“They look good today,” he said. “Asher’s got a fire I don’t think I’ve ever seen.”
Cole kept his eyes on the field. “He sure does.”
“You have something to do with that?”
Cole shot Matt a sideways look, the remnants of their unpleasant conversation playing on repeat in his mind. Cole shook his head. “Doubt it.”
But what if it had? What if something he’d said had gotten through to Asher? What if that moment out on the field at Haven House actually made the kid want to turn his life around?
That, not winning games, needed to be his goal. He talked to the boys about being better men—wasn’t it time he took those words to heart himself?
“What’s this?”
Cole tracked his assistant coach’s gaze to the parking lot, where the now-familiar black Jetta had just pulled in. Clearly, Charlotte still hadn’t called the rental place about the damage she’d done to the car. Maybe he could have it fixed for her.
Good grief, what was he thinking?
“You’re going to need to fill me in on the story here,” Bilby said.
He didn’t care that Charlotte was there, but he wished she would’ve waited a few more minutes so the guys would stop razzing him, especially given the way things had exploded that morning over a comment about her.
“No story,” Cole said, squinting.
She got out of her car and waved at him like he was a long-lost friend she couldn’t wait to hug.
“Oh, yeah. No story.”
Cole didn’t wave back. Instead, he grunted, then pulled the guys together in a huddle at the center of the field. His plan was to give them a quick pep talk and send them off, hopefully before Charlotte reached them.
Instead, Hotchke and Dunbar noticed her approaching, and they both took off their helmets and stared.
“Gentlemen,” Cole said, but it was no use. He glanced at Charlotte, who wore a pair of jean cut-offs and a tank top that was perfectly modest, but that seemed to be having quite the effect on his team. He could never compete with her for these boys’ attention.
Truth be told, they wouldn’t have been able to keep his attention either when she was around, not that he’d let anyone else ever know that.
He scanned the circle, and for whatever reason, he didn’t want them looking at Charlotte the way they were all looking at her now.
For her part, Charlotte seemed completely oblivious to the effect she had on his team.
How was it possible she had no idea how beautiful she was?
Gemma had always liked to be looked at, and she knew when she had a man’s attention. It was some kind of game for her—one Cole never had a chance of winning. Charlotte, on the other hand, showed up here looking adorable, wearing a broad smile and an expression that somehow said, Hey, can we be friends?
Not that friendship was on these boys’ minds.
She was carrying, he now noticed, a box of Dandy’s Donuts, and as soon as she reached them, he got a whiff of the sugary dough.
First flowers, now donuts. What would she give him next? A gift certificate for a pedicure?
She stood on the edge of the circle next to Asher for a beat, smiling at the team.
Cole drew Asher’s gaze, then nodded toward Charlotte, hoping the kid had enough sense to be a gentleman.
“Hey, Miss Page,” Asher finally said. He turned toward her and took the box. “Let me get that for you.”
“Thank you, Asher.” She smiled again as her eyes met Cole’s. When he didn’t smile back, her face fell.
But it wasn’t in his nature to smile. What was he supposed to do? Moon over her like these sex-crazed teenagers?
Bilby elbowed him—and not subtly.
Cole dug deep and found a sentence—“We, uh, weren’t expecting you”—which probably made her feel even less welcome than his stoic expression.
“But you brought donuts,” Bilby cut in, “so you’re more than welcome.”
Charlotte’s smile turned shy. “I thought you’d be wrapping up.”
“And you thought right,” Bilby said, overcompensating for Cole’s crankiness.
“I just had an idea to run by you,” Charlotte said. “All of you.”
All of them? Like the teenagers who made up his football team?
“I listen better when I’m eating,” Dunbar said with a shrug.
A chorus of agreements rang out and Charlotte’s face turned a pale shade of pink. “Sorry, maybe I should’ve asked before I filled you guys up on sugar.” Her eyes seemed to ask for Cole’s permission to open the box.
At his continued silence (what was wrong with him?), Bilby jumped in with quick reassurances. “It’s fine. They eat anything and everything, including donuts.”
Cole didn’t miss Matt’s pointed glare.
Asher opened the box and the guys dug in. When they finished, the box looked like it had been ransacked, only a few donuts remaining.
“Want one, Coach?” Asher asked.
“I’m good,” Cole said, holding up a hand, and—he was sure—coming across as a first-class jerk. He had no reason, other than unwanted thoughts about Charlotte, to be acting this way. Apparently, his vow to be a better coach ended on the field. He should probably vow to be a better human first.
Asher turned to Charlotte. “Go ahead, Miss Page—we’re all ears.”
Charlotte smiled. “You can call me Charlotte.” She wiped the palms of her hands on her shorts and Cole caught the slightest side glimpse of her triceps. The definition in her arms was impressive. It turned out, there were many impressive things about Charlotte. He knew because he’d gone home after their trip to Haven House and Googled her.
And he’d never admit that out loud in a million years.
He’d heard she was one of the best in her field, and now he’d seen it for himself.
Charlotte had been named the youngest principal dancer at the Chicago City Ballet, which further reading told him was a pretty big deal. The “principal dancer” was the star. Entire ballets had been created just for her.
Artists created with her in mind. One guy even called her his “muse.” That was a kind of influence Cole couldn’t even imagine. He read about her childhood, her professional career, her strict regimen.
One article chronicled “A Day in the Life of a Professional Ballerina,” giving him a peek into her typical schedule. The reporter must’ve followed her around for an entire day because he outlined her schedule from breakfast (two eggs with a slice of turkey bacon, a small cup of fruit with chia seeds, and some other froofy garbage Cole had never heard of) to training to fitness classes to rehearsals to physical therapy, to hair, makeup, and costumes, and then finally ending with her performance that night. Cole was exhausted just reading about it. No wonder she’d come looking for a quieter, more peaceful life.
Did Charlotte have anything in her life besides ballet?
He understood her a little better after doing a little research. Her life was solitary and regimented. She set goals and then she crushed them. Maybe she’d worn herself out in the process. All of a sudden, her starting over in Harbor Pointe made a lot more sense.
He didn’t stop with the one article, he was embarrassed to remember. He read what her critics wrote about her. He clicked links to YouTube videos of her performances and watched them all—one right after the other.