Cameron’s mouth bent, one of the corners moving upward and giving way to a smirk.
Even with all that facial hair, it was obvious. Visible. Right there, on display. And he didn’t even look amused. No, he looked…
It was in that moment that my memory decided to throw back at me something he’d said.
I only play when there’s something worth winning.
Oh God. Oh no.
Had I… just given a highly competitive man like Cameron Caldani a reason to take me down?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Adalyn
Goat yoga.
With baby goats.
And Cameron Caldani. In workout pants and a skintight long-sleeved thermal.
This was the first activity on Green Oak’s fall brochure—or how I imagined Cameron referred to it in the privacy of his mind: small-town activities that will guarantee Adalyn’s demise. That was why I knew the brochure like the back of my hand. Just like with the Green Warriors, I was on the quest of never being blindsided again, so I could recite every detail of every activity scheduled from this weekend to the end of fall.
Number one being Green Oak’s Goat Happy Hour, referred to as GOGHH, taking place the last Sunday of every month at noon in the barn located on the south entrance of the Vasquez farm.
My quest also included the man I was up against, so now, I also knew everything public there was to know about Cameron Caldani. Born in the outskirts of London, to an English mother and an Italian father. Signed his first contract at the age of seventeen with a small team and flourished as one of the best goalkeepers in the Premier League. He went on to play for clubs based in London, Manchester, and Glasgow and was called twice for England’s national team early on in his career. Five years ago, when his prominence started fizzling out, he made the jump across the Atlantic and came to the US to play for the L.A. Stars. Until a couple of months ago, when he announced—in a rather out-of-the-blue manner—that he was hanging the gloves. For every team, he’s worn the number thirteen kit.
The latter I’d already known. Number thirteen was a rare choice for a keeper, but who I was to judge?
I was prepared. I’d even run to Outdoor Moe’s and gotten myself suitable clothes for yoga. Leggings and the only tank top he’d had in stock in a women’s size. It had SOMEONE IN GREEN OAK LOVES ME printed on the front, which didn’t ring exactly true, but I couldn’t come to GOGHH in a suit. I had, however, come here in heels. But it was okay. This was meant to be done barefoot—I assumed. And I was equipped with data, knowledge, leggings, and a shirt with a dubious advertisement. I was ready to show Diane and everyone in Green Oak the civil, responsible, and absolutely not unhinged person I was.
One of the baby goats bleated, startling me into the present and making my eyes gravitate to my right.
Okay, perhaps I wasn’t completely prepared. But I don’t think anyone could have been for the sight of Cameron Caldani standing barefoot on a pink mat, with the sun shining down on his outlined pecs.
Not even the dozens of pictures I’d browsed.
Accidentally.
Sort of.
Turned out, Cameron was on the reserved side of the spectrum where players were concerned. No major ad campaigns, barely any interviews, and hardly a picture of him with anything that wasn’t the full uniform, training gear, or a suit. There wasn’t a single picture of Cameron shirtless—which I hadn’t been looking for—that could have prepared me for that pec outline I was seeing right now.
With a shake of my head, I faced forward, spotting María in the distance as she walked in the direction of the group that had gathered for GOGHH. She was carrying a goat in her arms. One that wasn’t as young as the ones currently bouncing and swirling around the mats and definitely too big for María’s arms. Her eyes found me, and she tried to wave a hand at me, only managing to drop the goat to the ground.
I heard—and made the effort to ignore—Cameron’s grunt from my side. Exactly where sneaky Josie, who happened to moonlight as yoga instructor in addition to café owner and mayor, had placed him. This is what we always do at GOGHH, she’d said with a twitching eye. I personally assign all the spots. She’d been full of it.
“Hi, Miss Adalyn!” María squealed, suddenly by my side. “Miss Josie doesn’t let me participate in adult activities, not even when they’re right here on my farm, but I wanted to introduce you to Brandy.”
The goat at María’s feet bleated.
Oh. “Brandy,” I said. “The six-month-old goat who is blind and suffers from anxiety.”