Page 41 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KAYLA
S ean’s parents insist on feeding Sean and my family breakfast at the bar before they all leave.
As much as I love both our families, I wish I could have just a few minutes with Sean all to myself.
I woke up in his arms and ache to feel them around me again.
Knowing I won’t feel them again for three weeks feels like …
if not cruel and unusual punishment, at least light torture.
When it’s time for Sean to leave, we all see him out.
“Go get ‘em, bro,” Wes says, giving him a quick hug.
“Yeah, show ‘em what you got,” Gray agrees.
“Send me a T-shirt,” Hunter says, pounding Sean’s back with his fist. “I’m starting a collection.”
“You got it,” Sean says. “Thanks, guys.”
He hugs his parents, and his dad gets choked up. “I couldn’t be prouder of you than I already am, son. But I’m happy you’re getting this chance.”
“I’ve already played in the NHL. I don’t need this.”
“No, you don’t,” his mom says, holding his shoulders. “But you deserve it.”
Sean hugs her again, holding her while she cries. I know her tears are laced with regret, but there’s so much pride in them, too.
My parents both sneak in next for hugs, and my dad whispers something to Sean that I can’t make out. Sean nods when they let go, and then my mom hugs him, squeezing him warmly. We’re both big huggers, and seeing her fold Sean into one of her hugs makes my heart swell.
“You don’t have anything to prove, sweetie. Just go have fun.”
Sean chuckles. “That’s nice of you to say, Jolene. Thanks.”
Finally—finally—it’s my turn.
Sean’s parents head back into the bar, and my parents drag my brothers to Dad’s Ford F-350—a truck so big, it makes most semis feel insecure.
I throw my arms around Sean’s neck, not wanting to let go.
Sean puts his arms around my back and clasps them behind me.
And then, without a comment, without so much as a pause, he kisses me.
Soft and slow, but urgent, like this kiss has to matter, has to last. His beard brushes my chin, and I move my hands to his cheeks, running my fingers over the soft whiskers, wanting to memorize his face, as if we won’t FaceTime every day.
We will, right?
“Call me every day,” I say, just in case.
“Only if you promise to send pics. All these young bucks are gonna faint when I show them pictures of my smoke-show of a wife.”
I laugh. “Just know that it’s hard work being this beautiful.”
“You make it look easy,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “I’m gonna miss your smell. Milk and honey.”
“My smell?” I laugh.
“You have no idea how good you smell. I stole your pillow so I can keep smelling it as long as possible.”
I laugh again and hug him tight. “I’ll miss you. So much.”
“I’ll miss you more.”
One more kiss, quick and firm, and then he climbs into his truck. Waves out the open window. And he’s gone.
My mom instantly returns to my side, hugging me. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“It’s fine,” I say, sniffing back tears. “This is good! I’m happy for him!”
“Of course you are. But that doesn’t make it easy. Three weeks is a long time for any marriage. When you’re only a couple of months in, it’s even harder.”
My brothers and Dad join us, and Hunter slings his arm around me. Hunter, of all people. “I like him a lot, Kay. He’s like the brother I never had.”
“We’re right here, dingus,” Wes says.
“My point exactly,” Hunter says.
I shove him off, give my parents and other brothers hugs, and then wave them off, too.
And then, because I’m not ready to go home yet—I wander back into the bar.
There’s a different feel to it in the morning, with sun streaming through the windows. Cheyenne is clearing the tables from our breakfast, so I chip in.
“You don’t need to do that, hon,” Cheyenne says, accent thicker than molasses.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
Danny’s in the kitchen washing dishes, and I stand beside him. “What can I do to help?”
He tosses me a dishrag. “You any good at drying?”
“I can handle it.”
Cheyenne puts the dishes away when I hand them to her, and soon, we’ve cleaned up from breakfast just in time for the kitchen staff to come in to start lunch.
A text from Scottie comes in.
SCOTTIE
Are you coming to Palmetto Park? Today’s the big cleanup to prepare for the 4th, remember?
KAYLA
Do I really have to come? We sent the team today, right?
SCOTTIE
You *should* come, but you don’t *have* to. It just depends on what you want the town to think: that you’re too stuck up and important to get your hands dirty or that you actually care.
KAYLA
Well, then.
I’m not sure if I pay you too much or not nearly enough.
SCOTTIE
Definitely not enough. I’ll be waiting at the north entrance with gloves and a grabber for you.
“I’m sorry to leave so quickly, but apparently there’s a cleanup at Palmetto Park today.”
“You don’t look excited,” Cheyenne says.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I haven’t been to a community event without Sean in months. The idea of going to one now, of facing comments and side-eyes without him, leaves me feeling as wrung out as Danny’s washrag.
“I don’t know,” I say. “The town hasn’t exactly warmed up to me yet.”
Danny wheels closer to me and pats my arm. “They’re testing you. They want to know you care about the town, not just the team.”
“How do I show them that? Everyone acts like I’m faking it.”
“It’s all about stayin’ power,” Cheyenne says, a half-smile on her face that speaks of years of regret and hard-earned wisdom. “Pretending’s easy. Showing up takes work.”
Palmetto Park is already buzzing by the time I arrive. Scottie’s waiting with gloves and trash grabbers.
Lucas is leaning against the fence, shirtless, of course, clearly trying to flirt with Scottie.
He’s wearing athletic shorts and muddy sneakers, arms folded to maximize the view of his biceps.
Scottie looks at him like he’s an obnoxiously chattering squirrel and keeps walking.
Logan and Rivers are manning a water cooler station.
And Fletch—poor Oliver Fletcher—is stuck between Eunice and Loretta, each one with an arm looped through his, making it physically impossible for him to pick up trash.
He mouths something like “help me” as we walk by.
“Didn’t expect to see all of you here,” I say as I pass Lucas.
“What do you mean? This was on the team calendar.”
“Oh, I know the event was, I’m talking about all of you . Because you’re shirtless.”
Lucas grins. “When you have a body this good, it’s a crime to hide it. Don’t you think, Scottie?”
Scottie rolls her eyes. “Get a shirt, Lukie.”
“Nah. You protest, but I saw you sneaking a peek at all this,” he says, running his hands over his abs.
They really are nice abs. But that’s the thing about owning a professional sports team.
Everyone has nice abs. The men are all tall and buff and a weird number of them are handsome.
I’m convinced sports teams were made so romance writers would have a plausible excuse to make all their leading men fit and attractive.
There’s probably some athletic reason for their height and physique, too, but that’s secondary.
Loretta pats Fletch’s arm, her hand lingering on his bicep like she’s checking for ripeness. Scottie catches my eye, then calls sweetly, “Ladies? This is embarrassing, but poor Lucas lost his shirt. Do you think you could help him find one?”
Eunice perks up immediately. “Oh, we’d be delighted.”
“Wait, no, I’m good—” Lucas starts, but it’s too late. Loretta is already on the hunt, her hands around his bare arms, dragging him toward a donation bin marked LOST & FOUND.
Ahead, I spot Sean’s old teammate, Red, and his girlfriend, Delia. They’re wearing matching Blue Collars hats.
“Glad to see you, Kayla,” Red says. “You didn’t need to come.”
“Of course she needed to come,” Delia adds. “She’s a part of the community, ain’t she?”
“It says a lot about her, is all I’m saying.”
“Why doesn’t it say a lot about us that we’re here?” Delia asks, holding a grabber and garbage bag of her own.“It’s not like her and Sean are better than everyone else. Where is he, anyway?”
I glance at Red, wondering if this will hurt or help. “He’s at an evaluation camp in Augusta.”
Delia’s eyes tense, but Red smiles. “Good for him! They’ll sign him. No question.”
“What’s he need to go to Augusta for?” Delia asks. “Why can’t Mullet Ridge be enough for him?”
She says it like it’s an accusation, like Sean’s dreams are a personal affront to her.
“He’s allowed to want something more,” Red says, taking Delia’s hand. “It doesn’t mean anything about the rest of us.”
Delia lowers her grabber, and I look away.
I don’t know Delia’s story beyond what she mentioned at the church potluck all those weeks ago.
But her distrust of outsiders runs so deep, it has roots.
“Delia, I know I’m not from here, but I’ve come to love this town. You’re right that I should be here. No matter what happens with Sean’s career, Mullet Ridge will always be his home. This is where we want to raise our family.”
If she notices my cheeks redden, she at least has the manners not to call me on it. “Well, then.”
She turns to start trash pickup again, and I fall in line next to her. “Your family owned a big hardware store years ago, didn’t they? Can I ask what happened?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I care,” I say. “About Mullet Ridge. I don’t want to be part of the problem.”
Delia looks at Red, and he gives her a nod.
And soon, she’s telling me all about her family’s hardware store, about how she worked there as a kid, and about how outside investors bought up so many stores with so many promises, none of which panned out.