From the extensive research she’d done on his knee surgery, Taylor now understood how lucky Jamar was that he could even walk. He’d undergone a massive amount of physical therapy after the operation. Yet, because of the severity of the injury and the threat of reinjuring himself, he was still considered a huge risk for any team to undertake.

But there was still a chance, and that’s all that mattered. All she needed was the slightest bit of hope.

She’d just clicked on another video uploaded by an orthopedic surgeon when she heard Jamar approaching. She twisted on the sofa to find him walking toward her with a huge smile on his face and a casserole dish in his hands.

“I finally found a brussels sprouts recipe I like. Try it.” He held it out to her with the enthusiasm of a kindergartener presenting his teacher with a finger-painting. He was as adorable as one too.

Taylor was bowled over by the memory of waking up next to him in that tent Sunday morning, his arms surrounding her, the front of his body flush against the back of hers. She didn’t know exactly when the spooning had occurred, but if things were different between them, Taylor would be just fine waking up that way for the next few decades.

Don’t go there.

She attempted to ignore his cuteness and those memories as she surveyed the dish. There was twice as much cheese as brussels sprouts.

“You could eat this if today was a cheat day—by the way, you’re out of those for the rest of the week,” she reminded him. “But unless this is a healthy vegan cheese, it won’t work with your diet.”

“I’m not eating fake cheese.”

“Well, say goodbye to these cheesy brussels sprouts.” She grabbed at the casserole dish, but he stretched it aloft, just out of her reach.

He gestured at the screen with his chin. “What are you watching?”

“I’ve been doing more research on your injury.”

“Hmm…that looks like my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Hoffman,” he said.

“I know. He’s pretty fancy,” Taylor said.

“Yeah. The League wanted me to have the best care money could buy.”

“So, was it Dr. Hoffman who told you that you would never play football again?”

“Actually, Dr. Hoffman was optimistic about my chances,” he said as he lifted a brussels sprout from the casserole dish.

Taylor snatched it from his fingers and popped it in her mouth. “Damn, this is good,” she said. She patted the sofa next to her, encouraging him to sit. “Come on. We’ll just add more time to today’s workout. And if Dr. Hoffman was so optimistic, why aren’t you playing?”