,” Bates calls.
We both turn around to see him. The old coach is striding down the other side of the court, motioning for the boys to get into position for Cutthroat again.
“You’ve got this,” I remind Baker, clapping my hand to his shoulder before he runs off to join the rest of them.
My eye meets Bates’s across the gym. He gives me the slightest nod, one corner of his mouth twitching up under that thick mustache.
My heart is pounding in my chest, way harder than it should be for having run a simple drill with a high school kid. And as the boys start in on their practice again, I find that I’m glued to Baker. Every time he fakes an opponent, my breath catches and my hands clench into fists.
I can coach again soon. Really coach, at the professional level I always worked toward. The message is right there, still pulled up on my phone. And this is what it will feel like at every practice, at every game… right?
A sudden image of Molly swims across my vision. She’s not spread open on her desk or pulling me up into a kiss. She’s just standing in the barn, her skin glowing with the light from the rafters. Her cheeks flush as a slow, pleased smile spreads across her face. She’s taking in the vision of all she’s built here, of the inn she’s scrapped to make her own and save from a buy-out. It’s the same expression Baker wears now, as he faces off with his next opponent by the hoop.
And I realize that both instances left my chest feeling the same way, with the skin stretched tight across my ribs like I might somehow explode if I move just the wrong way.
I spent my whole life building up a career with the NBA. That’smyversion of the Little Haven Inn,myCutthroat Drill against the big opponent. It’s something I’ve built, something I’ve worked for, something I’ve made my own. It’s proof that I’m the big fish after all, not just in the small pond, but everywhere. I should be pulling out my phone and calling Gunderson right away.
I know what I want. I’ve let the snow and the Christmas lights get in my eyes, but I’ve seen how getting what you’ve worked for can make you so happy. And now it’s my time to seize upon that. That’s the big takeaway from all this, right?
Right?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MOLLY
“I think we pulled it off. I really think we pulled it off.”
I step back and cross my arms, taking in the sight of my inn and shaking my head in disbelief.
It doesn’t look like the same space it was just a few days ago. It’s got all the touches I put in when I took over the place: the local art, the scattering of vanilla candles across every table, my mother’s hand-knit spreads draped across the backs of couches and chairs.
But it’sclean.
All my grandmother’s boxes have been unpacked and put away, then broken down and ditched in the dumpster for pickup. There’s an actual path to the back door, so my guests don’t have to shuffle through stacks of who-knows-what to get to the back property. Hell, guests can use my back property now! I’ve had this place for years and even during the summer season no one dared travail past my desk to the quaint barn where I spent a childhood playing hide-and-seek with Hunter.
This is some Lorelai Gilmore shit right here. The Little Haven Inn has been transformed from a stop of convenience into an actual destination.
“Wewillhave pulled it off,” Gray corrects me, grunting from his spot at the top of a ladder. “Once I finally get this damn bulb changed…”
He screws it into place and breathes out a sigh of relief, crossing his arms as he looks down on the room with me. Under the soft amber of the new light, the lobby has that cozy, refuge feel of the inns you always see in movies or in magazines.
I shake my head, fully ready to fuck with Gray now that I see how perfect he’s made it for me.
“Whoa. Now that this place is properly lit, I take it all back.” I gesture around us, feigning disgust. “Look, I know it’s going to take some extra time, but I think we should rearrange the furniture here. Do you think we have time to paint the south wall, too? In this light, I can see now how dated it looks and I really think…”
My voice trails off when I catch sight of Gray’s panic.
“Kidding,” I assure him with a shrug. I walk over, offering him my hand to help him down the ladder.
“Your deadpan is terrifying,” he tells me. “Honest to God, you could tell me you have a secret Canadian family or a husband chained up in the attic, and I would believe you.”
“Who the hell told you about Marcel? Was he scratching at the walls in the night again?”
Gray grabs a pillow from off the couch and chucks it at me.
“I’m kidding,I swear!” I giggle, rushing after him as he darts away. I stop running, resetting my serious face. I rub at the back of my neck and bite my bottom lip, channeling full doe-eyed innocence. “Um, seriously, Gray. There’s no husband in the attic. Before you, I hadn’t had another man at all…”
His eyes widen.