Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Read online

  “Hey.” It was Boone, leaning on his truck, the boring one. But he still looked amazing. He didn’t need a cool set of wheels to stand out in a crowd.

  “Hi.” She felt nervous for some reason.

  “You’ve done great these past couple weeks,” he said.

  She walked slowly to her car at the curb. “Thanks. You, too. You were a big hit in there.”

  “I’ve been hearing nothing but wonderful things about you. I’m telling you, you’re a contender. I might not have thought so at first, but I believe so now.”

  She shrugged. “Thanks. But you have so much momentum behind you. I’ll never win.”

  He paused. “We don’t know that for sure. But I’m not going to lie. It’ll be an uphill climb. And not because I’m particularly great or anything. It’s the Braddock name behind me. My grandfather’s legacy. And yeah, maybe having ten years under my belt of doing this job.”

  “Thank you for not condescending to me.”

  “I never would. You’re the smart one.”

  She shook her head. “That’s just not true anymore. I’ve been in a rut for a lot of years, I’m coming to realize. And yet I never saw it until recently. It snuck up on me.”

  He stepped forward. “I think you’re terrific,” he said.

  Just like that.

  “Boone. You’re not supposed to say things like that. They just make me … crazy.”

  He looked up at a tree branch for half a second, then back at her. “In a good way or a bad way?”

  She bit her lower lip. And she could swear that box of cookies was trembling in her hand. “In a-a—” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “I don’t know. Just … crazy. Like, I don’t know what to think or even how to think anymore. I used to be really good at thinking.”

  He laughed. “Can I take that box for you?”

  She allowed herself a tiny smile. “Only if you don’t eat them all. They’re my favorite.”

  He took it. She opened her car door. He handed it back.

  “Hey, I’ve got something for you.” He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out an envelope that said “Ms. Cissie Rogers” on the front in loopy cursive. Tiny hearts dotting the i’s.

  “What’s this?” she murmured as she pulled out a homemade card. And then she smiled. “An invitation from your senior girls to come to powder-puff football practice tonight?”

  “Yep. They think it’s cool that a woman’s running for mayor. They want you to come check them out, maybe run a few plays with the offense.”

  “Wow. I’m flabbergasted and touched by this.” She looked up at him. “I never did powder-puff in high school. I was too scared. There’s tackling, throwing, catching.”

  All that physical stuff.

  “You’ll learn fast. Meanwhile”—he grinned—“I can teach you the basics back at the house first.”

  She laughed nervously.

  He pointed to his temple. “We’ll talk strategy. On a chalkboard.”

  “Oh, okay.” She was a little disappointed. She wouldn’t have minded being tackled by him. “I’m not that great at throwing. Maybe we can play catch, too. And all the rest. Like running.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Maybe we can.”

  He knew she was fishing.

  She blushed. “So, right now?”

  “Sure. Why not? This is our last chance to relax before the big day.”

  Monday was their final day of campaigning.

  “Where are you headed tomorrow?” Cissie asked.

  “Breakfast with the senior bowling team. Teaching my PE classes. Then lunch at the Campbell country club. An afternoon visit to the park, just to see who’s there. Maybe a visit to the gas station to say hello. Football practice. And tomorrow night, I’m having dinner at Starla’s with some teacher friends followed by a cocktail party at my parents’ house. What about you?”

  “And I thought I was busy.” She sighed. “The Friends of the Library are bringing muffins into the library tomorrow morning. I plan to leave at lunch to stop by the hair salon where I got my hair done to say hi to everyone. And after work, I’m hanging out with Laurie and her boys for a while before going to the party Nana’s throwing for me at the theater.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “I’m excited.”

  There was a beat of awkward silence.

  “Okay, then.” He threw his keys up in the air. “See you at home?”

  Home. It wasn’t really. But it was a great in-between place. “Sure, and—and thanks, Boone.”

  “For what?”

  “For filling in. Giving us a place to stay. Reminding me that we shouldn’t rock Nana’s boat, even though we surely must be rocking yours. I do appreciate it.”

  “It’s been entirely my pleasure.” He grinned, which did nothing to slow the fast beating of her heart.

  He walked to his car. “Hey,” he called back.

  “Yeah?”

  “No racing. Scotty can’t take anymore high jinx.”

  She laughed. “I’m the last person to want to race up that mountain.”

  He was one of the few who knew about her secret old-lady driving style. He was teasing her.

  “And one more thing,” he added. “Whoever wins this election, don’t forget you and Nana can stay as long as you want.”

  “Wow.” She nodded, not sure what to say. There was a lump in her throat, for sure, and for a couple of reasons. “Thanks so much.” She lifted her hand in a brief farewell.

  He waved back and got in his car. He took off a few seconds later.

  But she sat in hers. Leaned her forehead on the steering wheel. Closed her eyes and thought about him. He was a good man. He was also sexy. Sweet. Bossy when he thought he knew best—and charming. Lots of charming.

  She was falling in love with him, hard, the guy who’d finally walked over the library threshold—to come see her.

  He didn’t fit the legend. He was local. Not an out-of-towner. But that didn’t matter.

  She was enchanted by him anyway.

  If she weren’t running for mayor herself, she’d vote for him. Like a trillion times. Which made her so angry at herself because she believed in the library, and she couldn’t betray her own principles—for a guy.

  But she wanted to. She wanted him.

  “You’re a mess,” she told herself in the rearview mirror, then drove up the steep mountain five miles an hour below the speed limit, her fastest time yet—the sooner to see him again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Hands off was Boone’s mantra that he repeated to himself the rest of that day. Nana was at play practice again, so he and Cissie had the house to themselves.

  For two hours, they worked on getting her up to speed on football, first on the couch with a small lap chalkboard, where he taught her basic football rules and a few easy plays. She wore a blue UNC sweatshirt and yoga pants, and she smelled delicious. Her side was warm and soft when they accidentally bumped into each other. Even her elbow nudging his was sensual torture.

  Then they went outside and practiced throwing, catching, and dodging imaginary oncoming players. He absolutely refused to tackle her. If he ever got her on the ground, he knew he wouldn’t let her up. They used scarves tucked into their pants as flags. When they practiced throwing, he got out two footballs and let her watch him for proper throwing technique.

  Frickin’ adorable were the words that went through his mind about Cissie at the actual powder-puff practice. He had to work really hard not to stare at her butt the entire time. He was surrounded by teenaged girls who looked up to him as a man they could count on to respect women. And he did, but he also couldn’t get enough of Cissie’s backside.

  Cissie laughed almost the entire time—when she wasn’t looking very serious as either the quarterback or tight end, the two positions the girls chose for her. She even called them into a huddle and ran one of the two plays he’d taught her, which resulted in a first down.

  He was so proud.

  An
d when she looked over at him fleetingly, her face bright, he gave her a thumbs-up. And his heart—

  His heart wasn’t his own anymore. It was like a fumbled football, heading straight toward Cissie. He needed to chase it down and recover it.

  Fast.

  After practice, the girls kidnapped her and told him they were taking Cissie to the pizza place and that he could pick her up in an hour and a half.

  “Coach!” One girl came running over to his car. “We love her.” She was panting from excitement or exertion, he couldn’t tell. They’d just finished playing their hearts out. “If I were eighteen, I wouldn’t know who to vote for. I hope you don’t mind.” She ran off before he could answer.

  And then another one came up. “Is Miss Rogers your girlfriend? You got in a fight over her at The Log Cabin, right?”

  He thought he’d covered the fight this past week at school, where he’d had to address the situation not only with Wendy, the principal, but the kids he taught and coached—per Wendy’s instructions. He’d been going to say something anyway because that Monday morning, they’d all eyed him like he was a big celebrity.

  But this girl had obviously slipped through the cracks. He gave her the same speech, condensed: “I defended myself against a man who threw a punch at me. Miss Rogers unfortunately got in the middle, and when it appeared he was getting rough with her, I defended her, too. But no one got seriously hurt, thank goodness. Violence really doesn’t pay.”

  He’d desperately wanted to add “most of the time,” but Wendy told him if he did, she’d be pissed.

  The girl’s face brightened. “I knew you were a hero, Coach Braddock!”

  And went running off.

  Damn. Teenaged girls loved to state their opinions and go running off before he could say anything back. He was going to tell her that no, Miss Rogers was not his girlfriend.

  And then he realized how much he’d hate shouting that, so he was glad the young lady seemed to have forgotten the rest of her question.

  Ah, well. He watched the convoy of cars leave the parking lot. Cissie was in the silver pickup truck up front. He missed her already.

  “You’re done for,” he said aloud. His chest was heavy with conflicting feelings. Want, misery, desperation, anger, and beneath it all, a simmering happiness that he could not address because it was too big, too able to overwhelm and control him, which couldn’t happen because then nothing would be locked away. Nothing. It would rip all his secrets out of their drawers for the world to see.

  He went home, putzed around the house all by himself for an hour. It was no fun there anymore, living by himself, he realized.

  He checked his watch. Eight o’clock. It wasn’t quite time to pick up Cissie at the pizza parlor, but he would anyway. She needed her rest. The Monday before Election Day Tuesday was always exhausting if you were a candidate with an opponent. And then Election Day itself could wipe you out. He remembered his first election against that old guy who’d replaced his grandfather. Boone had been on edge the whole time. He’d run unopposed after that, so he’d never experienced again that sort of nervous agitation that came with knowing you could possibly lose.

  Until now, and even now—

  No. He was going to win. It saddened him how predictable the outcome was. It seemed so unfair. If people only knew Cissie better. And if she had entered the race sooner, maybe had more campaign signs that actually lasted. He’d seen two of hers melted onto the pavement downtown after a night of rain.

  Well. It wasn’t the last race of either of their lives. He hoped she’d run against him again.

  He showed up at the pizza parlor, and Cissie hugged all the girls and left with him. It was like pulling a pop star away from her adoring fans. She was her quirky, confident librarian self, but she was now also a sassy powder-puff football player and a mayoral candidate who’d run a good campaign on very little notice. It was a captivating mix.

  Nana was at the house when they got back, and they watched a thriller together on Netflix. Everyone’s adrenaline was running high, so Nana made cocoa afterward, and they had a fun discussion about the reveal of the killer in the movie. It was an ordinary family night—the kind he imagined other people had, the kind he’d like to have more often in his usually quiet house. Everything flowed. Everything was right.

  “It’s late,” Nana said, “and I had a wonderful time. See you kids in the morning.” She blew kisses and walked up the stairs.

  “You should go to bed, too,” Boone said to Cissie. “You need your rest.”

  “No more than you do. Besides, I’m running out of time to write an acceptance speech.”

  “Oh, yeah. Gotta have that.”

  Her brow furrowed. “And a concession one, too, I suppose. Have you come up with yours?”

  “Nope.” He was terribly tempted to ask if she wanted to write them in his bedroom.

  “I guess I’ll go upstairs and do mine in my room.”

  “No desk,” he said.

  “I can write them in bed, but Dexter will sit on the notebook and rub his face on my pen.”

  “Cats.”

  “I’ll stay down here. In the kitchen.”

  Boone couldn’t have that. He’d never be able to stay away. “I have a great idea.”

  “What?”

  He went to a cupboard and pulled out a Thermos. “I’m going to make us some hot toddies. We’ll bundle up”—the more clothes they had on, the better—“jump in the truck, head to town, and come up with our speeches in the gazebo, which is where we’ll be giving them anyway.”

  “Hey,” she said brightly, “that’s a great idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Except that I know what you’re doing,” she said with a chuckle, “and I’m not going to get naked with you in the gazebo.”

  He laughed inside. But he kept his expression serious when he put some water in the microwave to heat. “That was a joke.”

  “It was?”

  “Well, no. But it’s too cold for gazebo sex. I should have thought of that when I suggested it.” He opened a cupboard, pulled out some rum, and poured a friendly amount in the Thermos. “We’ll stay busy inventing speeches. And then we’ll come back here and sleep the deep, peaceful sleep of two people who have finished their campaign chores.”

  And kept their hands off each other.

  Sometimes he was so smart, he scared himself.

  * * *

  The town square was deserted when they arrived and parked at the curb. Cissie thought the bench with her sign on the back would cheer her, but at midnight, it also looked somehow forlorn. Soon the sign would be gone, her campaign would be over, and so would her hanging out with Boone.

  The house fixing was progressing nicely. She and Nana would be able to move back in under a month. It was exciting—but it was also sad.

  They grabbed their stuff and headed to the gazebo.

  “It’ll be fun not having to write,” Cissie said. Boone had a dictation app on his phone. “Are you sure it’ll work?”

  “It might mess up a few words here and there, but overall, it works great. You can go in and fix the typos tomorrow before you print it out. This way you can keep your gloves on and actually say the words out loud, the same way you will when you give the speech.”

  They decided to have a toddy first.

  She sat on a bench, and he poured her a steaming hot drink.

  “Mmmm.” The sweet-tart combination of honey, lemon, and rum was delicious. “It’s so good. Where did you learn to make these?”

  “It’s an old Braddock recipe. Really old.”

  “I’ll bet they had some before they marched to King’s Mountain.”

  “I’ll betcha.” He joined her on the bench.

  It was cold enough that they squeezed together. Anyone would have. But her pulse thrummed anyway.

  “Ahh.” He took a sip of his own toddy and grinned at her. “Welcome to Kettle Knob, where you can still drink Revolutionary War–era toddies that your
great-great-great-great granddaddy used to make. And not get mugged in the town square if you visit after midnight.”

  “I might borrow that last line for my speech.”

  “Wait. I said it first.”

  She laughed and focused on her mug because Boone looked very cute. She couldn’t think about him that way. All day, especially when she’d been playing powder-puff football, she’d been extremely aware of him. “I had a great time with the high school girls.”

  “I could tell. They really liked you.”

  “I liked them, too. They look up to you, you know. I think ninety-nine percent of them probably have crushes on you.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I treat them the way I’d want my sister Debbie to be treated.”

  “Do you ever see her?”

  “Every couple months she comes over with her family. She’s older, and I love her. But she’s almost like a different generation, two years older than my brother.” He picked up the Thermos. “How about a little more?”

  “Yes, please.” It really was good. And it was helping her feel a little less on pins and needles around him. She wanted to kiss him. Badly. But she was also really interested in figuring out who he was. “It must have been hard losing your brother.”

  “Well, he died when I was a toddler. So, it wasn’t. Part of me feels guilty about saying that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” She found herself reaching out a gloved hand and squeezing his lower arm. But only for a second. “I feel for your parents.”

  “Yep. It’s why I probably give them too many breaks. They’ve gone through something no one should ever have to. Hey,” he said, switching gears, “are you ready to use the app?”

  “Sure.”

  “Should I walk away so you can have privacy?”

  “No, that’s okay.” She felt suddenly wistful. “I wouldn’t mind you hearing my acceptance speech, since I probably won’t ever get to deliver it.”

  “Come on, now. You can’t say that yet.”

  “I know I shouldn’t.” Her spirits perked back up, and she grinned. “I take it back.”