by Olivia Hayle
I pretend to shiver in pleasure. “Perfect. Timmy, do you want a pretzel?”
His eyes are glued to the pitch with an almost feverish intensity. “Yeah,” he says, but in a way that confirms he hasn’t been listening for a second.
I smile at the back of his head, noting the spot where his hair curls. It’s always curled right there, from the time he was a toddler. “Two pretzels, then, one for us each. And some soda?”
Cole uses the screen to order. All around us, people are taking their seats, clad in Seattle green, white and blue. Seated in our own little terrace, we’re attracting a fair amount of curious looks.
“Good thing I remembered to wear glasses and a cap,” I stage-whisper to Cole. He smiles, throwing an arm around the back of my chair.
“Anonymous brunette number one,” he says, letting his fingers trail lightly over my shoulder.
“Glad I got the number-one spot,” I tease.
“Of course. I’m a gentleman.”
An attendant delivers our food and a chilled bucket of beer, shooting Cole a practiced smile.
Timmy pays the food no mind. He’s standing up, arms around the railing. On the table is his notebook and pen, brought along for research purposes. Cole asks him questions about the opposing team, in from out of state, and to my surprise Timmy knows nearly all the answers.
“When did you learn all this? Both of you?”
Timmy’s voice is proud. “I keep up with the Major League.”
“Of course you do,” Cole says, arm still around my chair. “You love the game.”
I laugh, propping my legs up. “Okay, okay, I get it. I know nothing.”
“We’ll teach you,” Timmy offers generously. “It’s starting!”
And so it is. We stand for the national anthem, and then I watch, nearly as entranced as the two boys, as the batter hits with the sound of a whip. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a baseball game, even longer in such an enthusiastic crowd. It’s exhilarating.
Timmy cheers and high-fives with Cole, occasionally giving me one, too. Next to me, Cole is outwardly relaxed with a beer in hand, but his eyes don’t leave the pitch. He wasn’t joking when he said he was a fan. He hasn’t shaved today, either, and his five-o’clock shadow is pronounced. It looks good on him.
He looks at me, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re here to watch the game, not me.”
“But you’re so much more interesting than a ball.”
He chuckles. “Is that a compliment, Holland?”
“Yes. Don’t get used to it.”
“No risk.” He tightens his arm around me and looks back at the game. On impulse, I lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t turn his head, but his lips curve into a smile.
Timmy is ecstatic at the first break between innings, so excited that he hasn’t taken a bite out of his pretzel. He discusses moves with Cole, who indulges my nephew in every part of the game he wants to dissect. And to my delight, both of them seem to be enjoying themselves.
Someone clears their throat next to us. “Didn’t know you’d be here today, Cole.”
A tall man leans against the entrance to our terrace, a rogue grin on his face. His hair is dark ink and cropped short, eyes taking in Cole, Timmy and me with dark amusement.
“Nick.” Cole nods, a look in his eye that’s impossible to interpret. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here today, either.”
The man snorts. “Glad we’ve established that. Hello,” he says to me, extending a hand.
“I’m Skye,” I say, as we shake.
“Nicholas Park.”
The name rings a faint bell. He sees it in my eyes, because his smile widens. “Yeah, that one.”
Wow. Arrogant, much?
Cole clears his throat, as if he was thinking the same thing. “Nick runs a venture capital firm.”
Timmy takes a step closer to me, watching this display of masculinity with bright eyes. I put a hand on his shoulder.
“Just came by to say hi. I won’t bother you guys, out on a family outing.” Nick’s eyes are shining with sly amusement.
“Thanks,” Cole says. “I’d invite you to stay, but then again, I don’t really want you to.”
My exhale is audible—Timmy is staring at Cole with an open mouth—but Nick just throws his head back and laughs. “Of course you don’t. And you know what, I was considering going easy on you next time we play. But now I won’t.”
Cole snorts. “As if. Well, good luck trying.”
Nick’s gaze shifts to me and Timmy. “Pleasure meeting the two of you,” he says, and then he’s off, striding down the steps to his own VIP seating.
That’s when the name registers. Nicholas Park, Seattle’s most hated billionaire. Destroyer of companies. Hedge fund manager extraordinaire. Not a builder, like Cole. No, Nick deals with destruction.
“Wow.”
Cole reaches for another beer. “Sorry about that.”
“That,” Timmy declares, “was awesome. You just said…”
“I only said that because we’re friends,” Cole says. “And because Nick isn’t offended by anything.”
“Still, though. Awesome.” The hero worship is clear in Timmy’s eyes.
Cole reaches out to punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Game’s starting.”
It is, but I only spend one-third of my time watching it. One-third I’m looking at Timmy, happy at his happiness, and the other third is to sneak glances at Cole beside me.
Here, at the baseball game, he seems so ordinary. We seem ordinary, like this is something we do all the time. He’s relaxed and smiling. Still too attractive by far—there is nothing ordinary about his broad shoulders or square jaw—and yet it’s dangerously easy to pretend that we’re more than we are. Dangerously easy to forget the bookstore, the demolition plans, the expiration date on our casual relationship. I push the thoughts away, like I have so many times before with him. Live in the present.
By the seventh-inning break our team is in the lead, and you can tell. All around us, people are cheering and laughing, toasting with beer bottles, waving foam hands around.
The between-inning entertainment begins and up on the Jumbotron excited fans cheer, captured by the panning camera.
“You really go here all the time?” Timmy asks, finally reaching for his pretzel.
“Fairly often, yeah,” Cole says. “More often in the past, though. When I didn’t work so much.”
“What do you work with?”
“I’m in construction. Buildings, you know,” he says, as if his job was that simple. His gaze flickers to me—challenging me to add what we’re both thinking. And occasionally tearing them down.
“Coooool,” Timmy says, and then shoots me a look, like I might be offended. “Skye is really cool, too.”
Cole’s smile is crooked. “I think so, yeah.”
“She always lets me eat candy when I’ve finished my homework.”
I hold up a finger. “One piece, after math homework.”
“Whenever I stay at her place, I get to watch TV late, too. We watch a lot of nature shows.”
Cole chuckles at that. All my bad habits are being exposed here, apparently. “Anyway, are you Skye’s boyfriend?”
I open my mouth, but no response comes to mind. I’d told him before that we were friends. Apparently, I hadn’t been convincing enough.
Cole shakes his head. “No, but we’re very good friends.”
Timmy cocks his head. “Most friends don’t kiss, though. At least not any of mine.”
“You’re right,” Cole says, lips twitching again. “It’s not usual. We’re more like boyfriend and girlfriend in that way.”
“So…” Timmy breaks off, glancing at me furtively, perhaps wondering if he’s going too far. “You’re friends who might become boyfriend and girlfriend? But you don’t know yet?”
Oh, dear God.
Cole gives a decisive nod. “That’s exactly right.”
Is it? I sink back int
o my chair, a jumble of conflicting emotions racing inside me. And that’s when I notice people around us are cheering far louder than usual. It’s still a between-innings break, isn’t it?
It is.
And Cole and I are on the Jumbotron. Surrounded by a heart.
I watch the screen in a dazed sort of horror, seeing Timmy’s massive grin when he realizes we’re on TV. My own face is half-hidden, the baseball hat pulled low. Cole’s is set in determined lines.
“Damn it.” His voice is nearly lost in cheering around us. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
I pull my hat down lower. “This is on camera!”
“They won’t see you.” And then he’s kissing me, pushing me back into the chair with force, an arm around me. His lips are warm, his back broad.
Covering me from view.
He pulls back an inch. “Duck your head.”
Obediently, I duck my head as he sits back, pulling me against his chest. Applause and whistles sound all around us. And then it’s over. The camera moves on, the cheers die down, and breath returns to my lungs.
“Wow,” Timmy is saying. “We were on TV!”
My voice is faint. “Imagine that.”
“Damn Nick,” Cole says, his hand fisted on the edge of his chair.
“This was his doing?”
“Undoubtedly.”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The game is shown on TV. The odds that any of my friends are watching, not to mention my family, are low. Nearly infinitesimal. But they’re not zero—and that’s enough to make my stomach turn.
I put my hand on Timmy’s shoulder to distract myself. “What player is your favorite? Do you want to show me, on the touch screen?”
He launches into a discussion about pitcher strength and technique and I listen intently. Ignoring my emotions yet again where Cole is concerned.
The game begins again and Timmy’s attention is glued, although he occasionally turns to us to point out something extraordinary. I lean into Cole, and his arm tightens around me. “Stop worrying about the kiss cam,” he murmurs. “No one will be able to recognize you.”
I play with the hem of my baseball shirt. “But people will recognize you, right?”
His voice is reluctant. “Yes.”
“And wonder who you’re with.”
“Probably,” he says. “But you’re Anonymous Brunette Number One.”
I put my feet up on the little table. “Sometimes it’s good to be plain.”
“There’s not a plain thing about you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. And despite it all, the words make me blush.
After the game, Timmy has two full notebook pages of notes. He’s talking excitedly about the tryouts with Cole, who as it turns out, is an expert at amping up Timmy’s confidence.
“It’s not going to be easy, but that’s okay. If it’s easy, what would be the point? And if you don’t get into the team on the first tryout, you try again. And again. And you practice.”
Timmy is nodding, brown locks flying. I smile at the two of them. Whatever comes out of this night, it has been worth it for the giant grin on my nephew’s face.
The attendant allotted to us shows up again, a box under his arm. “Before we go, there’s something here for the youngster amongst you. The team heard that you’re a big fan.”
Timmy’s eyes are the size of saucers. He looks at me once, and I nod encouragingly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now come on, let’s get ahead of the crowd.”
Timmy holds the package like it’s the Holy Grail. Once in Cole’s car, he opens it with reverent hands. There’s a baseball shirt signed by the players and a set of three baseballs.
“This,” he declares, “has been the best night of my whole life!”
Cole grins at me. “I can’t complain either, kid.”
I smile back at them both, my heart full, even if the happiness feels as fragile as a soap bubble. One thought of the bookstore and it might pop.
15
Cole
Blair has her hands on her hips. “You were on kiss cam for the whole arena to see, but you won’t tell your own sister who it was?”
I groan, leaning against the wall in my hallway. “How did you even find out about this?”
“It was shared on Facebook.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, golden locks flying. “The caption nearly made me gag, though. Who is eligible bachelor Cole Porter smooching? Ew.”
“You’re friends with people who’d share something like that?”
“We’re not turning this around on me.” My sister peers around the corner, clearly itching to be invited in. “Is this the same girl you had to rush off to see two weeks ago?”
“Yes. And—how many times do I have to say this—it’s not something I want to talk about.”
“Come on, Cole. I had to see this on the news!”
“Facebook isn’t news. Not yet, anyway.”
“Not to mention I haven’t seen you around in ages.” She drops her purse on the hallway table, already reaching for the clasp of her jacket.
Damn it. Any other day she’d be welcome, but on this beautiful Sunday morning, I happen to have a guest.
The kiss cam participant, as it turns out.
“That’s not true,” I protest. “We played tennis last weekend, and had brunch.”
“Nick was there.”
“So?”
She wrinkles her nose, and I sigh, knowing the dislike between Nick and Blair runs both ways. Why they don’t get along is beyond me.
“Fine, don’t answer that. But Blair, I can’t hang out right now. This afternoon? Let’s call Mom and take her out to dinner.”
“Don’t deflect. I know your ways, Cole. Let’s talk about this.” She tugs off her jacket and hangs it on a peg, her blonde hair newly cut to shoulder-length. Blair changes like the wind. “Since you’re being so cagey about it, is it serious? That would be a first after Elena.”
I scowl at the mention of my ex’s name, especially with Skye right around the corner. “Blair, please leave.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, starting down the hallway to the kitchen. “Let me just get a glass of water first and I’ll be— Oh. Hello there!”
Skye is sitting by the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal. She gives a small wave, glancing down at herself. “Hi there! Sorry for…” She sweeps a hand over herself, my button-down nearly drowning her. A beautiful flush is climbing up her neck.
“No, no, I’m the intruder,” my sister chirps. “Now I understand why Cole wanted me out of here as soon as possible.”
Skye’s eyes flick to me with curiosity. “Blair, this is Skye. Skye, meet Blair. My sister,” I sigh. “My very nosy sister.”
Blair laughs, unfazed by the critique. “That’s me, always with my nose in his life. It’s really nice to meet you, Skye.”
Skye stands to extend a hand to my sister. My shirt reaches her mid-thigh, but she still tugs it down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Oh, the questions I have for you!”
Blair grins with delight. “You do?”
“Definitely. Like, does your brother have an aversion to fridge magnets?”
I groan again. “This is not happening right now. Blair, I’ll call you later.”
“But I just arrived!”
“Nope. Elevator is that way.” She gives me a pout, but I’m relentless, and eventually she shakes her head at Skye.
“He’s always been this bossy. I’m sure that was another of your questions.”
Skye nods, her smile echoing Blair’s. “My very next one.”
“It was really nice to meet you. Until next time!” Her voice trails off as we walk down the hallway. Stepping into the elevator, she gives me two thumbs-up and a mouthed she seems nice!
I shake my head at her as the doors close. The last thing I need is the cheerleader-like support from my little sister, especially when Skye and I are… well. Casual.
&nbs
p; She’s still eating cereal when I return, a smile playing on her lips.
“Really sorry about that,” I say.
“Don’t be. She was amazing.”
The surprise on my face must be evident, because Skye laughs. “As long as you don’t tell her that I work in the bookstore, then no harm’s done, right?
“Right.”
Skye slides off the chair and pads to the sink on bare feet, putting her empty bowl down. “Besides, I kind of feel like we’re even now.”
“Even?”
“You’ve met a member of my family. I’ve met a member of yours.”
I rub my neck. “I suppose that’s true, yeah.”
She leans against the kitchen counter, her hands braced behind her. “Thanks for the game last night,” she says. With her hair still mussed from bed, my shirt folded up to her elbows, she looks gorgeous. “Whatever else is going on, whatever happens with Between the Pages, thanks for that. You made Timmy incredibly happy.”
I lean against the kitchen island. “He’s a good kid.”
“He really is, and he has a serious case of hero worship going on right now.”
I grin. “And I’m the chosen object?”
“Oh, yes. My sister has already texted me twice to ask about my ‘boyfriend,’” she says, adding air quotes.
“I told him I wasn’t.”
“Yes, well, then we kissed in front of him. I think he’s drawn his own conclusions.”
I snort. “Smart kid. Sorry about your sister, though. I know all about nosy siblings.”
She turns around, turning the faucet on to wash the dishes. “Yeah.”
“Are you two close?”
A long pause, the only sound that of running water. “Yes and no,” she says finally. “She’s a difficult one, to be honest.”
“Older?”
“Yeah, by five years, but she’s always acted as the youngest. A bit wild. Timmy’s father isn’t in the picture, and never was. I think that’s why he took to you so quickly.” She holds up a sudsy finger my way. “You’re like the epitome of masculinity, something he’s in short supply of, being raised by a single mother, his aunt, and his grandmother.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Did you just call me the epitome of masculinity?”
