Balancé los pasteles calientes en mi mano izquierda y la botella fría de jugo de frutas en la derecha, teniendo cuidado de no tropezar con el camino irregular fuera de nuestro porche delantero. Mis gafas seguían deslizándose por el puente de mi nariz, así que me las acomodé de nuevo con un rápido empujón, tratando de no derramar nada.

—Ten cuidado, Autumn —llamó mamá desde la puerta, su voz teñida de ese suave humor que siempre parecía tener cuando me veía preocuparme por Damian. Estaba apoyada contra el marco, con los brazos cruzados, una sonrisa cómplice curvando sus labios.

—Lo haré —dije, intentando no sonar demasiado emocionada—. No tardaré.

—Dile que le mando saludos —añadió.

Sonreí con timidez, sintiendo cómo mis mejillas se calentaban. —Está bien.

Al darme la vuelta, empecé a caminar por el camino con un poco más de entusiasmo del que pretendía mostrar. El aire estaba cálido, cargando con débiles aromas de hierba y tierra calentada por el sol. Cada paso más cerca del campo de la escuela hacía que mi mente repitiera el pensamiento una y otra vez, lo feliz que estaría cuando viera las galletas.

No cualquier galleta, sus favoritas. Las que le había horneado el verano pasado cuando pasábamos casi todas las tardes juntos. Suaves, masticables, con la cantidad justa de chispas de chocolate para hacerlo sonreír de esa manera infantil y reconfortante. Había estado enterrada en libros de texto durante semanas, tratando de prepararme para los exámenes parciales, y no había ido a verlo jugar en casi el mismo tiempo. Me decía a mí misma que era porque estaba ocupada, pero la verdad era… a veces me mantenía alejada porque verlo allí afuera, con toda esa energía y confianza, me hacía doler de formas que no podía explicar.

El campo apareció a la vista, una amplia extensión de verde interrumpida por figuras que corrían de un lado a otro. Damian era imposible de no reconocer. Incluso desde aquí, podía decir que era él, por la forma en que se movía, la seguridad en sus pasos, el cabello oscuro cayendo sobre sus ojos mientras perseguía el balón con concentración decidida.

Me dirigí hacia las gradas, eligiendo un asiento cerca del medio. Sentándome, coloqué los pasteles y el jugo a mi lado, con la mirada fija en él. El sonido de las zapatillas golpeando el césped, los gritos agudos entre compañeros y el ocasional silbato del entrenador se mezclaban en un ritmo que hacía que mi pecho se sintiera más ligero.

Damian tenía ese efecto en mí.

Jugaron un rato más antes de que un silbato señalara un descanso. Lo vi disminuir el paso, limpiándose el sudor con el brazo. Comenzó a dirigirse hacia el borde del campo, los hombros caídos con ese tipo de cansancio que viene de darlo todo.

Sin pensar, llevé mis manos a la boca y grité: —¡Damian!

He jerked his head up, and the moment his eyes met mine, the weariness in his expression vanished. A broad, warm smile spread across his face. And then he was running, heads turning, but he ignored them.

I stood up, my heart beating too fast, and went to meet him, our steps quickening until we were both laughing breathlessly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, still smiling, still catching his breath. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

"I didn't think I'd make it," I admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "But... I changed my mind."

"I'm so glad you did," she said, her smile softening into something that made my stomach flutter. "I've missed seeing you here."

"You've been training hard," I replied, nodding toward the field. "I didn't want to distract you before the competition."

Her gaze shifted to the bag in my hand, and her eyes lit up. "Wait... are they...?"

I handed it to her, feeling shy under the sudden intensity of her excitement. "Your favorite cookies. And fruit juice. I thought you might need a little energy."

She let out a delighted moan, grabbing the bottle and taking a long swig before even sitting down on the steps. Then she opened the container of cookies and bit into one with exaggerated pleasure.

"Oh, wow," she murmured with her mouth full. "These are perfect. You've ruined me for store-bought cookies forever."

I laughed, sitting down next to him. "That was my plan all along."

For the next few minutes, we just talked—nothing deep, nothing extraordinary, but it all felt comfortable. We chatted about his training schedule, my exam preparation, the ridiculous prank someone had played on one of his teammates. Every now and then, he'd say something that made my heart flutter, like the way he said, "You always know exactly what I need," before taking another sip of juice.

I kept those small, hidden reactions where he couldn't see them. He didn't need to know how my pulse quickened every time his knee brushed against mine, or how I noticed the sunlight turning his hair into golden strands.

Eventually, the coach's voice echoed across the field, calling them back. Damian groaned, getting up reluctantly.

"See you later?" he asked.

I nodded, smiling. "Go win your game."

He gave me a quick, almost impulsive slap on the head—something he'd done since we were kids—and trotted back to the others.

I stayed where I was, drawing up my legs, and watched him return to the game as if he'd never left. The rest of the world faded away as I followed his every move, the way he evaded defenders, the controlled precision of his passes, the sheer determination on his face.

Near the end of the game, I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, completely absorbed. That's when I saw movement at the far end of the field—not on the court, but farther away, near the edge where the road curved toward the parking lot.

At first, it was just a silhouette against the bright afternoon light, walking with unhurried steps but with an unmistakable air of purpose. Something about the way it moved caught my attention, drawing me away from the game.

He came closer and I could see who he was.

My fingers closed slightly around the edge of the bleacher seat.

What was she doing here?