“Because we’re good.” His mouth hitches up on one side and I want to grab him and kiss him.
“You’re cute sometimes.”
“And sexy all the time?”
“Forget I said anything.”
He laughs as he turns back to the field. “It’s a perfect day, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” But I’m not thinking about the weather.
“That’s another thing I love about the game. Number eighty-six on the list of top one hundred: the field always looks so pretty this time of day. The way the sun skims off the mowed grass.”
“And the chalk lines around the batter’s box.” A bittersweet memory fills my head. Chalking the batter’s box was one of my jobs the season I coached with my dad. “I love how clean and perfect they are right now. The calm before the storm to come.”
“Number seventy-two,” he says. “And the scoreboard. The way it’s all zeros at the start. That’s number forty-two.”
“You don’t actually have these written down, do you?”
“It’s all in here.” I think he’s going to point to his head but he doesn’t. He points to his heart.
For a second, for his sake, I wish he wasn’t sitting beside me. I wish he were down on the field where he wants to be. Then he lets out a tiny sigh, one I don’t think I’m meant to hear, and he flips on his mic. He announces the national anthem and off we go.
We call the game with our knees touching and the rose on the counter between us where I can keep glancing at it. Finally, between the fifth and sixth innings, he turns to me. “So when are you going to say yes?”
“To what?”
“To being my girlfriend.”
“Is that why you brought me a rose? Because that romantic stuff doesn’t work with me.”
“Yeah, it does.”
He grins, and oh hell, he’s right. It does work with me.
Before he turns the mic back on, he says, “Don’t panic, Walters. You can say yes later. We’ve got a game to call.”
…
It isn’t until much later…until after the game is over and I’ve eaten dinner with Mom and finished my homework.
And after we’ve watched an episode of The Great British Baking Show and are starting on the second.
And after Garrett texts and says, “Walk outside. I left you a surprise.”
And I walk outside and the surprise is Garrett, who ran over, which is why I didn’t hear a car.
And he’s in a tank top and running shorts and he’s all smooth skin and sweaty muscles and I don’t care when he tugs me around the corner, away from the porch light and the moths fluttering uselessly against the glow. I’m like a moth, helpless and blind to everything but this guy who makes me want to believe in things like dreams and happy endings and even the beauty of baseball.
And his hands slide around my waist and mine slide up his bare arms and his mouth is on mine. And I bite his bottom lip the way he does, and he groans into my mouth.
And after, when we’re both shaking and our pulses are racing and our foreheads are pressed together. I reclaim my breath and find my feet still on the ground but my heart untethered.
That’s when I find my voice and I say, “Yes.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Josie,” Mom says. “I can’t get this link to work. How do I fix it?”
“Hang on.” I’m standing beside her at the kitchen counter, adding samples of face serum to the party bags.
“Josie!”
The last one hits the bottom of the bag, joining the peppermint toothpaste, the orange essential oil, and the hibiscus lozenge. “How is it possible for you to turn my name into a dirty word?”
“Would you please help me?” She runs a hand through her hair, and passion-berry mist drifts my way. She’s been in a rotten mood since she stopped seeing James, and if this is the result of no secret sex, then I’m sorry I ever had an issue with it. “If we’re not out of here in fifteen minutes, we’re going to be late.”
“Fine,” I say. Tonight’s party is for a book club that just read about holistic healing and decided an essential oil demonstration would add to the discussion. Targeting book clubs is such a good idea, I told Mom we should advertise that on our website. Which reminded her about the link that still isn’t working.
I lean over so I can see her laptop screen. “You can’t fix it from the website. I told you. You have to go to the admin page.”
“I don’t see it in the menu.”
“You have to log in on a different site. Remember?” I gesture to the screen. “Pull up a new tab.”
Instead, she shoves the laptop toward me, moving my phone out of the way. “Can you do it for me?”
“You’re the one who told me not to help, that you wanted to learn it all yourself.”
“I’ve changed my mind. When you’re out of town, fixes will have to wait.”
“Why would I be out of town?” I pull up the admin page, giving her a quick glance. I don’t expect to see flushed cheeks and lips pressed tightly together. She does that when she’s said something she didn’t mean to.
“Mom, what?”
“Not now.” She points at the screen. “We’re going to be late.”
I pull my hands off the keyboard and fold them over my chest. “What?”
“Josie!” But I know she’s frustrated with herself. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Tell me or we’ll be here all night.”
“I’m sending you to New York this year for the annual trade show.”
“Me?” I sit back, startled.
“More than that.” She smiles and it’s the first real happiness I’ve seen from her in a week. My unease blooms into near panic. “It’s
