Freya - The First Spark I didn't Expect.

The next two weeks blurred into one long stretch of responsibility. Early mornings bled into late nights, each day folding into the next until I couldn’t tell one from the other.

Between bakery shifts, studying for my theory exam, and training, my life felt packed to the point of bursting. Yet beneath the exhaustion, a small thread of satisfaction held me together—like maybe I could actually juggle everything if I just kept moving.

Still, the weight didn’t let up. Some days it felt like it sat on my sternum, pressing down until I had to remind myself to breathe.

Thankfully, most of the theory exam was online, which made it marginally easier, but Grandma needed more help lately, too. I found myself picking up tasks I’d never bothered with before—managing orders, finalising details with suppliers, answering calls. Tedious. Necessary. A reminder that the world didn’t stop because I was stressed.

Later that afternoon, after finishing my bakery shift, I walked to The Old Mill with a tray of fresh rolls and pastries. The air outside was crisp, my shoulders already heavy from the long day, but delivering the baked goods felt grounding, as if I were contributing something small but real.

After dropping off the boxes in the kitchen, I drifted toward Kaiden’s office. Nathaniel had mentioned his transfer was complete and that he’d be joining the Midland Third Division with him next week. I’d heard bits about Kaiden’s life—always moving, growing up in a military family, never staying anywhere long enough to belong.

The thought made something soft twist inside my chest.

Peeking through the slightly open door, I saw him for the first time in a suit. It startled me.

Kaiden looked different—focused, composed, almost too sharp for this old building with its creaky floors and vintage frames. He sat behind the large wooden desk, papers stacked on either side, eyes narrowing as he scribbled notes in a folder. The intensity suited him.

I watched him longer than I meant to, drawn to the way he leaned into the work as it mattered.

I finally knocked lightly on the doorframe. “Looks like you’ve settled in.” Kaiden looked up. His expression shifted immediately—from serious to warm, from focused to something easier. “Feels like I’ve glued myself to this chair,” he said, leaning back with a slow stretch.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Don’t forget to take breaks. You should stop by the bakery. Our coffee destroys the stuff they serve here.”

My eyes drifted around the office, taking in the vintage frames, old team photos, dusty awards—until Kaiden’s voice tugged my attention back.

“So,” he said, tone more direct, “are you still looking for a co-trainer?” I blinked. “Are you interested?”

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t.”

There was no arrogance, no subtle push—just a simple, clear intention. I tried to read him, but his expression gave nothing away. That fascinated me more than it should have.

“Great,” I said, feeling my smile creep wider than I intended. “We train Tuesday and Thursday at 17:30. Get there half an hour early so we can set up.”

“I’ll be there,” he said. Then, with an unexpected ease, “Should I pick you up?”

I waved him off. “I jog to the club. It’s practically part of my warm-up.”

I turned to leave so he could get back to work, but paused. “Did Nathaniel tell you about the get-together after the games on Saturday?”

Kaiden held my gaze for a beat—long enough to feel weighted, but not uncomfortable. “Yeah. Sounds like a good way to unwind.”

Match day brought chaos.

Since moving up a league, Eldermoor had become a magnet for out-of-towners. Streets flooded with unfamiliar cars. Tommy stood near the entrance, scribbling license plates into his notebook with that permanent frown etched across his forehead.

“We built bigger bike storage,” he muttered as I walked by, “and nobody uses it.” He wasn’t wrong—we’d spent months trying to encourage members to bike to games. Slowly, painfully slowly, people were adapting. Barely.

I left him grumbling and met Gemma and Ashley at the entrance. We always attended home matches—supporting the club wasn’t just a duty, it was a tradition.

We slid into our reserved seats, the perfect vantage point.

“Did you and Nate talk after the last game?” Ashley asked carefully, the tone of someone who already regretted asking.

“Sort of,” I answered, eyes fixed forward. The truth was a mess. Nathaniel and I had agreed to pause the conversation until after the game… and then we never got around to it. “Not really.”

Gemma snorted. “I don’t get the big deal. You’re both hot for each other—just enjoy it and see where it goes.”

I forced a laugh, wishing it were that simple. Wishing I wasn’t tangled in feelings I didn’t have the capacity for.

My attention snapped back to the pitch at the 30-minute mark.

Nathaniel and Kaiden moved like twin storms. Nate’s precision and experience sharpened every step; Kaiden brought something else entirely—raw hunger, relentless energy.

Then Kaiden broke free.

The stadium held its breath as he lined up a shot. A second later, the ball slammed into the net. The crowd erupted.

I felt a swirl of admiration—Kaiden wasn’t just fitting in. He was elevating the team.

The second half was chaos in motion—Leo with a save so impossible his youth team screamed loud enough to shake the stands, Markus and Jay carving through defenders like they were made of paper, and then Nathaniel—my Nathaniel—launching into a scorpion kick so outrageous it stole my breath. It slammed into the net with a metallic crack that rattled the air.

Fans exploded. Eldermoor had done it.

Kaiden caught my eye across the pitch and grinned—broad, bright, triumphant. He was going to make this season unforgettable.

Inside, the clubhouse buzzed like a festival. People dragged chairs from everywhere—locker rooms, hallways, storage closets—to make room. Volunteers raced around with trays, taking orders, wiping tables, and shouting to be heard above the crowd.

The girls and I joined in—clearing plates, fetching drinks, laughing with supporters.

On my way back to the kitchen with a tray of glasses, I caught sight of Kaiden leaning against a wall, one foot propped up casually. He scanned the room—and somehow, without me saying a word, his gaze landed right on me.

Our eyes met. A split-second connection. A quiet spark buried under the noise and chaos.

He smiled—soft, knowing—and I found myself returning it instantly.

He slipped through the crowd easily, his height cutting through the mass until he stood in front of me. I tilted my head up, but he leaned down, levelling our gaze.

Told you scoring would help,” I said with a small smile, “Everyone’s talking about your goal.

Kaiden didn’t wait before pushing further. “Did you think it was amazing?”

I smirked. “I’ve seen better. I’ve scored better.”

His laugh was rich and unrestrained, his canines flashing sharply.

“From what I’ve heard,” he teased, “you’re more of a playmaker than a finisher.”

His smirk lingered, stealing my breath for half a second—my comeback swallowed whole by the roar of the crowd behind us.

And for the first time in a long while, something new flickered in my chest.

❤️ Maliyka ❤️