It Started with a Crush.... Melissa Mcclone
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He’s nine and loves soccer. That’s why I’m here. To ask a favor.”
Ryland looked at the cookies, then at her. “I appreciate your honesty. Not many people are so up-front when they want something. Let’s talk inside.”
She hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of going into the house. Once upon a time she’d believed in happily ever after and one true love. But life had taught her those things belonged only in fairy tales. Love and romance were overrated. But Ryland was making her feel things she tried hard not to think about too much—attraction, desire, hope.
But the other part of her, the part that tended to be impulsive and had gotten her into trouble more than once, was curious. She wanted to know if his parents’ house was as nice on the inside as the exterior and front yard. Heaven knew she would never live in an exclusive neighborhood like this one. This might be her only chance to find out.
Ryland leaned against the doorway. The casual pose took weight off his right foot. He might need to sit down.
“Sure.” She didn’t want him hurting. “That would be nice.”
He whistled for the dog.
Cupcake ran inside.
Lucy entered the house. The air was cooler than outside and smelled lemony. Wood floors gleamed. A giant chandelier hung from the twenty-foot ceiling in the foyer. She clamped her lips together so her mouth wouldn’t gape. Original watercolor paintings in gilded frames decorated the textured walls. Tasteful and expensive.
She stepped through a wide-arched doorway into the living room. Talk about beautiful. The yellow and green décor was light, bright and inviting. The colors, fabrics and accessories coordinated perfectly. What she liked most was how comfortable the room looked, not at all like some of those unlivable magazine layouts or model homes.
Family pictures sat on the wooden fireplace mantle. A framed poster-size portrait of Ryland, wearing a U.S. National team uniform, hung on the wall. An open paperback novel rested cover-side up on an end table. “Your parents’ house is lovely.”
“Thanks.”
He sounded proud, making her wonder about his part in his parents’ house. She’d guess a big part, given his solid relationship with his mom and dad when he’d been a teen.
“My mom thought the house was too big, but I convinced her she deserved it after so many years of apartment living.” Ryland motioned to a sofa. “Have a seat.”
Lucy sat, sinking into the overstuffed cushions. More comfortable than the futon she’d sold before leaving Chicago. She’d gotten rid of her few pieces of furniture so she wouldn’t have to pay for storage while living at Aaron and Dana’s house.
Cupcake hopped up next to her.
“Is she allowed on the couch?” Lucy asked.
“The dog is allowed everywhere except the dining-room table and kitchen counters. She belongs to my parents. They’ve spoiled her rotten.” Ryland sounded more amused than angry. He sat on a wingback chair to her right. “Mind if I have a cookie?”
“Please do.”
He offered her the container. “Would you like one?”
The chocolate chips smelled good, but she would be eating cookies with Connor later. Better not overdo the sweets. The trips to the ice-cream parlor and Rocket Burger with her nephew were already adding up. “No, thanks.”
Ryland took one. “I can’t remember the last time someone baked anything for me.”
“What about your mom?”
“I don’t spend as much time with my parents as I’d like due to soccer. Right now I’m dog sitting while they’re away.” Cupcake circled around as if chasing her own tail, then plopped against the cushion and placed her head on Lucy’s thigh. “She likes you.”
Lucy ran her fingers through the soft gray fur. She’d never had a dog. “She’s sweet.”
“When she wants to be.” Ryland bit into the cookie. He took his time eating it. “Delicious.”
The cookies were a hit. Lucy hoped they worked as a bribe. She mustered her courage. Not that she could back out now even if she wanted to. “So my nephew …”
“Does he want an autograph?” Ryland placed the cookie container on the coffee table. “Maybe a team jersey or ball?”
“Connor would love it if you signed his ball, but what he really wants is a coach for his spring under-9 rec. team.” She didn’t want to waste any more of Ryland’s time. Or hers. “He wanted me to ask if you could coach his team, the Defeeters.”
Ryland flinched. “Me? Coach?”
“I know that’s a big request and likely impossible for you to do right now.”
He looked at his injured foot. “Yeah, this isn’t a good time. I hope to be back with my team in another month or so.”
“I’m sure you will be. Aaron says you’re one of the best players in the world.”
“Thanks. It’s just … I’m supposed to be laying low while I’m here. Staying out of the press. The media could turn my coaching your nephew’s team into a circus.” Ryland stared at the dog. “I’m really sorry I can’t help you out.”
“No worries. I told Connor you probably couldn’t coach.” Lucy knew Ryland would never say yes. He’d left his small-town roots behind and become famous, traveling all over the U.S. and the world. The exotic lifestyle was as foreign to her as the game of soccer itself. But maybe she could get him to agree to something else that wouldn’t take so much of his time. “But if you happen to have an hour to spare sometime, Connor and his teammates would be thrilled if you could give them a pep talk.”
Silence stretched between them. She’d put him on the spot with that request, too. But she’d had no choice if she wanted to help her nephew.
“I can do that,” Ryland said finally.
Lucy released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thanks.”
“I’m happy to talk to them, sign balls, pose for pictures, whatever the boys want.”
She hoped the visit would appease Connor. “That will be great. Thanks.”
Ryland’s eyes darkened, more brown than hazel now. “Who will you get to coach?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Practices don’t start until next week so I still have a little time left to find someone. I can always coach, if need be.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “You play soccer?”
Lucy hadn’t been allowed to do anything physical when she was younger. Even though she no longer had any physical limitations, she preferred art to athletics. “No, but I’ve been reading up on the game and watching video clips on the internet, just in case.”
His lips narrowed. “Aaron was great with those kids when we put on that camp back in high school. Why doesn’t he coach the team?”
“Aaron’s coached the Defeeters for years, but he’s overseas right now with the army. Both he and his wife were deployed with their Reserve unit last month. I’m taking care of Connor until they return next year.”
“Aaron talked about using the military to pay for college,” Ryland said thoughtfully. “But I lost track of him, of everyone, when I left Wicksburg.”
“He joined the army right after high school.” Lucy’s medical expenses had drained their college funds, her parents’ saving account and the equity in their house. Sometimes it felt as if she was still paying for the transplant years later. Aaron, too. “That’s where he met his wife, Dana. After they completed their Active Duty, they joined the Reserves.”
“A year away