Right as Raine (Aster Valley 1)

Until now.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the cookbook offer he’d told me about. While I was excited for him—of course I was—I wasn’t going to lie. It scared me. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to see his bigger dreams.

And I wanted him to have dreams. I wanted all of his fucking dreams to come true, and I would do whatever it took to help. But god… I didn’t want to lose him either. I’d gotten so used to his company. His announcement about the cookbook project had been a mini wake-up call. Was he hoping to move on to bigger and better things? If he did, would I still see him? He was Coach V.’s son, but I didn’t remember seeing much of him around the team before he came to work for me. Would he go back to being a once-a-year family member after moving on?

I must have made a noise in my throat because Mikey leaned over and asked if I was okay. I shifted uneasily in the wide leather seat and looked out at the puffy clouds.

“Yeah, ’course.” I struggled to open my water bottle with one arm in a sling until Mikey grabbed it and twisted the top off. I could feel the power of his stare on the side of my face.

“Liar,” he said softly. “What are you thinking about?”

“Remember that trip to LA when the hotel receptionist thought we were a couple and put us in a king room together?”

Mikey snorted. “And you told me you were fine on the sofa except it was a love seat half your size? Yeah, I remember.”

Mikey had insisted I share the bed, and then he’d made a big production over creating a pillow divider down the middle until I’d finally agreed. It hadn’t mattered. I’d still woken up with his warm body curled against me like a heat-seeking missile. I’d lain awake for two hours just soaking in the incredible feeling of holding him in my arms while he slept.

I cleared my throat. “And we stayed up talking half the night,” I reminded him without looking over at him.

He was quiet for a beat before speaking. “You told me about the time your sister got lost on a trip to the Grand Canyon and your dad cried in front of you.”

I nodded. “And you told me about your Scout leader teaching you how to make table-side guacamole.” I didn’t mention that he’d also told me how much he’d always felt like a disappointment to his own dad.

Mikey laughed. “Game-changer. I’d never had avocado before, if you can believe it. Watching him mash all of those ingredients together sparked something in me, I guess. After that, I started making all kinds of dips. My brothers thought it was the best thing ever. They didn’t realize they’d suddenly become my taste testers.”

I let the subject lighten up from where my memories had gone. “What the hell kind of Scout leader teaches the kids to make guac?”

“Oh, he was super gay. Hated camping. Thankfully, there were two leaders and the other one did all the butch stuff. But Mr. Meadows taught us how to keep the campsite tidy, how to sing campfire songs in two-part harmony, and how to convince someone else to take the scales off the fresh catch. I loved that guy.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Not like that,” he said, smacking the back of his hand against my chest above my sling. “He was a hundred and ten years old. At least to my prepubescent self.”

We continued sharing childhood stories until he cut in with a reminder about seeing my parents. “I told them we’d contact them once we got settled and let them know when they can come out to see you.”

I bit back a sigh and looked out the window again. I loved my parents, but sometimes seeing them felt like a command performance, and my dad especially would pepper me with tons of questions about why I was in Colorado instead of with my team.

“Not right away, okay?” I asked.

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

I knew Mikey wouldn’t let me get away with ignoring them forever. He would do what he always did which was manage my parents’ expectations with my reluctance and find that sweet, delicate middle ground that would check all the boxes and leave everyone feeling like their needs had been met. He was good at that. So very good at it.

“You should be a hostage negotiator,” I muttered.

“False equivalency, I think,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Anyway, what the hell are you going to do with yourself in the cabin besides read your new books and sneak in forbidden workouts?”

He knew me well.

“Good question. Probably pester you while you’re cooking. Eat lots of your food. Sit in the hot tub and stare off into space.”