Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“I appreciate that.” Slinging the purse strap over my shoulder, I ask, “I’ll see you both around six thirty?”
“We’ll be there.”
I kneel beside Jacob. “Hey, buddy, I’ll see you later, gator.”
With a silly grin on his face, his small hand rests on my cheek. “After while, cocky-dile.”
I giggle. He’s just so darn cute. “Good job.” I kiss his head. “I’ll see you at the baseball game. Love you.”
“Love you, Mama.” As soon as the words are spoken, his attention returns to the blocks. Ha. It’s hard to compete with toys.
I move to the door, and say, “Bye,” before slipping out and going to my car parked out in front of the cottage. My mom spent years renovating and building structures all over the thousands of acres of Dover Creek Estates, which houses the winery, horse stables, a barn that is fit for a king to live in, the lodge where my parents reside on top of the highest hill, a country house my brother inherited, the quaintest holiday home for our guests to the property, and the cottage that I received for my college graduation. I’ve lived here ever since because it’s a cottage only in name. With four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, an office, a living room, and a stunning kitchen, I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow this home. How could I when it’s only me and Jacob?
Running the day’s itinerary through my head, everything seems to be in place. I’ll verify once at the stadium, but I’m feeling good about this event. Once ticket and concession sales are added to the fund, I’ll write out the checks, and it will be easy sailing afterward.
Easy sailing is the last thing my relationship with Griffin Greene has been. Torrential rains and rough seas might describe it more accurately. “Relationship.” I scoff, and then exhale, the harsh breath reaching my hands on the steering wheel. “Proceeding with caution is the only thing on our horizon.” It’s good advice, even if I don’t always follow it.
I can’t deny it wasn’t the worst conversation I’ve had in my life. But it’s not like him being courteous for once makes him a knight in shining armor. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I pull into my parking spot at the stadium and get out, making sure I have everything I need. My purse should be it, but I check the trunk just in case anything got left behind from the past few days.
Coming in from the bright sunshine into the dark tunnel takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the change in light. But I know this place inside and out, so I keep walking. The door to the locker room flies open, bouncing against the heavy-duty door stop. Two players deep in conversation cut me off, oblivious to my presence, and then jog toward the field ahead.
I’m just about to start for the offices when the closing door is pushed open again. Our eyes connect first, his skies to my pastures, and we share a moment of peace. No verbal weapons locked and loaded. No provocation on the tip of his tongue. Just two people who shared something amazing and then lost it. Maybe it’s not peace, but acceptance that I see in his eyes.
Though I know it’s for the best, I’m not comforted by how fast he surrendered. Did our night mean nothing?
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” And then he had to open his mouth again and ruin everything.
I start walking toward the first door down on the right, and reply, “Being here is part of my job.”
“Ah, operations manager, right?” I like how he makes himself sound soooo innocent. Ridiculous. He knows exactly who I am.
I stop just past him, giving him a full view of my back, and point at it over my shoulder. “That’s the rumor.” I keep walking, then tap my card against the security pad. Grabbing hold of the handle, I yank the door open like I’m really showing him up. I should just go before I keep embarrassing myself. I’m not sure why he brings out this side of me, but it’s not cute, and more so, it’s unprofessional.
“Hey, Dover?”
I stop and glance back. A smile lifts the corners of his lips. It almost appears genuine, like the one I remember from so long ago. “What is it?”
With his eyes locked on mine, he says, “I’m gonna hit a homer for you.” It’s the cluck of his tongue that breaks the spell he almost put me under. I’m surprised he didn’t wink.
“I bet that line works well for you.” I try not to scowl, but I fear I’m failing. “Give me a ballpark figure. Each game, how many women did you promise to hit a homer for when you were in the majors?”