Mitch swore. He couldn’t believe they’d lost the game. 14-6. A brutal loss, made worse because Simon had dropped the ball on the last play. Not that they might have won with fifty yards to go and some big-ass defensemen lying in wait, but the boy had taken the mistake to heart. Mitch saw tears in his eyes as he left the field.

“Hey kid, shake it off. You win some, you lose some.”

Simon held his head low and joined his teammates as they lined up to shake hands with the other team.

Mitch followed Deacon, who continued to swear under his breath. The refs hadn’t been the greatest, but hell, the team had been outplayed. It didn’t take a pro to see the truth. The other team had been better. Period.

On a positive note, the Cougars had youth on their side. Only five kids would graduate, and the majority of the team’s true talent had a good two or three more years to go.

At the end of the line, Deacon and his coaches shook hands with the opposing team’s staff. Unfortunately, Mitch recognized a douche when he saw one.

The Valley Warriors’ head coach smirked at Deacon. “Better luck next time, Flashman.” He looked behind the others to Mitch. “Hell. Even the great Flash couldn’t save your asses.” He laughed. “It was a pleasure.”

Mitch wanted to punch the guy in the face. Instead he said nothing.

“Yeah, we’re all about sportsmanship,” Deacon said in a loud voice, then shook the coach’s hand. More like squeezed his hand, because Mitch noticed the other coach wince before tugging his hand free.

“Sportsmanship? What is this? Kindergarten? ‘It’s all about how you play the game.’” The guy guffawed. “Get real. That’s what the losers say. It’s all about winning, and you know it. We wiped the field with your sorry asses.”

“Hey, Coach.” Mitch kept his voice light, pleasant. “How about you stop being such a dickhead and try to be an example to your team? Now, I could shove your head up your ass and embarrass you in front of everyone, but I’m not gonna do that because it wouldn’t look so good in front of our players.”

The adults around them grew quiet. Deacon swore. Mitch knew he should stop before any of the kids overheard, but the smug expression on the coach’s face made him throw caution to the win. Fuck it. He wasn’t on the payroll. What could they do to him?

Mitch continued, “It would go a long way if you could not be such a horse’s ass. Anyone can win and anyone can lose on any given day. Hell, the last Super Bowl could have gone either way, but we got lucky. Point is, it’s about the kids. Not about your ego or our NFL rings,” he said to include his brother in the conversation as well as show off. Yeah, suck on that, you jerk. “Now how about you go fuck off while we congratulate your boys on what a great job they did?”

Now flustered and red-faced, the coach took a step in his direction. Seriously? Mitch grinned at him. Bring it.

Deacon interceded.

“You know, Rothman, what my brother said pretty much goes for all of us. But don’t worry, Mitch won’t hit you.” He stepped right into Rothman’s personal space and in a lower voice warned, “But I might. You’re on my last nerve. Back the fuck off.”

Rothman turned and walked quickly away. Two of his coaches followed after glaring at them.

Everyone who remained, including Mitch, stared at Deacon. He hadn’t seen his brother so riled in a while, and Deacon had looked damn impressive. “Wow. Didn’t think you had it in you, you big wuss.”

The others laughed, and the tension around them faded.

The remaining rival team’s coaches apologized for Rothman’s behavior. Then Mitch and the others did as he’d promised, congratulating their opponents. As well as signing a few embarrassing autographs alongside his brother.

When they rejoined their own team inside the gym’s locker room, the boys sat waiting, expectant.

Before anyone could speak, Mitch stepped forward. “Hey, knuckleheads. It was a tough game. But I just wanted you to know, your coach is a badass.” He grinned, and several of the boys smiled with him. “He stood up for you and continues to stand up for you. So, before you start crying in private about the loss—and yeah, we’ve all been there, no shame in wanting to win—listen up.” He stepped back to let the real coaches speak.

Deacon, then Dorset, told the boys what a great job they’d done. Stan mentioned two of their more talented seniors having interest from a few colleges, which made everyone cheer.

Then Paglitelli had to go and turn everyone’s attention back to Mitch. “And let’s not forget to thank Flash for helping out this season.”

“It’s not about me,” Mitch tried, but Paglitelli talked over him.

Deacon smirked, knowing how much Mitch hated being praised.

Paglitelli wouldn’t shut up. “I’ve seen you guys get so much better this season. Now Coaches Stan, Dorset, and myself, we know the game inside and out. But having pro players like Deacon and Flash is a real plus. I don’t know if you guys realize how much they helped.” He turned to Mitch. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mitch coughed. “Everybody get out and find your parents.”

“Make sure you check out with me before you go home,” Stan warned, in charge of making sure the boys safely departed.

Mitch and Deacon had driven together, and they hung around while the rest of the team readied to leave. Deacon was a natural with the kids, and Mitch wondered when his brother planned to have his own children. If ever. Rhonda had done a number on the guy, a lesson he—and Mitch—had taken to heart.

The room finally cleared.

“I hope to hell I don’t hear about your mouthing off when we get back,” Deacon muttered. “Look, Rothman is a dick. Everyone knows it. You didn’t have to go there with him.”

Mitch snorted. “Please. Ass-breath was asking for a beating. But I’m not the one who crushed his hand, Bro.”

“What happened?” Simon had snuck up behind them.

“Never mind,” Mitch and Deacon said at the same time.

The boy took a step back. “O-kay. So, um, thanks for coaching us this year,” Simon directed at Deacon. He turned to Mitch. “You too, Flash. Hey, do you want to ride home with us? We’re going to get ice cream on the way back.”

In near freezing temps, ice cream didn’t have the appeal the boy thought it might. But it was a chance to ride with Becca…

“And Flash, don’t tell my mom, but I’d feel a little safer with you in the car. She’s not the best driver in the snow.”

It hadn’t snowed yet, but Mitch knew the weather report called for it.

Deacon nodded. “Good point, Simon. Mitch, we’re going to need Simon’s wheels next year. Go help Becca out.” He moved behind Mitch to pick up his bag.

Mitch wanted to go but didn’t want to upset Becca. “You sure your mom won’t mind, Simon?”

“Nah. She’ll like the company. Apparently, my musical taste sucks. I’ll end up listening to my phone the whole way home. She could use someone to talk to.”

Mitch started to agree, but Simon’s amusement at something over his shoulder had him turning to see what his doofus brother was doing. Only to see Deacon looking like a choirboy.

“What?” Mitch growled, just knowing his brother had been making fun of him.

“Nothing. Hey, Simon. Did your aunt come with you?”

“Yeah.”

“How about we trade? I get Nora, you get Mitch. And no takebacks.”

Simon chuckled. “Not sure who’s getting the better deal, Coach.”

“Don’t tell your aunt that,” Deacon warned.

And so Mitch found himself driving home with Becca and Simon for the two hours and forty-five minutes it would take to reach Hope’s Turn.

He sat next to Becca in the front seat while Simon sat in the back, as promised, glued to his phone.

Mitch glanced around, noting the cleanliness of the vehicle. “Nice car.”

Becca shrugged, her eyes on the road. She looked beautiful, her long, dark hair framing her face, lit by the glow from the dash. “It’s not fancy, but it has heated seats.” She flashed him a grin, and his heart started pounding.

“What did you think of the game?”

“I thought it was great. Until the end.” She turned up the radio, some classic rock that had Simon groaning in the back.

“I’m turning up my volume,” he yelled. “Your music sucks.”

Led Zeppelin sucked? “Kid has no taste,” Mitch said.

“I know. I’m embarrassed to call him my son.”

“I heard that.” Simon made a face Mitch caught in the rearview mirror before the boy returned to studying his phone.

Continuing as if Simon hadn’t spoken, Becca said, “The other team’s coach was horrible. If you or Deacon ever acted like that, I wouldn’t let Simon play for the Cougars.”

“I wouldn’t want him to. I’ve run into Rothman’s type before. He’s a bully and a jerk. Unfortunately, he controls the futures of a lot of those kids. We were lucky his assistant coaches seemed decent enough. Sadly, the other team was just better than us. But hey, we did pretty damn good up until the third quarter. Then they clearly outgunned us.”

“I’m sorry we lost, but I’m kind of glad.” Becca sighed. “Another year before I have to do football again.”

“Now that’s no way to talk about the greatest sport known to man.”

“Really? I kind of thought you were partial to swimming.”

He paused before answering, remembering how they’d christened his hot tub last Sunday.

She must have realized it too, because he saw her smirk at him before looking at the road again.

Damn, but the woman aroused him with little effort. Not cool with Simon in the back seat.

Mitch subtly shifted, trying to ease the pressure between his legs, then talked to her about her teahouse. To his bemusement, he didn’t have to pretend interest. He genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say. Becca Bragg did something to him. He could honestly admit he’d never been as intrigued with a woman before, fascinated by every detail about her.

No doubt, Becca had beauty and a kickin’ body. But seeing her smile, watching the pride and joy in her eyes when she looked at Simon, made Mitch feel so much more than a surface attraction. She was kind, funny, and sarcastic. He never would have guessed the woman could be so snarky. She certainly didn’t come across that way to others, but with her cousin and son—and him, he was pleased to note—she didn’t hold back.

The drive home flew by. He bought them all ice cream at a drive thru Dairy Queen, and they enjoyed frozen treats while listening to loud classic rock, mostly to annoy Simon.

“This music is so old.” The teen had nearly devoured his banana split in the time it took Mitch to hand Becca her cup of strawberry ice cream.

Simon leaned forward and glanced from Becca to Mitch, lingering on their desserts.

“Seriously?” Mitch gaped. “You’re almost done?”

“You gonna eat that?” Simon asked, licking his spoon as he stared at Mitch’s brownie sundae.

“Hell, yeah.”

Becca cleared her throat.

“Heck, yeah,” he said without missing a beat.

She started the car and took them back on the road. They had another half hour before they reached town. Mitch dug into his ice cream, suddenly hungry.

Sometime later, Simon leaned closer to him and confided, “Mom isn’t a fan of cuss words. But let me tell you, she sure uses them a lot in the shop.”

“All lies,” Becca said, her lips curled in a smile.

Sitting with the pair, included in the conversation and teasing, felt right. All the stress about the future faded as Mitch basked in their shared amusement.

“The cursing?” Mitch put his sundae down, finished and full. “It’s a mom thing. My mother was constantly on my ass—” at Becca’s glare, he amended “—er, butt, not to swear when I was growing up. But I was just repeating half the things my brother said. And he only said what my dad used to say.”

“What does your dad do?” Simon asked. “He didn’t play for the NFL, did he?”

“No. Dad was a mechanic. A good one, too. Never had a car that didn’t run like a dream. My mom taught fourth grade. Between them, Deacon and I had a pretty stable home life. Of course, Mom still treats me like I’m two, bossing me around when she can.”

“See?” Becca said to Simon. “No matter how big you are, you’ll always be my little boy.”

“Mom.”

Mitch laughed. “Hey, that’s better than having no mom, or one who doesn’t care. Had a few friends that had missing parents they lived with, if you get my meaning.”

“Is that why you moved here? To be closer to your parents?” Simon asked.

Becca watched him, waiting for his answer as well.

“Actually, my mom and dad live in a really tiny town in Washington, and I grew up there. I had no urge to go back. But with Deacon telling me how I should move here and how great Hope’s Turn was, I had to see for myself. I visited a few times before deciding to buy a place.” As he spoke, that need to belong to the community grew. “I like the families. I like the kids too, surprisingly. Simon, don’t worry. Meeting you has not made me want to leave town.”

The boy grinned, but Mitch thought he saw relief flash over the kid’s face.

“Are you sure about that?” Becca asked. “Because I think about moving all the time. Then again, I live with him.”

“Hilarious, Mom.” Simon rolled his eyes. “You know, Flash, if I had a house that amazing, I’d stay here, too. You been swimming lately?”

Mitch refused to look at Becca. “Yeah. You should come by and try out the hot tub. It’s great, especially after a workout.”

“That’s cool. I could—”

“Simon,” Becca interrupted. “Mitch is being nice. He’s not really inviting you and all your friends to hang out at his pool 24/7.”

The boy flushed and sat back. “I was just going to say with the Thanksgiving break this week, we could always visit. You and me, Mom. I bet Flash wouldn’t mind. What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Flash?”

Silence filled the car. Mitch had been wondering how to broach the subject of the holiday without coming across as pushy. He wanted to spend time with Becca, but he didn’t want to intrude. Or to look as desperate as he was for the woman.

“My folks are traveling this holiday,” he answered. “They’re coming to visit for Christmas, but Turkey Day is all mine. Deacon and I will probably hang out, watch one of the games on TV or something. He’s kind of weird, though. He likes to watch the dog show every year.”

“Hey, I love that show,” Becca said.

Simon bounced in his seat. “Oh wow. Are we getting a dog this year, Mom? Please?”

“Crap. I walked into that one,” she muttered.

Simon turned to him. “What about you, Flash? Are you getting a dog? You live alone, right? No girlfriend, no friends, no family. So sad.”

“Yeah, he’s just pathetic,” Becca said wryly. “An NFL star with a hefty bank account, good looks, and he lives in an amazing house overlooking the mountains. What a sad, sad life.” She made a face at him, and Mitch grinned.

“Exactly,” Simon went on. “Flash, you—”

“It’s Mitch, Simon. Just Mitch.”

The boy nodded. “Mitch, you need a dog.”

Mitch had been thinking about it. “Yeah? What kind of dog should I get?”

“It depends on what you want.”

Mitch had an idea. “What kind of dog would you get if you could?”

Becca shot him a look.

He ignored her.

“Me?” Simon perked up. “I’d totally get a big dog. ‘Cause the small ones are too yappy. Maybe a Great Dane or an Irish wolfhound. Something cool that can kill you.”

“Why not go Doberman or Rottweiler?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Great.”

Becca sighed. “Of course, we have hardly any yard, and those are all big dogs that eat and poop a lot. Sure, a big dog would be just dandy, Simon.”

He shrugged. “Hey. Mitch asked.”

“I did ask.” Mitch saw the familiar turn up the mountain road toward his house. The drive couldn’t be over yet. “When I was growing up, we had a rescue dog. A mutt. She was big, must have had some German Shepherd in her. Weighed seventy-five pounds. And she was the best dog. I loved her.”

“What was her name?”

Mitch paused. “Candy.”

“Wait. What?” Simon hooted. “Candy?”

“Hey, I got her when I was a kid, and she looked like a caramel. I guess I was addicted to those things back then. My dad used to bring them home from the garage, where he kept his secret stash. My mom would bust his chops for getting me and Deacon addicted to sugar.” He smiled at the memories. “Then one day he brought home a shivering stray. We had no idea she’d get so big. I was four, I think. And I thought she looked like candy, so that’s what we named her.”

“That’s sweet.” Becca smiled. “And I didn’t mean that in a pun-like way.” She chuckled at his groan. “What happened to Candy?”

“She died after twenty years of good livin’. My parents then got two cats, who make life hell. I like to call them Evil One and Evil Two. They hate me.”

“Oh? I hear animals can sense evil…”

“That’s true, Mom.” Simon gave Mitch the same look Becca liked to give him, then added a demonic laugh.

“You two are so alike,” Mitch said, wondering if Becca realized what a great kid she’d raised. For all the boy’s tendency to try to boss the coaches around, he never hogged the ball, he praised his teammates, and he had always been polite around adults and other kids.

“No way. I’m unique and exceptional,” Simon argued.

“A real special snowflake,” Becca muttered, and they all laughed. “But we’re not getting a dog.”

“How about a cat?” Simon asked, ever hopeful.

She sighed.

Mitch said, “You don’t know what you’re missing in life until you wake up with a cat staring down at you, sucking away your soul while it claws you to consciousness.” He rubbed his chest, still feeling dagger-sharp nails. “My parents’ neighbors watch the beasts when they travel. Now that Mom and Dad are both retired, they’re RVing their hearts out.”

“Must be nice,” Simon mused. “We never go anywhere because we’re poor.”

“Simon Bragg.” Becca looked embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth.”

She frowned at the road. “It’s not the truth. We’re just not obscenely rich like half the people in town. No offense, Mitch.”

“None taken.” He did his best not to laugh. Becca was so cute when she turned pink. “You know, the money part of playing football was great. But I didn’t play the game for the pay. Sounds corny, but it’s true—I just love the game.”

“Yeah, me too.” Simon nodded. “But if I got rich and famous, I’d buy Mom a big house with a yard. Then she could get a big dog.”

“That you want,” she said under her breath, but Mitch still heard her.

“And then she could sell the shop and relax.”

Becca gripped the steering wheel, and Mitch wondered if he was hearing a familiar argument. In a patient voice, she said, “Simon, I know you don’t understand this, because you’re young. But I love running Bragg’s Tea. It’s fun. I get to bake, which I love. I get to talk to people and see friends every day, and I feel like part of the community.”

“See, that’s what I want,” slipped out before Mitch could censor himself.

“And that’s what makes you a member of the community.” Becca clearly approved.

Warmth unfurled, that he’d pleased her. God, I am so gone for this woman. 

They sat in silence the remaining minutes while she drove him to his front door, only the smooth tones of Clapton filling the car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said as he got out.

“Mitch?”

He paused before shutting the door. “Yeah?”

Becca chewed her lip, her nervous tell. He waited.

“Um, well, if you don’t have anything major planned with Deacon, you’re more than welcome to spend Thanksgiving with us. I usually cook a big turkey for the whole family—which includes me, Simon, Nora, and her parents. But this year it’s just Nora and us because my aunt and uncle are visiting friends in Michigan.”

“Hold on. Is this an official invite to eat your cooking and watch the dog show?”

She nodded. “Deacon can come too, if he wants.”

“Yeah.” Simon smiled wide. “You should totally come, Fla—Mitch. And Coach Deacon too. I promise I won’t try to kiss up or anything. But we could eat lots of turkey and pumpkin pie, then watch the game. Mom never wants to watch football with me.”

Mitch’s excitement over the coming holiday spilled over. “Well, I’m in. But only if you promise to make a pie as good as your sticky buns.”

Becca snorted. “Ha. That’s child’s play. My pumpkin pie will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

He stared at her, thinking he’d found his spot already with one of paradise’s mouthier angels. At the thought, he chuckled. Did that make him a demon then, for wanting to corrupt her feathery goodness?

“What?” She eyed him with caution.

“Not a thing. I’ll be there Thursday. Pretty sure Deacon will too, but I’ll ask him to be sure and let you know. What can I bring?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” “A football,” Simon said at the same time.

Mitch hadn’t played a game of fun football, no practice pads or for pay, in way too long. “That I can do.” He wanted badly to kiss Becca goodbye.

Instead, he shut the door and waved, then headed inside while dialing his brother. “Deacon? What are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?”