“Thanks, Mackenzie. I wasn’t expecting this.” Or the current of electricity that rocketed up his arm when her fingers tangled with his.
“They should be thanking you.” She slipped her hand free, but the color rising in her cheeks made Ethan wonder if she’d felt it too. “After a shaving cream fight in the locker room, trust me, they’d rather be here than on the field right now.”
“I remember pulling stunts like that at the beginning of the season.”
“Like drawing faces on the blocking sled that looked a lot like the cafeteria ladies?”
“A coincidence.” Ethan grinned. “But how did you know that was me? I thought I covered my tracks pretty well.”
“I was doing my homework in Coach’s office when you snuck in and put the Sharpie back in his desk drawer.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Something flickered in Mac’s eyes before she looked away. “You better tell the guys what you want done.”
Watching her walk toward the van, Ethan knew exactly what he’d done.
He’d fumbled the ball.
But . . . Ethan smiled . . . the clock was still running.
A few hours later he dumped the last load of weeds from the wheelbarrow, a little amazed at how much they’d accomplished in an afternoon.
Mac had split up the team and assigned sections of the yard to each group. Together, the boys cleared most of the debris from the yard and raked the shoreline while Mac cleaned out the boathouse, scrubbing windows and removing the musty life jackets and boxes of fishing equipment that lined the walls.
Ethan had been sent to conquer the weed-choked flower beds on the opposite side of the yard.
A coincidence? He didn’t think so.
It wasn’t until the sun dropped behind the tops of the trees that Ethan realized it was getting close to suppertime.
Mac must have noticed, too, because she strode to the center of the yard and blew into the whistle hanging from a cord around her neck.
Not only had Mac borrowed Coach’s team, she’d borrowed his whistle.
“Fifteen-minute warning, guys!” Mac pitched her voice above the radio.
Ethan peeled off his work gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans as he walked over to join her.
“Hydrate.” Mac handed him a bottle of water.
Ethan took a swig, letting the cool liquid wash away the dust that coated his throat. “I had no idea a simple wedding could be so exhausting.”
“Jesse Kent, my friend Annie’s fiancé, said the same thing a few weeks ago when they were making wedding favors.”
“You didn’t mention wedding favors.” Who came up with all this stuff, anyway?
“A small gift for the guests . . . and chocolate is always acceptable.”
Finally. Something that actually sounded simple. “Speaking of favors, is there something I can do for the team to thank them for helping me out?”
Mac tipped her head. “Now that you mention it, maybe there is.”
“I can make a donation to the equipment fund or the booster club—”
“That isn’t quite what I had in mind,” Mac interrupted.
As if on cue, the players gathered around them.
“Guys, who would like Ethan Channing, the pride of the Red Leaf Lions, to throw a few passes for you?”
The deafening whoop that followed Mac’s question told Ethan the vote was unanimous.
“Passes, huh.” He held out his hands and pretended to consider the notion as Trevor tossed him the ball. “What do you say we have a little friendly scrimmage instead?”
The whoop turned into a roar.
“I’ll be the official team photographer.” Mac patted her camera case.
“You should play too.” Ethan flipped the ball into the air and caught it again. Smiled at her. “This was your idea.”
“I . . . no.” Mac backed up. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Miss D.” Trevor grinned. “We need you to even up the teams.”
Guys. They always stuck together.
“Great.” Ethan took her silence for agreement. “First touchdown wins.”
He divided the group into two teams, appointing himself and Mac as captains. The look of anticipation on the boys’ faces, combined with the sunlight and pine-scented air, stripped away Mac’s misgivings. She’d made a fool of herself in front of Ethan before and survived.
Ethan barked out a few rules—Mac suspected it was for her benefit more than the other players—and they met at an invisible line in the center of the yard.
The first few minutes, Mac tried to be an asset to her team by staying out of everyone’s way.
“You’re doin’ great, Miss D.” The running back cuffed her on the shoulder as they formed a huddle to plan their next strategy.
“I’m terrible and you know it.” Mac swiped at the blades of grass stuck to her jeans.
“That’s why no one will be expecting me to pass the ball to you,” Trevor whispered.
A flea flicker. Coach’s secret weapon.
“No!” Mac squeaked.
“All you have to do is catch the ball.” Six teenage boys looked way more confident in her ability than Mac was.