“Cameron,” I answered without thinking and immediately regretted it. “But you can call me Cam. Not Camera, not Mr. Coach, and not Mr. Cam. Just Cam.”
María’s head tilted, all that barely contained dark hair shifting with the motion. Out of the lot, she was the sassiest, most outspoken kid. Probably too smart for her own good. So when her lips popped open, I braced myself. Luckily, before she could speak someone shouted in the distance.
We all turned toward the voice, spotting a kid running toward us.
Chelsea.
I knew because out of the ten-player roster, not only was she one of the youngest kids at age seven, but also because she was the one that insisted on showing up to practice in a goddamn tutu. She had them in multiple colors. This one was blue, and it clung to her waist over her shorts.
Christ. That was why I insisted on them not calling me anything but Cam. Expressly, not coach. I was coaching them, but I wasn’t their coach. I couldn’t be.
“Sorry,” Chelsea said when she reached us, breathlessly doubling down. “My ballet class ran a little late, and my mom thought my dad was picking me up. But my dad thought my mom was. So my mom had to call my dad to drive me all the way from Fairhill.” Her chest heaved. “What did I miss?”
“Mr. Camera doesn’t want to record a video with us,” María said. “And he doesn’t even need to dance.”
Chelsea popped a piece of chewing gum into her mouth. “Why?”
“No gum during practice,” I reminded her. “And can the tutu go?”
“She’s channeling her inner Black Swan,” María answered for Chelsea. “Right, Chels?”
Chelsea reluctantly took the gum out with her fingers, tucked it in the pocket of her shorts and gave a nod. “That’s right, Mr. Cam.”
I blinked at them. I was sure that movie had come out before any of them were born. “Aren’t you too young to watch that movie?”
María shrugged. “My brother was watching it last week. I only had a peek, Mr. Cam.”
I eyed the blue thing. “Wouldn’t the tutu need to be black, too?” Another shrug. I suppressed a sigh. “And for the last time, just Cam is fine.”
“You are grumpy today, Mr. C,” María muttered, bracing her hands on her hips. “So… Is Cameron your first name or your last name? Do you have a middle name, too?”
“No middle name. No last name. And now”—I pointed at the girls closest to the supply shed—“can you please fetch cones and balls from the supply room? We’re losing precious time.”
Four of the kids trotted away and when I returned my eyes to María, her expression was skeptical. “So you’re like Zendaya?”
“No,” I answered. “I’m not a zendoya, whatever that is. I’m Cam. Now let’s all—”
“Oh. My. God,” María said very theatrically. “He doesn’t know who Zendaya is.”
“How old are you, Coach Cam?” Chelsea asked, walking around me very slowly, as if she was inspecting me in a new light. Only when she made it back to the front, she said, “You look younger than my granddaddy. He wears suspenders under his shirt. Mom says it’s weird, but I think it’s funny. Do you have grandchildren?”
“Yeah, when’s your birthday, Mr. Cam?” María quipped. “Oh, if you tell me, I could look for your astral chart!” She produced a phone from some cord she had been hiding under her shirt and started tapping at the screen. “I need date, time, and exact place of birth.”
I brought my hand to the bridge of my nose, the start of a headache pounding at my temples.
“How old do you think Coach is?” I heard María pose to the group. “Eighteen fifty? Or, like, older?”
“María,” a new voice huffed—Juniper, short hair, quiet, always listened when I barked out instructions. “Don’t be ridiculous, he can’t be over a hundred years old. He’d have to be… like, a vampire. Or at least someone who’s been injected with a superpower syrup and then frozen for decades before being brought back to life to save humanity.”
And much to my utter and complete dismay, that comment ignited a very passionate debate about sparkly paranormal creatures and… superheroes I didn’t know shite about.
So I stood there, wondering how advanced kids were these days while the headache settled in. Jesus. I was—had been—a bloody footballer. A small-town kiddie team wasn’t my place. I could barely get them to run a proper drill. I was here only because I had promised Josephine, and she’d caught me at a low moment. I’d had plenty of those lately. I just wished I’d had a goddamn coffee before practice. With that maniac who claimed to be moving in next door disrupting my routine, I hadn’t had time to grab one on my way out.
I closed my eyes, unsuccessfully trying to drown the growing chatter, and counted down from ten for the second time today. Then, I brought my fingers to my mouth and whistled.
The prattling came to an abrupt stop.
They all turned toward me.
“Juniper,” I said, pointing at the short-haired girl.
Her eyes grew wide. “I haven’t said anything. I can’t get in trouble for not saying anything.”
I clenched my jaw, wondering if I’d been too harsh. I tried to soften my expression and tone. “Come here, please. At the front of the group.”
Juniper looked as skeptical as she was flustered at my request.
María braved a question. “Does this mean you’re going to tell us your zodiac sign?”
“How could this—” I stopped myself. “No. It means that I’m going to fetch Josephine. And until I’m back, nobody will leave this field and Juniper will be in charge.”
Juniper immediately complained, “But I’m nine years old. I can’t be in charge.”
“Neither can I, kid,” I muttered. And I apparently looked old enough to belong to a different century.
But I couldn’t do this today, not without caffeine. It was my one indulgence in life. My one vice after a life of discipline and strict regime. Josephine was the sole provider in town, and I knew she was around the practice facilities because she’d mentioned something about some visitor coming in. I’d beg her for a coffee if I had to.
“But we should be at practice,” Juniper countered. “And I’ve never led a practice before.”
I turned around, broke into a jog, and shouted over my shoulder, “Then try to improvise. I’ll be right back.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Juniper throw her hands up in the air, her gesture of despair turning into a… jumping jack.
“Jesus,” I muttered, watching half of the girls imitating her. “That—”
The words died at the end of my tongue as I collided against something.
Someone. Someone soft and warm. My arms reached around whoever was plastered against my front and my gaze dipped down. A mass of light brown strands was lodged on my right pec.
We stepped back from each other at the same time, recognition hitting me the moment a pair of big brown eyes met mine.
“You,” Adalyn seethed.
“You,” I grunted back.
“Well, if that’s not the most adorable meet-cute,” Josephine said. Her hand fell on my arm in a friendly pat. “Cam, this right here is my newest friend and Green Oak resident, Adalyn. She’s—”
“I know who she is,” I deadpanned.
Adalyn’s eyes narrowed.
Josephine let out a chuckle. “Oh, well. I didn’t realize you two had met.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her moving closer to Adalyn. “So where are you staying, Ada? Can I call you Ada? You were about to tell me before Cam all but plowed into you.”
“I…” Adalyn’s throat worked, a strange emotion flashing through her face. “I’d rather you called me Adalyn. And I’m staying at the Sweet Heaven Cottage.” She recovered from whatever that had been, pinning me with a glance. “For however long I want. Because that’s something I can absolutely do.”
I gave her an unimpressed look.
“So that’s why you know each other!” Josephine squealed. “You two are neighbors. How wonderful is that, huh?”
“It’s just marvelous,” I muttered.
Josephine nodded. “Oh, it really is. You get to share the lodge and work together with the team. Yay!”