The next two weeks blurred into one long stretch of responsibility. Early mornings bled into late nights, each day folding into the next until I couldn’t tell one from the other. Between bakery shifts, studying for my theory exam, and training, my life felt packed to the point of bursting. Yet beneath the exhaustion, a thin thread of satisfaction held me together—like maybe I could juggle everything if I just kept moving.

Still, the weight didn’t let up. Some days it pressed against my sternum so hard I had to remind myself to breathe.

Thankfully, most of the theory exam was online, which made it marginally easier. But Grandma needed more help lately too, so I picked up tasks I’d never bothered with before—managing orders, finalizing supplier details, answering calls. Tedious. Necessary. A reminder that the world didn’t stop just because I was stressed.

Later that afternoon, after finishing my bakery shift, I walked to The Old Mill with a tray of fresh rolls and pastries. The air outside was crisp, my shoulders heavy from the long day, but delivering the goods felt grounding—like contributing something small but real.

After dropping off the boxes in the kitchen, I drifted toward Kaiden’s office. Nathaniel had mentioned his transfer was complete and that he’d be joining the Midland Third Division with him next week. I’d heard bits about Kaiden’s life—always moving, growing up in a military family, never staying anywhere long enough to belong. The thought made something soft twist inside my chest.

Peeking through the slightly open door, I saw him for the first time in a suit.

It startled me.

Kaiden looked different—focused, composed, almost too sharp for this old building with its creaky floors and vintage frames. He sat behind the wooden desk, papers stacked around him, jaw set as he scribbled notes. The intensity suited him.

I watched him longer than I meant to, drawn to how he leaned into the work like it mattered.

Finally, I knocked lightly on the doorframe. “Looks like you’ve settled in.”

Kaiden looked up. His expression shifted instantly—from serious to warm. “Feels like I’ve glued myself to this chair,” he said, stretching back slowly.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Don’t forget to take breaks. You should stop by the bakery. Our coffee destroys the stuff they serve here.”

My eyes drifted around the office—vintage frames, old team photos, dusty awards—until his voice tugged me back.

“So,” he said, tone more pointed, “are you still looking for a co-trainer?”

I blinked. “Are you interested?”

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t.”

No arrogance. No hidden angle. Just intention. Clear and simple. And that fascinated me more than it should have.

“Great,” I said, my smile wider than I intended. “We train Tuesday and Thursday at 17:30. Get there half an hour early so we can set up.”

“I’ll be there.” Then, with unexpected ease: “Should I pick you up?”

I waved him off. “I jog to the club. It’s practically part of my warm-up.”

I turned to leave so he could get back to work, but paused. “Did Nathaniel tell you about the get-together after the games on Saturday?”

Kaiden held my gaze—steady, weighted, but not uncomfortable. “Yeah. Sounds like a good way to unwind.”

Match day brought chaos.

Since moving up a league, Eldermoor had become a magnet for out-of-towners. Streets flooded with unfamiliar cars. Tommy stood at the entrance, scribbling license plates into his notebook with that permanent frown etched across his forehead.

“We built bigger bike storage,” he muttered as I passed, “and nobody uses it.”

He wasn’t wrong—we’d spent months encouraging people to bike to games. Slowly, painfully slowly, they were adapting. Barely.

I left him grumbling and met Gemma and Ashley at the entrance. We always attended home matches—supporting the club wasn’t just duty, it was tradition.

We slid into our reserved seats, the perfect vantage point.

“Did you and Nate talk after the last game?” Ashley asked carefully, voice soft with regret for even asking.

“Sort of,” I answered, eyes forward. Truth was, Nathaniel and I had agreed to talk after the game… and then we never did. “Not really.”

Gemma snorted. “I don’t get the big deal. You’re both hot for each other—just enjoy it and see where it goes.”

I forced a laugh, wishing it were that simple. Wishing I wasn’t tangled in feelings I didn’t have the capacity for.

My attention snapped to the pitch at the 30-minute mark.

Nathaniel and Kaiden moved like twin storms. Nate’s precision sharpened every step. Kaiden brought something else—raw hunger.

Then Kaiden broke free.

The stadium held its breath.
He lined up his shot.

A second later, the ball slammed into the net.

The crowd erupted.

Nathaniel slapped him a low five—subtle, but charged.

Admiration swirled in my chest. Kaiden wasn’t just fitting in.

He was elevating us.

The second half was chaos in motion—Leo with an impossible save that made his youth team scream, Markus and Jay slicing through defenders, and then Nathaniel—my Nathaniel—launching into a scorpion kick so outrageous it stole my breath. It slammed into the net with a metallic crack that vibrated the stands.

Fans exploded.

Eldermoor had done it.

Kaiden caught my eye across the pitch and grinned—broad, bright, triumphant.

He was going to make this season unforgettable.

Inside, the clubhouse buzzed like a festival. People dragged chairs from everywhere—locker rooms, hallways, storage closets—to make space. Volunteers raced around with trays, taking orders, wiping tables, shouting over the noise.

The girls and I joined in—clearing plates, fetching drinks, laughing with supporters.

On my way back to the kitchen with a tray of glasses, I caught sight of Kaiden leaning against a wall, one foot propped up casually. He scanned the room—and somehow, without me saying a word, his eyes locked onto mine.

Our eyes met.

A split-second connection.
A quiet spark beneath the noise and chaos.

He smiled—soft, knowing. I returned it without hesitation.

He slipped through the crowd easily, his height cutting a path until he stood in front of me. I tilted my head up, but he leaned down, meeting my gaze level.

“Told you scoring would help,” I said, trying not to smile too wide. “Everyone’s talking about your goal.”

Kaiden didn’t wait to push further. “Did you think it was amazing?”

I smirked. “I’ve seen better. I’ve scored better.”

His laugh rolled out—rich, unrestrained—his canines flashing sharply.

“From what I’ve heard,” he teased, “you’re more of a playmaker than a finisher.”

His smirk lingered, stealing my breath for a half-second—my comeback swallowed whole by the roar of the crowd behind us.

And for the first time in a long while…
something new flickered in my chest.