Page 10 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

I gestured downstairs. “My room’s the second door on the left. Bathroom’s in the hall. Towels are under the sink.”

Eva glanced down the steps, then back at me. Her voice dropped, almost teasing. “You’re not joining me?”

“My parents are playing it cool, but I think they’d throw a fit,” I said with a smirk. “I’m on the floor in Paige’s room.”

“Boo,” she pouted, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Would Clyde and Virginia Montgomery let us share a bed under their roof?”

“Probably not,” Eva admitted with a small smile. Her fingers brushed mine. “I missed you.”

I looked at her, surprised by the quiet sincerity in her voice. Something in my chest pinched—not painful, just tender.

“I missed you, too,” I said, stepping closer.

Eva’s expression was unguarded in the dim light. “Your family’s great, by the way. I felt really welcomed.”

“Thanks for that,” I said, my voice catching just a little. “You were so good with them. My mom’s still probably glowing from that compliment about her mashed potatoes.”

“They were genuinely excellent,” she murmured. “Like a dairy-based religious experience.”

I laughed, and her smile widened.

“My dad was impressed you could hold your own in a conversation about pipeline safety. And Paige looked like she was figuring out how to ask for your autograph.”

Eva tilted her head. “I wasn’t trying to impress them.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why it meant so much.”

“I love seeing where you’re from,” she said. “It helps me understand you better. The stories, the rhythms, the way you talk about things. I see it all now.”

I swallowed. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Even if it means separate beds.”

I leaned in and kissed her. Just a soft brush of lips. Slow and warm. No one was watching. It didn’t have to be secret, but it still felt like something meant only for us.

“Goodnight,” I whispered.

“Goodnight, baby,” she whispered back.

I watched her disappear into the basement before turning toward Paige’s room. The corner of my mouth tugged up in a smile I couldn’t quite shake.

My sister was already in bed when I entered her room. I grabbed an old sleeping bag from her closet and rolled it out at the foot of her twin bed. She handed me an extra pillow and flopped down dramatically.

Paige spoke after the lights were out. “Eva’s cool.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. “She is.”

The next morning, a fog of cold sunlight drifted over the lawn. It was the kind of weather that made everything look like a filtered photo: soft-focus trees, glittering frost on the grass, our breath visible as we stepped outside.

My mom had given us a task—one she’d been nagging my dad about for months. The garage. It was cluttered with everything from old bikes and rusted lawn chairs to boxes labeled Christmas Stuff and Beach Supplies .

“Still think you made the right call coming back early?” I teased as Eva pried open a moldy cardboard box full of odds and ends.

She blew her breath into her hands and huddled deeper into her borrowed hoodie. “Honestly?” she said, glancing at me. “I’m kind of obsessed with the normalcy of this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. No cameras. No flights. No stylists spraying fake sweat on me every ten minutes. Just you, me, and a box of your childhood basketball trophies.”

I laughed when she held up a cracked old plaque engraved with the words Best Defensive Player — 8th Grade . “Hey, I earned that.”

She leaned over and kissed my cheek. She patted the side of my face with a fondness you couldn’t fake. “I know you did.”

We worked in a slow rhythm, the kind that didn’t demand conversation. I swept leaves out from under a folding table while Eva sifted through old holiday decorations. We worked without urgency. It was the kind of mindless task that made it easy to forget everything else.

Eva held up a ceramic snowman who was missing his carrot nose. “Is this a family heirloom, or can I toss him?”

“He’s lived a good life,” I said solemnly. “But yeah, he can go in the trash.”

Eva hummed a mournful tune that sounded like an off-key version of “Taps” as she dropped the snowman into a black garbage bag. Then her phone chimed—sharp and bright in the stillness of the garage. The sound bounced off the walls and sliced through the calm.

Eva froze. Just for a second. Then she wiped her hands on her leggings and walked over to check the screen.

It was only a single message, but I could see the change in her posture as she read it. Her spine straightened. Her shoulders looked a little tighter. She didn’t say anything; she tapped a quick reply and slid the phone into her hoodie pocket.

“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Yeah,” she said, but the warmth had shifted a degree cooler. “Just Veronica. She’s putting together a brand deck for a new sneaker collab.”

“On a Sunday morning?”

She gave a small, apologetic shrug. “Deadlines.”

I nodded, trying to let it go. But something about the interruption stuck to my ribs. It wasn’t just the sound. It was the reminder that this—us, here, now—wasn’t permanent. It was borrowed time.

Eva came back over and nudged me with her shoulder. “Hey. Don’t let it ruin the vibe.”

“I’m not,” I said, but the mood had already shifted. Just a little.

She reached into a box labeled LEX — MISC and held up a faded poster of Mya Brown in her basketball jersey, one corner missing.

“Damn,” she said, chuckling. “You really were that kid.”

I snatched the poster from her hands. “Still am.”

Her smile returned, but it didn’t settle quite as easily this time. She dusted off a snow globe and held it up to the morning light, watching the fake snow swirl inside.

“Ever think about what needed to happen for us to be here?”

“Like, on this planet?” I questioned.

“No. Like, us. Here. Together.”

“All of the time.”

My stomach dropped when her phone chimed again. She didn’t immediately pull her phone out of her hoodie pocket this time. Instead, she sighed.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s finish this up before your mom comes out here and fires us.”

We went back to work—cleaning, sorting, breaking down boxes—but it wasn’t the same. We were quieter now. Less playful. More aware that the real world hadn’t gone anywhere—it was just waiting for us to come back.

By the time we finished, the frost on the front yard had melted and the filtered sunlight had brightened into something clearer and colder.

Eva reached for her phone again. I tried not to notice how long she looked at it. Or the way she bit her lip while she typed. Or how far away her gaze seemed when she slid it back into her pocket.

She smiled at me as we closed the garage door, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.