Unforgettable: A Small Town Second Chance Sports Romance

by Melanie Harlow

  Sadie was unloading the dishwasher, angrily tossing silverware into a drawer. I leaned back against the counter. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Look, maybe I should have reached out to April at some point. But at eighteen, I was entirely self-centered and laser-focused on my career. I was an expert at shutting out anything that wasn’t going to get me where I needed to go, and I had to be cutthroat. My worth depended on it.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me. “Your worth as a pitcher maybe. But not your worth as a human being.”

  “In my mind, there was no difference, Sadie. You have to understand that.”

  She stopped moving and stared into the drawer, saying nothing. “There’s more to life than being good at baseball, you know.”

  “Maybe for you, there is. Look, cut me a little slack here, okay? I didn’t reject her. I offered to pay for everything. I asked her what she wanted to do. Adoption was her choice, and it was the right thing. Then we just . . . moved on. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about her.”

  She turned to face me. “Then why not call her? Even afterward?”

  “I don’t know, Sadie. I put it out of my head. And the more time that went by, the more awkward it would have been. I didn’t want to go back there. And for all I know, she didn’t either. She had my number,” I pointed out. “She never used it.”

  “You never once wondered about the baby?”

  “I never let myself. There was no point.”

  She leaned back against the counter. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know. Every time I talked to her . . . I feel weird about it now.”

  “Well, don’t. Just forget I said anything, okay? Let’s drop it.”

  She studied me for a long moment. “I don’t think I ever realized how repressed you are. It’s not good for you.”

  I scowled. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not repressed.”

  “Yes, you are. You just told me what an expert you are at shutting things out. You can’t keep doing that. You need to make your peace with this.”

  “I have.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve kept this buried for, what, twenty years?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Whatever. There’s a reason you’re talking about it all of a sudden. It bothers you.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” But I was growing agitated. “I’m talking about it because I wanted to share it with you, although I’m beginning to regret my decision.”

  She shook her head. “It’s more than that.”

  “I told you, I saw April this morning.”

  “It’s more than that too.”

  “I’m seeing her again tonight.”

  Her eyes took on a knowing look, and she nodded. “Aha. The plot thickens.”

  “Look, it’s not a big deal. We’re meeting for a drink.”

  “Just a drink?”

  “Okay, dinner and a drink,” I admitted.

  “Are you going to talk about what happened?”

  “No, Sadie. It’s dinner. Not a therapy session. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, be nice to her. Apologize for being selfish.” She shook a finger at me. “And if she wants to talk, you listen.”

  “I will.” I rolled my eyes. “Can we drop this now?”

  “Yes. Thanks for telling me.” Then the little shit walked across the kitchen and patted my stubbly cheek. “I knew you were in there somewhere. Now go get that haircut. And don’t forget to shave.”

  Six

  April

  My meeting with the engaged couple finished by six-thirty, and I slipped into my office to freshen up.

  Nothing drastic, of course. This wasn’t a date. But I traded my utilitarian flats for the sexy heels, made sure my black skater skirt wasn’t too wrinkled, checked the mirror on the back of my office door to be certain my emerald green blouse was tucked in properly, and gave my hair a little boost with some dry shampoo.

  Okay, maybe I swapped my regular nude lipstick for something a little deeper and more sultry. Perhaps I spritzed myself with a little more perfume. And possibly I undid one more button on my blouse, but only so my four-leaf clover pendant showed. I didn’t wear a lot of jewelry, but I loved that necklace—it had been a gift from my parents when I first moved away from home.

  There was nothing wrong with any of that, was there? I mean, how often did I have dinner with a hot guy? (Borderline never.) When was the last time I’d worn perfume? (Couldn’t recall. Bottle was dusty.) What was the harm in a little flirtation with an old friend? (None that I could think of.)

  But admittedly, I didn’t think too hard. I just wanted to feel beautiful and have a good time, and if it happened to coincide with being the sole object of Tyler Shaw’s attention tonight, so be it.

  At a couple minutes before seven, I got a text from an unknown number. I’m here at the bar. Take your time.

  I added him to my contacts and replied, See you in a few.

  When I was ready, I grabbed my bag, switched off the lights in my office, and headed for the door. Walking at a leisurely pace, I followed the paved walkway from the wedding barn, where my office was located, over to the inn. It was a mild evening, and I took deep, calming breaths of fresh spring air. But the closer I got to the inn, the more nervous I felt.

  What would it be like to be alone with him after all these years? Would the subject of that night come up? The pregnancy? The adoption? How would we handle it? Was there enough distance between then and now for us to be able to talk about it without weirdness?

  There was also a distinct possibility he could turn out to be a big fat jerk. Maybe that vulnerability I thought I’d glimpsed this morning was all in my head. Maybe he’d snap at me again—I wouldn’t be so quick to forgive this time. Maybe I’d need an excuse to duck out early.

  Oh for goodness sake, April, I told myself as I pulled open the glass door to the inn’s lobby. Relax. But just in case, right before I went into the bar, I pulled out my phone and texted Chloe. Hey, can you check in with me in about an hour or so?

  Chloe: Of course. You okay?

  Me: Yes. Just walking into the bar.

  Chloe: Completely understand. You got this.

  One of many awesome things about my sisters—they understood things like this. I felt much better as I entered the bar.

  It was crowded for a Thursday evening, but nothing compared to the way it would be in a few weeks when all the “summer people,” who’d been away through the cold months, started returning to their second homes and cottages on the water. I enjoyed the cozy, quiet atmosphere of Cloverleigh Farms during the winter, when it was all covered with snow and a fire always roared in the inn’s fireplace. But I loved seeing it come alive when the snow melted and wedding season picked up again, when the winery tasting room was always full, and the inn was booked up solid. I was always happier when I was busy.

  Was that because I was lonely?

  I shoved the thought aside.

  Right away I picked out Tyler sitting at the end of the bar. Even from behind in the dim light, I knew his wide shoulders, his tall frame, his thick dark hair. Smiling and calling hello to a couple regulars I recognized, I made my way toward him, ignoring the way my pulse accelerated with every step.

  When I reached his side, I touched his shoulder. “Hi.”

  Immediately he stood, offering me his seat.

  “You don’t have to get up,” I protested.

  He held up one hand. “Please. I know my manners were AWOL this morning, but I swear I have them. And my dad taught me that a man never sits while a woman stands.” He gestured toward the vacant stool.

  “Thank you.” More at ease—he was still a nice guy—I slid onto it. “I was sorry to hear about your dad. He
was such a good guy.”

  Tyler nodded. “Thanks. He was.”

  “You must miss him a lot.”

  “Yeah. It happened so fast. I guess I should be glad he wasn’t in pain long, but I wish I’d had more time with him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Although part of me is glad he went before he had to witness my career ending the way it did.”

  “Hey.” I put my hand on his arm. “He still would have been proud of you. That’s what family does—they love us and they’re proud of who we are, not just what we do.”

  “Yeah.” He tipped back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the bar in front of me. “Anyway, thanks for meeting me tonight.”

  “Of course.” I smiled, taking in his clean white button-down with the sleeves cuffed up, his dark jeans, and brown lace-up boots. His dark hair, which I could see now that he wasn’t wearing a cap, was still thick and wavy. Girls had always loved his hair. “You clean up nice.”

  “Thanks. You look nice too.” He leaned a little closer to me, his eyes focused on mine. “Hazel?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He straightened up, looking a little sheepish. “Earlier, I was trying to remember what color your eyes were, because you were wearing sunglasses and I couldn’t see them. But it’s kind of dark in here, so I’m guessing—are they hazel?”

  I laughed. “Yes. They are.”

  “And you still have your red hair.” He tugged a strand near my ear. “That’s how I recognized you on the track.”

  “I do still have red hair, because as any redhead will tell you, it’s nearly impossible to color. You have to bleach it, which I tried once with disastrous results.” I cringed at the memory. “It was not a good look for me.”

  Tyler seemed surprised. “Why would you want to change it? I fucking love the color of your hair. I always have.”

  Flattered, I felt the rush of warmth to my face and knew my cheeks had roses in them, as my mother would say. “I don’t know. It was in college. I think it was at a time in my life I was trying to change a lot of things about myself—I guess I wanted to feel like somebody else, and the hair color seemed like a good place to start.”

  “Well, I’m glad it didn’t work. What would you like to drink?”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Brown Eyed Girl bourbon,” he said, moving a little closer to me as he tried to catch the bartender’s eye. He smelled good—woodsy and clean—like a combination of autumn and spring. “I’d never had it before, but the bartender recommended it. It’s made in Michigan, I guess.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it’s made in Detroit. My sister Chloe is engaged to the guy who started that distillery—his name is Oliver. They’re opening one up here at Cloverleigh too.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s cool. I like it a lot. In fact, I’ll have another. Want one?”

  “Sure.” I crossed my legs, clasping my hands around my bare knee. “So what did you do today?”

  “Slave labor for my sister,” he answered, stealing a glimpse at my hemline.

  I smiled. “At her house?”

  “Yeah. Josh had to work today, so she asked me to come over and move some furniture, which turned into ripping up carpet, running errands, and painting a bedroom.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of labor. You get a union break?”

  “One.” A smile crept onto his full lips. “During which I spent a hundred dollars on lemonade.”

  “What?”

  “These two little girls across the street were having a lemonade stand for charity, and they didn’t have any customers. So I gave them a hundred bucks.”

  I burst out laughing. “They must have been totally shocked. You’ll probably see them out there again tomorrow, hoping you come back.”

  He chuckled. “Probably. They reminded me of Sadie when she was little.”

  I shook my head. “Hard to believe she’s getting married in two days, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I still can’t wrap my head around it. Married.” He looked like he’d just sucked a really sour lemon.

  “Is it just Sadie and Josh’s wedding you’re having a hard time with?” I asked, amused. “Or is it marriage in general you dislike?”

  “Marriage in general. But hey, if Josh wants to put up with Sadie bossing him around the rest of his life, he can go right ahead.”

  I laughed and gave him a gentle nudge in the stomach, which was rock hard. “Oh, come on. They’re in love. Don’t you have any sense of romance?”

  “I have a sense of reality. There is no way I could live with another person day and night forever. She would drive me insane, and I would return the favor.”

  I was about to argue in favor of true love when we were interrupted by the bartender, an old-timer named Toby.

  “Hey, April. What can I get for you guys?” He leaned on the bar in front of us with both hands and smiled.

  “Hi, Toby. I’d like you to meet my old friend Tyler Shaw.”

  Toby’s grin widened as he shook Tyler’s hand. “I wondered if that was you. ‘The Rifle,’ right? Damn, you could throw a fastball.” He whistled through his teeth. “Had to be, what, like ninety-seven miles per hour?”

  “Something like that,” Tyler said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And that curveball. What a weapon that was. Nobody knew what to do with it.” Toby shook his head. “Shame what happened to your arm. You ever figure out what it was?”

  Tyler stiffened. “Uh, no.”

  “I was watching that World Series game. It was the damndest thing. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I know how good he is. Why can’t he just relax and throw the ball?’”

  Next to me, so close I could sense it, tension continued to fill Tyler’s long, muscular frame. His jaw was clenched tight.

  “Hey, Toby, can we get a couple glasses of Brown Eyed Girl bourbon on the rocks?” I asked, instinctively placing a hand on Tyler’s lower back.

  “Sure thing, April.” He smiled at Tyler. “Nice meeting you, man. Hey, keep throwing. Maybe it’ll come back someday.”

  Tyler swallowed and nodded curtly.

  Once Toby’s back was turned, I looked up at Tyler. Rubbed his back a little. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “But I could tell it made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have introduced you.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.”

  Taking my hand off him, I decided to change the subject. “So you’re still living in San Diego, huh? You like it out there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you live on the beach?”

  “Not far. I also have a cabin in the San Bernardino Mountains on Lake Arrowhead. I spend a lot of time there.”

  “I bet it’s beautiful. Do you . . . do you live alone?”

  He nodded. “I like living alone. It suits me.”

  “Why?”

  “My sister says it’s because I’m a grumpy old man.” A hint of a crooked grin appeared. “I say I just like solitude.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  “Everything. I like silence in the morning and the couch to myself at night. I don’t like sharing covers or the Netflix remote. I also drink from the carton and leave the cap off the toothpaste.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “That last one’s a deal breaker. We can definitely never be roommates.”

  He laughed. “What about you? Do you live nearby?”

  “Not too far. I have a condo in Traverse City. And I live alone too, although I’m not sure it suits me.”

  “What makes you—”

  But before he could finish the question, Toby showed up with our drinks and assured us they were on him. “I was thinking. Acupuncture.” He pointed a thick finger at Tyler. “That’s what you should try. Acupuncture. My sister’s anxiety was so bad, she couldn’t even leave the house. Tried acupuncture—worked like a charm.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Tyler, taking a quick sip of his bourbon.

&nbs
p; “Thanks for the drinks, Toby,” I said, picking up my glass and rising to my feet. Then I put a hand on Tyler’s chest—also rock hard—and said, “Hey, let’s move into the dining room. I bet it’s less crowded in there.”

  Tyler tossed some cash on the bar as a tip. “Good idea.”

  We walked over to the hostess stand with our drinks. “Hey, Makenna.” I smiled at the college student who’d recently been hired on for the busy season. “Any chance we could snag that corner booth in the back?”

  “Sure thing, April.”

  “Great,” I said, relieved we’d be able to talk with a little more privacy. The dining room at the inn, with its low ceilings, dark wood paneling, and plush booths, was cozy and intimate. And best of all, there would be no prying bartender trying to serve cocktails with a side of advice.

  “Follow me.” Giving us a smile, she turned and led us to the back of the candlelit room, where my favorite booth was already set for two. “Here you are. Jacie will be your server, and she’ll be right with you.”

  “Thanks, Makenna.” I slid onto the curved leather banquette and smiled at Tyler. “This is much better, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely.” He eased in from the other side, meeting me in the middle. “Can’t say I’m much for crowds these days.”

  “I don’t blame you. Do strangers often try to give you advice like that?”

  “All the damn time. Everybody thinks they’ve got it all figured out. Believe me, if there was a cure, I’d have discovered it by now.”

  “Do you still practice throwing?”

  “Not on a ballfield. And never in front of anyone.”

  Sensing it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss, I opened the menu and scanned both sides. “What are you going to eat? Everything is excellent, and I’m totally not biased.”

  That got him to smile again. “Of course not.”

  Jacie came over a minute later, greeted me warmly, and told us about the night’s specials. As far as I knew, she hadn’t grown up around here and she was too young to have known about Tyler’s storied high school baseball career anyway, but on the off chance she’d heard his name before, I didn’t introduce him. We decided on a few small plates to share—burrata with fig and balsamic, charcuterie and olives, a smoked whitefish Caesar salad—and placed our order.