“Noah, Tracy, good to see you again,” Brooke said when they reached their row. She and Cade took the open seats next to them, and everyone made pleasant—even if still a little awkward—chitchat. Noah asked Cade about work, and Brooke saw the look of pride on his face when Cade talked about his new responsibilities as acting U.S. attorney, a transition that had taken effect earlier in the week when Cade’s boss, Cameron, had gone into labor in the middle of a Potbelly Sandwich Shop—and, nine hours later, had delivered a healthy baby boy named William “Will” James Pallas.

Not too long after Brooke and Cade had arrived, the game started. And from that moment on, all work chatter stopped, the outside world ceased to exist, and football became life itself.

As Brooke sat in those stands that night, she was reminded of something Ian had told her—while watching a game, we could hang out and yell and cheer and just be a father and son again. Cade and Noah might not have been at that point, but talking about football certainly helped bridge the gap between them. At times, in fact, they actually seemed to be having fun together.

And beyond that, wow, did she ever see a new side of Cade that night. He paced, he was on his feet nearly the entire time, and he had this really intense game face that was . . . kind of hot.

Late in the third quarter, Zach got tackled four yards behind the line of scrimmage, and apparently this was the last straw for Cade.

“A reverse on fourth and one? Come on!” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “The defense hasn’t stopped a single slant pass to Zach all night. Or if you’re going to run the ball, at least go up the middle.” He gestured to the field. “Hell, I could coach these kids better than that.”

“Maybe you should, then.”

The words came from Noah, sitting next to Cade.

Cade half-chuckled at that. “Yeah, right.” He looked over at Noah and then pulled back. “You’re being serious?”

Noah shrugged casually. “Just seems like you’re getting a little twitchy up here in these stands.”

“I’m just excited about the game, like everyone else here.” Cade threw Brooke a look. Can you believe this guy?

“Actually, you do seem a little twitchy,” she said.

He glared. “Et tu, Ms. Parker? I’m a prosecutor. I don’t have time to coach a football team.”

“Maybe not full-time,” Noah said. “But I’m sure that any Chicago public school would be more than happy to have a former Rose Bowl champ come in occasionally and talk to the team.”

Cade fell quiet at that, and Brooke could see the spark of interest in his eyes. She smiled to herself, thinking that Noah may have been onto something.

Perhaps it was time for Cade Morgan to get back on a football field.

* * *

AFTER THE GAME, Cade found a parking spot on a side street a few blocks from Brooke’s place. Hand in hand, they leisurely walked in the direction of her apartment.

She looked over at Cade, curious about something. “I saw you talking to Zach’s head coach in the parking lot. Congratulating him on his victory, I assume?”

He smiled, busted. “Okay, okay. Noah’s idea about coaching stuck with me. It’s no big deal—I’m just going to work with the quarterbacks for a couple of hours on Tuesday afternoons. Assuming there aren’t any emergencies I need to handle at work.”

“Will the kids have to call you ‘Coach Morgan’?”

“They will if they don’t want to run sprints and do bag drills the entire practice.”

Brooke chuckled at that. Then, out of the blue, she remembered something. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you this. You’ll never guess what they served for breakfast on my flight out to Charlotte. A Denver omelette.”

Cade laughed. “Well, they are quite tasty.” He glanced at her sideways, his tone coy. “Now, did you ask if they always serve Denver omelettes, because that’s their thing, or if they tailor the breakfast to the specific passenger?”

“Ha, ha. You had that coming. Do I even want to know how many women before me enjoyed one of Cade Morgan’s Denver omelettes?”

“I can tell you who the last one will ever be.”

Brooke paused, quip raring to go, when the significance of those words hit her.

Oh.

Well, then.

She tugged Cade closer, then stood up on her toes and kissed him. “Nice save.”

They linked their fingers together, walking along Michigan Avenue, passing through the tree-lined courtyard adjacent to the historic Water Tower. It was a gorgeous late-summer night, with a warm breeze coming off the lake.

“Should we grab a late dinner?” Cade asked. “It’s Friday night, but I’m sure there’s some restaurant filled with over-caffeinated jackrabbits who would be more than happy to find a table for the illustrious Brooke Parker.”

“True. Although, it’s so nice outside tonight. Maybe instead we can find a wine bar with outdoor seating.”

“We could take my carriage there, Cinderella,” Cade joked, pointing in the direction of the horse-drawn carriages lined along the Water Tower courtyard, waiting with their tops down for passengers willing to shell out for a thirty-minute ride.

Brooke chuckled. Romantic, yes, but that was a little too touristy for their tastes.

Then it struck her.

“I just realized something,” she said. “We are one of those couples, walking hand in hand along Michigan Avenue, with no plans at all.” For two years she’d watched everyone else from her office window.