The Love at First Sight Box Set

if they were a day, took it upon themselves to be the unofficial greeting committee for every activity held at the community center.
My head jerked up when I heard him say her last name.
She pulled her chair to a stop, twisting it as she did to face the two men. "Yes, sir."
He nodded, swiping at his forehead covered by the red hat I'd swear he'd had since the day he was born. "I knew your grandma. She was good people even though she always wore that ugly purple hat to church."
Merl leaned in, cupping a hand to his ear. "Which hat?"
"The purple one," Earl bellowed. "With the yellow bird on the front."
The two men nodded while Joss waited patiently. Or impatiently, as her fingers tapped rapidly along the top curve of her wheels.
"I can't say I've seen the hat," she said.
"It didn't come with the house?" Merl asked. "We heard she left you and your ma that house. Must have the hat in there somewhere."
"Not that I've seen. But I'll try to find it for you if you'd like."
Earl tapped the side of his red hat with a gnarled finger, chuckling hard enough to spur a coughing fit. "Sure, sure, you've got Ruby's sense of humor too."
I was far enough away that I had to strain to hear her response, but she delivered it with a slight smile on her face—her favored facial expression, as I'd learned.
"I'll have to take your word on that one. I didn't know her well, but I've heard a lot of good things about her."
Earl tsked, looking her up and down. "Shame about your legs."
I rolled my eyes because I'd heard them say it to just about every person on the team.
"Heard you got a cold," Merl said loudly, like she couldn't hear him. Everyone in the gym could hear him. "Got a cold and they just stopped working, isn't that right?"
She gave another small, tight smile. "Something like that."
It wasn't a cold, I wanted to shout. Not that I'd asked Coach. (I'd absolutely asked Coach.) Or googled her diagnoses, transverse myelitis—paralysis caused by an infection that triggers inflammation of the spinal cord—a dozen or so times in the past two weeks. (I'd googled it the night I saw her for the first time.)
Earl glanced at her over his thick glasses. "Looks like you must've been a helluva basketball player before it happened." He clucked his tongue. "Shame. A crying shame, that is."
Jocelyn laughed under her breath, snagging a basketball from the ground next to the table where they sat. It spun up on her finger like it was held by a string. "I still am, sir. It's the damnedest thing, but you don't actually need your legs to shoot perfect threes."
I barked out a laugh, and her head snapped in my direction.
She nodded at the men, then dribbled the ball next to her as she pushed toward me.
Her hair was braided tightly to her head today, and I wanted to undo it to see the curls spring out in every which direction. But as she got closer, her eyes trained on me for the first time, I stopped thinking about her hair. I didn't really think about the fact that Earl and Merl had their weathered hats bent in, watching us with unabashed interest.
All I could do was send up a fervent prayer that I wouldn’t say something stupid, that I wouldn't stare, wouldn't stumble over my words, or come off like a crazy person who, after eighteen years and three days, finally believed in family curses and love at first sight.
As she came closer, it felt strange to sit up on the stage so far above her. I was no slouch at six feet one, but the raised platform kept us uncomfortably separated. I hopped off and wiped a hand down my gym shorts.
My heart stuttered once, twice, and then a third time for good measure when she continued to hold my gaze as she wheeled over the floor. She almost went past the hoop, only blinking away for a second to flick the ball up in a reverse layup that went in so smoothly the net barely moved.
The men cheered, and I smiled. Her eyes, back on me now and brighter than I realized, were center of the flame blue.
Ocean off the coast of Greece blue.
The curse is not real, the curse is not real, I chanted over and over in my head. The curse is not real, and whether you want to admit it or not, you now currently reside in a city called Denial.
"Saddle up, Coach," she said, tilting her pointed chin at a few extra wheelchairs lined up neatly against the stage.
"Saddle what?" were the first stunningly impressive words out of my mouth. Honestly, I was just glad I didn't croak like a bullfrog since my throat was as dry as scorched dirt.
An eyebrow over one of those bright blue eyes lifted slowly. "Yourself? I need to kick your ass in a game of one-on-one, so those old guys quit telling me how great I must've been every time they see me."
I blinked a few times, and she gave me a look that had me questioning whether I was imagining this entire exchange. I hoped I was because the times in my life that I'd choked talking to someone of the female gender was zero. Zero times.
And at my first opportunity to speak to this particular woman, I'd managed two words.
Saddle what?
Before I could try to redeem myself, she sighed and pushed one hand down on her right wheel, sending her gliding quickly over to where the ball landed. I blew out a quick breath and went to grab one of the spare chairs parked next to the bleachers. As per the rules, I strapped my legs together with a large, black elastic band and then rolled my neck back forth until I felt a pop at the base of my skull.
My chair was far more basic than her