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seventeen-year-old daughter. If girls had looked like that back when he had been in Hancock County High School he never would have headed for the sun and surf of California. Dressing up like a fairy tale princess instead of the wicked witch helped matters. “I’m Cooper Armstrong. I’m the UPS delivery guy and today I noticed the porch post out front was dry-rotted. I just stopped by to brace it up.”
    Felicity grinned at Jenni. “Did you now? How interesting.”
    He could see that his stopping by might not have been the smartest thing to do. His Good Samaritan number was about to get him matched up with a single mother of three. If that wasn’t enough to make him run screaming from the house, nothing was. “Your mother is paying me in goodies.” He held up the baked goods to prove his point.
    A six-foot-one-inch frog entered the kitchen.
    Green rubber flippers smacked the wooden floors. “Come on, babe, one kiss, and I betcha I turn into your Prince Charming,” teased Sam Fischer as he made kissy noises toward Felicity.
    Sam stopped in midpucker. “Wow, you’re Cooper Armstrong.” The frog held out a flipper.
    â€œGuilty, and you’re a frog.” He laughed at the green-faced teenager. This must be Sam Fischer, the smitten boyfriend. Only a teenage boy on the brink of love would be caught wearing a green rubber suit. “Have we met?” He vaguely remembered Eli Fischer, the boy’s father, from twelve years ago. Sam had been barely starting kindergarten.
    â€œI’m Sam Fischer, and I just might be the one to break your record.”
    â€œWhat record?” asked Jenni.
    â€œMost yards per pass in a season,” replied Sam. “In 1993 he ran for an average of twenty-three yards per catch. That record still stands.”
    He couldn’t believe that no one had shattered that record yet. Back in ’93 he could move like the wind and catch just about anything thrown his way. It had been a golden year. “So I take it you’re a wide receiver?”
    â€œNumber 80, same number you wore.”
    â€œSam, is he the guy from the pictures in the showcase you showed me?” Felicity popped a cookie into her mouth and stared at him thoughtfully.
    â€œYep, that’s how I recognized him.” Sam seemed very impressed. “Got any advice?”
    â€œDon’t drop the ball and run like hel”—he glanced at Chase, who was listening attentively to their every word—“heck.”
    Sam laughed and Felicity rolled her eyes.
    â€œHow’s your quarterback?” A wide receiver was only as good as the quarterback would let him be. He had been lucky back in high school to have a great quarterback who could throw a long ball.
    â€œDecent, real decent. He can hit who he’s throwing for as long as he’s not rushed.”
    â€œHow good is your line?”
    â€œGetting better with each game, and they are all juniors, like me. Not too many seniors on the team, so next year we are figuring to shatter a few of those records.” Sam had that certain gleam in his eyes, the gleam that said he lived and breathed football.
    He remembered that gleam. He had seen it in his own mirror when he had been eighteen. “Maybe I’ll come by the next home game.”
    â€œFriday night at seven.” Sam nearly hopped with excitement. “Can I tell Coach Fellman you’ll be there?”
    â€œI guess, but I’ll only be in the stands.” Why would the coach care one way or the other?
    â€œStop by the bench before the game starts. Coach Fellman would love to see you.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œHe talks about you sometimes. He saw you play when he was a kid.”
    â€œFellman? I don’t remember a Fellman back in school.”
    â€œBob Fellman—he was about six years behind you.”
    â€œLittle Bobby?” He vaguely remembered a little kid who used to follow him