Page 17

Sixteen

I stand feet from my seat, in the stands, right over the team tunnel. I’m not sure why I followed Cal—it seemed like he wanted to say something else to me when Zev dragged him away. So… I followed.

I almost wish I hadn’t.

I’m staring down at where he once stood and repeating the words he said to Zev. “Nothing like Simone,” I whisper to myself.

“See you later, Franny!” Lucca Cruz’s voice filters up to me. He’s standing right below me, about to head inside—right where Cal and Zev once stood.

“Lucca,” I say, and the words are out before I have time to stop them. “Do you know Simone?”

He gives a knowing nod—as if I should know this answer. “We all know Simone.”

“Callum’s…” I draw out, because I don’t have an answer to fill in this blank. I have assumptions.

“Superman’s ex.”

“Right.” I swallow. “I knew that. ”

Simone . I am not at all like her—that’s what he said.

“Will you be at our next game, lucky charm?” Lucca asks, shooting two finger guns at me.

I breathe out a tired laugh. “We’ll see,” I say, finger-gunning him right back.

My jaw clenches and my heart patters, replaying Callum’s words in my mind. But then, can I be mad if Callum still has feelings for his ex? He told me upfront he wanted friendship. Nothing more. And this time around, I’m the one who kissed him. He didn’t initiate it.

“Did you say something?” Paul asks. He’s followed me over after giving Matt one of his business cards and talking up a used Subaru they just got on the lot.

“Um.” I swallow. “Nothing.” My face warms with this new information.

I can’t help but feel embarrassed at my actions.

The team was chanting, and Callum was there smelling like musk and earth, and I swear he smiled at me.

Oh, gosh. Not that it’s his fault. I just—in all my remakes, have I ever been that forward?

What is more forward, kissing a man in front of his teammates or convincing a man to break into a closed ice rink to ice skate while recreating a scene from one of your favorite movies?

Tony didn’t have any skates, so he slipped and slid around on his tennis shoes until he sprained his ankle, and the authorities asked me never to return to the Frostline Pavilion.

“Fran, did you see our video to the tune of ‘Sabotage’ by the Beastie Boys?” Paul belly laughs and holds out his phone to me once more.

I peer down at the video where I almost became a hood ornament, posted for the world to see, music playing in the background—but I can’t make out any of the words. I only hear Callum speaking in my head, telling his friend, “She’s nothing like Simone.”

Saturday mornings at Stacks are the busiest dining day of the week.

I have no time to be texting Rosalie. But that’s what I’ve been doing because she was in bed when I got home last night, and she was still in bed when I left for work this morning.

She isn’t lazy—state testing is just kicking her butt.

I didn’t have time to tell her anything.

Rosalie: I’m going to knee Callum Whitaker right where it counts. I don’t care if he is a professional athlete.

Me: No kneeing. It wasn’t his fault. I kissed him this time. Besides, he was very upfront about just wanting to be friends.

Rosalie: Was he upfront about being stuck on his ex? Ugh. I hate pining.

Me: NO KNEEING. Move on, girl. I’m fine. He has not wounded me.

Rosalie: Who are you, Jane Austen?

Rosalie: Also, I don’t understand why you’re going out with Paul again. You aren’t attracted to the man! Don’t deny it. Plus, he called that reel fun? How is my best friend almost dying to the Beastie Boys fun??

Me: That whole Beastie Boys thing could be a personal joke or something. I told you, he likes that the video is inspiring others. Besides, speaking of Jane Austen, Marianne Dashwood didn’t think Colonel Brandon was anything special at first, either. She needed more time.

Rosalie: Colonel Brandon also didn’t blow off a viral reel that made Marianne uncomfortable.

Ugh. Inspirational or not, that reel does make me uneasy.

“Frances!”

I stuff my phone back into my apron pocket and scurry up to the cook’s window. Sure enough—table two’s order is up. Without one word to Glen, I grab the warm plates and deliver them while the eggs are still steaming hot.

“Can I get you anything else?” I ask the couple, just as the bell above the café door jingles.

“Franny!” a man calls, and I look up to not one but five massive Red Tail players standing in Stack’s doorway.

“Our lucky charm!” another says.

I look them over and spot a sheepish Callum Whitaker at the back of the group.

Lucca Cruz is beaming at me—no doubt the one who called me Franny. The others glow like children at a theme park, eyes on me. I recognize all of their faces. But only know a few names—Callum, Lucca, and Zev.

“Frances!” Glen calls again, and I whip my head around—another order in the window. Glen frowns as he looks over the men as if they were teenage ruffians here to muss up his café rather than here to give him hard-earned cash.

I nibble on my bottom lip and spin back around to the guys. “You can take the back booth. There’s an extra chair back there that you can pull over.” I hurry up and deliver two more orders for customers seated at the lunch counter. I refill their drinks and peek around at my fan club.

In speed mode, I wipe down the end of the lunch counter, snatch up a waiting tip, and toss an empty plate into the dirty dish bin before making my way to the back, table ten.

“Hi,” I say, my eyes darting from man to man to man, but landing on Callum.

“Hey, Franny,” Lucca calls again, sitting on the chair at the end of this booth.

“We had to come see our lucky charm. Let me introduce you to the guys. This is Zev—” Lucca points to the reddish-blond man who I’ve already met a couple times now.

His beard is full and darker than the hair on his head.

“This is Maverick—” He points to the dark blond whose hair might be longer than mine.

“And this is Sawyer.” Brown hair, brown beard, and blue eyes—but more than the eyes, I think he stands out because I remember him from the game.

This man is the Red Tail goalie. My eyes were glued to him every time the opposing team neared the Red Tails’ net.

“You’re the goalie,” I say, nodding toward Sawyer.

He smiles. “And you’re Callum’s lucky charm,” he says, pointing one finger toward me.

“That was quite the kiss, Franny,” Lucca says. Something tells me this man says whatever he wants to.

My face burns with a flush, and I swallow. “Just doing my lucky charm duty,” I say as if I didn’t enjoy every second of Callum’s soft lips on mine.

“Nice to see you again, Fran,” Zev says.

I nod. “You too,” I say. “And it’s nice to meet the rest of you guys too.” I pull out my tablet and slide the pen from between the knot of my low ponytail. “Can I get you all something to drink?” I tap pen to paper and wait, praying Glen doesn’t yell my name again.

“Can I get an OJ, Franny?” Sawyer asks.

“Ooo, make that two,” Maverick says.

“Orange juice all around,” Callum says, finally speaking.

“Thanks, Franny!” Maverick says.

No, thank you, Lucca —I am going to be Franny , a name only slightly more pleasant than Frances, to Callum’s entire team.

“Five OJs. Got it.” I slip my pen through the tendrils of my hair once more without writing down the order—I’m not going to forget.

I turn and start back behind the counter when there’s shuffling behind me.

“Fran,” Cal says as he climbs over Zev to get out from the table. “Hey.”

I pause and he snatches my elbow. With a gentle tug, he walks us toward the counter and away from his friends. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop them from coming. They wanted to see you. To thank you for being at the game and—” His cheeks puff. “Possibly for kissing me.”

I swallow. I’m not Simone, but I am lucky for Cal. “No problem, Superman,” I say, playing it cool and using the nickname I’ve heard so many of his teammates call him. I stand at the juice machine, just next to the counter’s edge, and Cal stays with me, just outside of this employee station.

“Kissing? Are you doing a little kissing these days, Fran?” Lester Crabtree looks up from his plate of eggs and toast.

“Um.” I dart a glance from Callum to Lester. “Very little. ”

“I highly recommend kissing. Dorothy was a tamale of a kisser, if you know what I mean.”

I cough. “I think we do, Lester. Um, congrats on that.” I set another glass of juice onto a serving tray. “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no, dear. I’m almost done. No haunting today, it seems.”

“There’s always dinner,” I tell him.

Lester winks at me, his gaze traveling over to Callum—who, yep, is still here with us.

I clear my throat. “Lester, this is my friend Callum.”

“Your kissing friend?”

“At times,” I say.

“Good for you.” Lester pats Callum’s back before leaving a ten-dollar bill on the counter and rising from his seat.

The minute he’s out of sight, Callum looks at me. “There’s always dinner?”

“He’s waiting for his wife to haunt him.”

“Huh.” He licks his lips and gives his head the smallest of shakes. “Hey, when do you get off? Could we take a walk or talk or?—”

But it’s only ten in the morning. I’m here until one. “Not for a while. I have a break in twenty minutes, when Jan arrives. We could take a short walk then.” Because who needs to eat or sit after being on their feet for four and a half hours?

“Okay.” He grins, and it reminds me of sunshine after a brutal rainstorm. Light after darkness. Joy after wondering when the misery might end. It’s a nice smile, a telling smile, a friendly smile. “Twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, Cal’s teammates are eating. His egg white omelet is hot and untouched, but he excuses himself, meeting me at the exit.

“How long is your break?” he asks.

“Fifteen minutes.” I snag a muffin from the counter, knowing I won’t make it the rest of my shift without some sustenance.

We step out into the spring sunshine, and I follow Callum’s lead down Mill Street.

“How is your…”

“Butt?” I ask. I have come to terms with the fact that I announced to the world that my butt was in pain—it was a rough hit.

“I was going to say wound.”

I chuckle. “You make it sound like I went to war.” I shake my head, keeping time with his long legs—though I’m certain he’s walking slowly for my benefit.

“My knee is healing, but man, it stings. I have to keep them bandaged and—” I swallow.

I don’t actually want to tell him that walking breaks open the scabs and causes me pain—because I’m certain Cal would end this walk, here and now.

“My backside is just bruised. I’m feeling better.

Really.” It’s been a few days, and time has helped.

“Good.” He coughs, but it doesn’t sound natural. “I’m glad Paul was there to help you.”

“Me too.” I sigh. “I kind of wish it wasn’t all over the internet, but I am glad he didn’t let me get crushed like a bug.”

“Yeah, of course. Those videos are a bit awkward, though.”

“Most of the videos focus more on Paul than me, so I guess it’s fine. He doesn’t mind the attention. It’s not like anyone has noticed me.”

He clears his throat. “Are you seeing him again?”

“Yeah. We’re going to dinner.”

Cal nods. It’s curt. Suddenly, all of his movements are. He looks anxious for some reason. “So, then he didn’t see…”

I can be embarrassed, or I can own my actions. We both know what happened. I clear my throat and complete his thought. “When I kissed you? He did see it, actually.” It’s probably better that we’re talking about this. That it’s not some obscure moment in time that we never mention again.

Callum hisses like he might be in trouble—though I’m the one who made the move. “And he’s okay with that?”

I pause on the sidewalk, a light spring breeze kissing my skin. “I explained that we’re friends. Just friends.”

That light-bursting smile is back. “Do you normally kiss your friends like that, Fran?”

I cough out a laugh. He’s making it difficult to regret my actions.

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry about that. I should have said sorry before.

” I feel so unsure. I feel embarrassed. But sorry?

I can’t decide if I feel sorry. I should, but I don’t think I do.

The man kissed me back. But if he’s pining for another girl…

I pull in a nervous breath. “Your team was chanting and?—”

“I know. They’re idiots.”

“And you were standing there?—”

“Fran, I?—”

“And you had kissed me before. So, I thought—” I shrug, picking up my feet again. We’ll have to turn around soon. “I’m not sure what I thought. Just?—”

“It’s fine. You were under pressure.”

I peer out at the busy street. “I was. I’ve never really cared about others’ opinions though.

So I’m not sure why I gave in.” Then again, maybe I do know.

Because I might have wanted a repeat of that night at the bar.

I’ve been creating romcom remakes for over a year now.

And then one fell right into my lap. It knocked on my door.

It was exciting and fun. It was spontaneous and romantic.

It came to me without one minute of planning. And I wanted more.

“I don’t want you to worry about it. I guess you can say we’re even now.” He grins at me—that stupidly sweet grin. It’s a grin that makes me brave. It makes me believe that this new friend of mine might be able to help me.

“Callum, do you think you could give me a hand with something?”

“Maybe. What do you need help with?”

I study him, weighing his reaction. “I have a date next week, and I need to do some planning.”