It took everything he had not to take his foot off the brake.
Okay, that wasn’t true, but the thought had occurred to him, which should probably concern him a little more than it did.
“Look at you, Coach,” Betsy said from behind the counter. “Saw you out there early, whipping those boys into shape.”
“We’ve got a long way to go,” Cole said.
“You’ll get there,” Betsy said, her vote of confidence oddly reassuring. “You always do.”
He didn’t bother to tell her all the reasons he wouldn’t get this particular team “there.” He didn’t want to sound like he was making excuses, though he did hope this town understood that some years, you simply didn’t have the juice to go all the way, no matter how much potential the boys had.
The community was still riding high after last fall’s state title. Go Hawks signs peppered storefront windows throughout town, even now, months after they’d won the championship. He didn’t want to let anyone down, but it would take a miracle for this particular team to even have a winning season.
“I’ve got your order,” Betsy said. “Be right back.”
He leaned against the counter, doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone else in the restaurant, when the front door opened and Gemma walked in. She hadn’t spotted him yet, so he took a second to look at her, wishing she’d lost her looks or suddenly turned unappealing to him.
Shouldn’t it work that way?
Sadly, it didn’t. His ex was every bit as beautiful as she ever had been.
Maybe he’d been wrong about chatter quieting. He swore the room had gone silent. Or was he imagining that?
Gemma found a booth against the far wall and led Max over to it, and before she looked up, Cole turned his back to her, facing the register where Betsy would—God willing—soon return with his order.
It had been too much to expect Gemma to find another place to spend her summer, and apparently too much to give up their favorite breakfast spot. Sensitivity had never been her strong suit. He could only pray that she drew the line at talking to him in public.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Betsy returned. “Sorry,” she said. “I threw a few extras in there for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He kept his voice low, as if it might give him away, even from across the room.
“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to. I know it’s going to get super crowded in here the next few months, and I’m trying to entice my regulars to brave the tourist crowds and keep coming in. The locals are always much nicer than the tourists.” She winked at him and pushed the brown paper bag across the counter. “I’m sure you agree.”
Gemma had been a tourist once upon a time, a summer resident only until she married Cole. Was that what Betsy was getting at? If so, yeah, he definitely agreed. “Thanks,” he said. He handed over his cash, told her to keep the change, then turned for his quick getaway.
He beelined for the front door, head down and pretending not to notice Gemma and dumb Max sitting in that booth against the wall. He focused instead on the scene outside the front of the diner, where a shiny black Volkswagen Jetta attempted to park in the spot directly in front of Cole’s truck. After a failed attempt to maneuver the car into the parking place, the driver put it into drive and started to pull back out into the street, but an oncoming car honked and the Jetta halted abruptly, then lurched backward.
The scene turned to slow motion as the back end of the car swiped across the front headlight of Cole’s vintage Chevy and finally came to a stop.
At the sound of the shattered headlight and crunching metal, a collective gasp sounded from the diner patrons near the windows. All eyes were on him.
He darted out onto the sidewalk and looked at the two vehicles, still pressed together, metal entwined with metal.
Cole tried not to think about all the hours he’d spent restoring that truck. It had been months of constant tinkering, but finally, he had something he was proud to drive around. It wouldn’t be easy to replace that headlight, and he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there would be some body work involved too.
He knew it was probably a teenager or a little old lady behind the wheel of that car, and he also knew a small crowd had likely gathered behind him, inside the diner, including—unfortunately—Gemma and dumb Max.
Stay cool, Turner.
The Jetta started moving again, broken glass crunching underneath the tires. Once it was clear, he tried to relax a little, but the driver didn’t stop the car. Instead, the slow motion started up again and he watched in horror as the Jetta smashed into the truck again, this time wedging the back end even deeper into the front of the old Chevy.
Cole rushed out to the curb.
“Stop!” He shouted at the driver and pounded on the trunk of the car. The brake lights flickered as the car stopped moving.
“Are you blind?” He shouted again.
Seconds later, the driver’s side door opened, and Cole waited to see the face of the person who shouldn’t have gotten out of the DMV with a license. A wide-eyed woman whose cheeks were stained with tears emerged from the car.
“I am so sorry,” she said, clearly fighting to regain her composure. “I am so, so sorry.”
He watched as she wiped her face dry with the sleeves of her thin black sweater. The woman’s dark hair was pulled up into a high bun—and not the messy kind of bun so many of his students sported every day. This bun was perfect, tight, not a hair out of place.
Her face, with nearly translucent pale skin, was accented by the slightest bit of color on her lips and cheeks, though the pink seemed to be increasing the longer she stood there, undoubtedly embarrassed.
The tears softened him slightly, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d plowed into his pride and joy. Twice.
“Is this your truck?” She closed the door of the Jetta and rushed around the opposite side of the car.
“Just give me your insurance information,” Cole said sharply.
“Um, it’s a rental,” she said. “But I can pay for your repairs.”
He glared at her. Where had he seen her before?
“Obviously I’m at fault here.” She looked at the kissing cars and sighed. “What a mess.” Then back at him. “I don’t drive very often.”
“Really,” he said dryly.
Under different circumstances—namely, if Gemma hadn’t just returned to town, dredging up a world of hurts he’d yet to sort through or deal with—this whole mess might’ve played out another way. He might’ve laughed it off, told this beautiful stranger he’d forgive the accident if she let him take her to dinner. He might even find a way to be charming—he’d been charming before.
But the circumstances weren’t different. He was moody and angry and she’d busted up the truck he’d been restoring for years.
“I live in the city, and I walk a lot.” She ran a hand over her hair. “Well, I did. I did live in the city. Now, I guess I live here since I recently quit my job and everything.” Her laugh seemed nervous. She met his eyes. “Sorry. I talk when I get nervous,” then under her breath: “Marcia says it’s a terrible habit.”
“Great, whatever,” he said, inwardly grimacing at his own tone. “Can I just get your information so I can go?”