Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

I hop down from the bed without switching on the light. Though Ellie’s room is on the opposite end of the floor, I don’t want to wake her when I open my door.

I step into the corridor expecting darkness and silence. Instead, a faint light oozes upstairs, and the suction noise of a closing fridge hits my ears.

Is Ellie awake too?

I hurry down the stairs, taking the steps by two and putting some extra thump into each movement to alert Ellie of my presence.

Devon told me that his sister developed an interest in self-defense after one of her neighbors got mugged last year. If I know Ellie well—and after our week together, I think I still actually do—then she not only purchased silly gadgets to ensure her security but also watched countless YouTube videos on martial arts.

If I startle her, I could end up with a fork flying in my direction in her attempt to imitate a ninja.

However, as I turn the corner to the kitchen, I realize my efforts to draw attention to myself were in vain.

Ellie stands at the wood-paneled island with her back to me. Earphones hang down her shoulders, and she’s humming “Cotton Eye Joe” softly. Her elbows lift and drop as if she’s chopping something, while her feet drift from left to right on her mother’s vintage rug.

I stop and stare at her.

It’s not only my eyes that are taking her in but also my skin. It might sound weird, but I feel as if my pores open up to absorb her joyful energy, transporting it into each of my molecules. The uneasiness that drew me to grab a snack dissipates, leaving space for a far more pleasurable sensation—utter calmness, almost as if the sight of her has pushed me into a hurricane’s eye where, despite the twirling menace, there’s peace.

Ellie bobs her head, and her dark curls create scintillating reflections on the cobalt blue cabinets.

I watch the playful game of shadows, and a smile makes its way to my lips as I recall how the unusual shade for her parents’ kitchen cupboards got picked.

It was two nights after Devon’s and my senior prom. The Griffins invited me for dinner to celebrate their son and me moving away to college. I joined gladly because Mom had a charity meeting, and I didn’t want to be stuck home with my dad.

Ellie’s parents were bickering about what pantry color was the best for their newly refurbished kitchen. Her mom wanted beige to counterbalance the already present wooden surfaces. Her father defended the raw maple, claiming that “in rustic style, you either go big or go home.”

Devon had chuckled at their quibble, calling it “stupid,” but then Ellie had stepped in. She’d made her parents take turns explaining why they wanted what they wanted and then found the perfect compromise for them—a color that would remind her mom of the ocean she loved and be manly enough to complement her father’s John Wayne movie-style, buttery leather stools.

I should have known back then what a terrific therapist Ellie would become. She’s a natural at understanding people and helping them understand themselves.

Could this be the reason merely glancing at her makes me feel centered?

Ellie picks up her cutting board and turns. When her eyes zoom in on me, she flinches. Her knife, together with the carrot and cucumber chunks, stumbles to the floor.

“Ouch!” she exclaims.

I dart to her. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“It’s nothing serious.” She lowers the cutting board to the counter, then pulls out her earphones and mp3 player and stashes them too. She squats down to observe her feet.

I kneel next to her.

Ellie was right. The knife made only a minor scratch on her left pinky toe. Still, the faint red line on her skin makes my stomach clench with guilt.

“I’m so sorry I startled you,” I murmur, brushing my thumb on the bare skin of her foot. “Shall I bandage it?”

Ellie’s breath hitches, and she clears her throat. “One would think that as a quarterback, you’ve seen your share of worse injuries. It’s nothing. it’s not even bleeding.”

She picks up the knife and straightens.

I jump up, too, and point at the vegetables on the floor that are cut as neatly as if she’d marked them with a ruler. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“Not exactly. I fell asleep, but when I woke, my stomach rumbled.” She wrinkles her nose and glances down at her belly. “So I made myself some healthy nibbles.”

“That’s because you didn’t finish your soup at the party in your effort of cheering me up.” I grin at her.

“You noticed that, huh?” she asks, blushing. “I thought I wasn’t that obvious when I invited you to dance.”

“You were, but I appreciated it.” I wink at her. “Plus, it was lots of fun, too.”

Ellie smiles. “It was, wasn’t it? I think I’ll look for a place in Phoenix to line dance and go even without my roomies.”

“Hope and Cora are not country fans?”

She shakes her head. “Hope is wooden-legged and knows it. While Cora…well, I suppose that folk music reminds her of her childhood, and as far as she is concerned, anything that brings up memories from that era is off-limits.”

“So I’m not the only one with a screwed-up childhood. That’s a relief.” I chuckle.

Ellie’s eyes flick to mine. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then bites her lip.

“Okay, spit it out,” I say to her. “I know you have your opinion about what I should do regarding Dad. I’d like to hear it.”

She backs up to the counter and puts her hands on the granite surface. She leans back, supporting her weight on her palms. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

She nods. “Fine. I think it’s time for you to put the past where it belongs.”

“So you agree with my mother.”

I’m not surprised. Deep down, I knew Ellie would have said this. Just like Mom’s, Ellie’s heart is filled with hope, generosity, and