Page 12 of We'll Meet Again
“The kit boy.”
“Oh,” she said. “He just left.”
“Well, this does give me the opportunity to thank you again for showing me around yesterday,” he said. “I really do appreciate you taking the time.”
She blinked, unsure what his deal was. He was thanking her? She had been nothing short of horrid to him from the moment he stepped foot into the conference room. Not only was he thanking her, he appeared genuinely concerned that she was upset. He dug into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved an honest-to-God handkerchief. Her eyes went wide as he handed it to her.
“Wh…what’s this?”
“You ain’t ever seen a handkerchief before?” he said.
“Who the hell carries them anymore?” she shot back. “This isn’t a bloody Jane Austen novel!”
“Would it be so bad if it was?” he said with a smile. “Just take it. I’ll be bad hurt if you don’t.”
Her eyes flickered between the gift and his face as she fought the urge to correct the grammar of a phrase like “bad hurt.” A fleeting concern that this was a prank crossed her mind as well, but his eyes were too earnest. And a rather lovely shade of green, she realized, now that she was really looking at them. Tentatively, she took the handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes and nose, which betrayed her lingering emotion.
“You’re being kind,” she said thickly. “And I don’t deserve it.”
“Everybody deserves kindness.”
“No, seriously, I’ve been so mean to you.”
“I’m sure you were just dealing with your own things,” he said with a shrug. “Like you are right now. And that’s, y’know, not my pig, not my farm, there's no reason for me to take it personally.”
She met his gaze. “Doesn’t anything bother you?”
“Well, sure,” he said. “A beautiful woman in tears bothers me plenty.”
She felt like he’d just sucked the air from her lungs. He thought she was beautiful? When he was the one who looked like one of those Greek statues in the museums? Seriously, the man was an Adonis. And he was so nice… She stopped herself once more, remembering the frustration the last footballer brought her. She dropped her gaze to the floor and wiped at her nose with the handkerchief.
“What did you need Craig for?”
“Boots, actually,” he said. “They gave me the wrong size. Something got lost in translation, I guess, but these are no bigger n’ a minnow in a fishing pond.”
He held up the boots, and she had to admit they were comically small. They might have been a large children’s size, but they absolutely wouldn’t do for a grown man.
She chuckled. “Well, perhaps I can help you.”
“It’d be mighty kind of you,” he said.
Trying not to find that endearing, she helped him figure out his UK shoe size, and they found him a pair that would work for training. For a few minutes, at least, she forgot about Tony and her wounded ego. The bruise was there, but she would poke at it later.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, lacing up appropriately sized shoes. “Hopefully I’m not too late for my first day.”
“You’re the new star,” she reminded him. “They can wait for you.”
He shook his head. “Nah, a player is only as good as the people supporting him.” He paused for a beat. “Fat lotta good I’d be if I didn’t have a defense and midfielders that can get me to the goal in the first place.”
She sighed. “If only everyone was so appreciative.”
If she were to put it in football terms, Tony put the ball in the back of the net, but nine out of ten times, Billie delivered the cross that made it possible. After a grueling run of dodging tackles and turning out of danger.
Ethan’s eyes were fixed on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine,” she assured him. “I will be, anyway.” She held the handkerchief back out to him. “Here, I’m finished.”
“You keep it,” he said, gently wrapping her fingers around it with his own. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she had to stop herself from closing her eyes to the warmth of his touch. “See you around, neighbor.”