“The city of brotherly love does not, in fact, love any of its athletes,” she said. “Maybe I should be going around scowling on your behalf instead. Or I can use the pepper spray I carry. That works just as well, if not better.”

I turned my attention to the giant TV to give my brain a second to catch up. In school, the nicer Tabitha was to me, the more nervous I got, stammering through one-word answers to her friendly questions. But while she was off filming movies or whatever, I was stuck in a fucking rut, hanging around the neighborhood bar with nothin’ to show for it.

I wasn’t embarrassed by my injury or my decision to retire. I was embarrassed because I wasn’t doing shit and I knew it.

“It’s all fine though,” I said, hoping I sounded casual and not like I was totally lying. “It was a great career while it lasted. I’m happy.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m so glad to hear it. Am I embarrassing myself if I admit that I’ve never seen you compete before? Like seen any of your videos or anything?”

I kept my face impassive. “Wait. You’re not my biggest fan?”

“Biggest fan?”

“That’s what I heard around the block.”

She went still. “How is that possible? I don’t…really…even…watch sports?”

I sniffed. “Your dad told me you never missed a match. Used to make me feel proud, knowin’ you were out there, watching me. That I had a hometown fan who believed in me.”

Those gorgeous eyes went wide as saucers. “My dad said what?”

I stayed silent.

Her mouth scrunched up to the side. “I’m so sorry, there must be some mistake. Are you mad? Please don’t be mad. I’ll go home and watch them all on YouTube. I don’t know what my dad was talking about. You know, he’s over the grill all day at the diner and there’s, like, a lot of fumes and stuff. Maybe it’s affecting his memory? Oh my God this is next-level awkward.”

I managed not to smile at her rambling, but just barely. She was adorable. A word I never used. But I did maintain eye contact until she realized what I was doing. Dropping her face into her hands, she laughed, the sound muffled. Then she fluttered her fingers to her red cheeks.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Should I tell your dad you’re concerned about those grill fumes?”

She tipped her head back on another laugh loud enough to garner a few stares. But those same stares saw me and immediately dipped away. I didn’t care. This golden feeling of making Tabitha Tyler laugh was brand new. And wouldn’t last. I knew not to put much faith in it beyond the present moment.