Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Ethan bounds for the dugout, fist pumping as he runs. I watch him and laugh.
“I’m getting him two corn dogs,” I say.
“Why?”
I pull my gaze back to Palmer. Her hair is blowing in the gentle breeze, turning her cheeks the softest shade of pink. Shit, she’s beautiful.
“Because I spent all practice trying to figure out how I was going to talk you into grabbing a bite to eat, and he did my dirty work for me,” I say.
She laughs. “After the day I’ve had at work, I’m happy to do anything for dinner that means that I don’t have to cook.”
“Do you cook a lot? Is that a thing you like to do?”
“Well, no. Not really. And Ethan is so picky. It’s macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets and pizza way more than I really care to admit.” She pauses. “But maybe I’d like to cook if I had more time to do it—to really prepare a meal and be thoughtful about it. Right now it’s a mad scramble to get it done and cleaned up before I collapse onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion.”
The scenario she’s painted twists my heart. Is that what her life is like? Does she not get to enjoy any of it? It makes what my mom said mean even more. Palmer deserves more than a night off from cooking and cleaning up messes.
I mentally pull myself back as my mind jumps into action, trying to figure out how to make her life easier. How to make her happier.
That’s not my place.
Is it?
Before I can think it through, Ethan joins us again.
“Got my stuff and said hi to Ted,” he says, panting. “Are you guys ready to go?”
“You two go on. I need to clean up here and have a quick chat with Ted myself. I’ll pick you up in twenty?”
Palmer nods. “Perfect.”
We exchange a simple grin, and I fight the urge to kiss her. Why does this conversation feel like it should end with a kiss?
“See you soon,” she says and then leads Ethan to her car.
I watch them go and feel a sense of satisfaction settle inside me. It’s reminiscent of a constructive day or a holiday with family that didn’t result in an argument about politics. It’s a peacefulness that washes over me, and the fact that Palmer and her son are the ones who instigated it worries me.
“Hey, Beck!”
I look over as Ted, a staggering man in bib overalls, gets to his feet. A bright-red beard matches the short hair poking out from under a San Diego Swifts baseball hat. I wonder if he’s always worn that hat or if he picked it up for this occasion. He wasn’t wearing it the one time I met with him at Bud’s.
“Ted,” I say, extending a hand as I near him. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you too. You’re doing a hell of a job with the boys.”
We shake hands.
“They’re a great bunch of kids,” I say.
He looks around. “Well, they try. Our really skilled kids play travel ball in the spring in Forest Falls, so these guys . . . you know. They aren’t going to be our all-star players or anything.”
The matter-of-factness of his tone strikes a chord inside me.
“These kids are twelve,” I say. “They’re just getting their coordination. Any of them could be an all-star in a couple of years.”
He shrugs as if that’s not a real concern . . . or possibility.
“Besides,” I say, “I hope they have fun and make friends. That’s the best part of this game.”
“Sure it is. Sure it is,” he says, nodding. “Well, the doctor cleared me to get back to doing stuff again. I have to take it a bit easier than normal—hit a six and a half or a seven instead of a ten like I usually do. But I got my boy working the butcher shop, and that helps a lot.”
I get what he’s saying. He’s ready to come back.
“Oh,” I say, stumbling around for the right words. “That’s good news.”
“Yeah. So if you need help out here, you just let me know. I know Bud turned over the team to you this year, but they always feel like mine. Guess it’s because this age group has been mine for the last eleven years.”
He laughs as if he’s just being conversational and not confrontational. I’m not sure about that.
“I can add you to the group chat so you can see when we’ll be practicing,” I say with more than a small dose of caution. “It’s been hit-or-miss with the weather, but we’re out here two or three times a week at least.”
“That’d be great.”
“Great.” I give him a forced smile. “I need to get this stuff picked up and get out of here.”
“Sure thing.” He takes a step back. “Nice to talk to you, Beck.”