While the last two slices cook, we wash our hands in the sink. Rylee goes back to the table and I plate our breakfast and grab the syrup. I’ve just sat down when Pascale rushes into the kitchen like she left something in the oven overnight. She halts when she sees me and Rylee getting along without a problem.
“Me and Ethan cooked French toast,” Rylee says with pride before carefully dotting her toast with syrup.
“Good morning,” I say. “Have a seat and I’ll make some more for myself.” I stand and pull out my chair for her.
She eyes me with a million questions. Why didn’t you wake me? What is going on here? Are you for real right now? What do you think you’re doing?
I think I’m getting to know this smart, lovable little girl. “Wipe that worry off your face,” I whisper in her ear as she takes a seat. “I did okay.” I kiss her cheek and add, “I’ll make coffee, too.”
“What do you think of my hat?” Rylee asks Pascale.
“I love it. You’ve been very busy this morning.”
“Uh-huh. Will you cut my French toast please?”
I hand off a butter knife to make it easier. “Thank you,” Callie says with depth to imply she means for more than the knife.
“I don’t know what you ladies have on the agenda today, but I’d love to take you to a Landsharks game tonight.”
“What’s an agenda?” Rylee says around a mouthful of French toast.
“It means a plan or list of things to do,” Callie says.
“I’m free as a bird today,” Rylee says.
Callie covers her mouth with her hand to hide a smile. Rylee is something else. I’ve been around kids at the rock-climbing studio, and none are as precocious as she is. Hunter comes close, but he’s a few years older.
“May I have some chocolate milk?” she asks.
“Sure.” I multitask like a boss and have both my girls served with their beverage of choice and a plate of French toast for myself. “How’d I do?” I ask Rylee.
She lifts a forkful of food, inspects it, and says, “It could use more cinnamon.”
I crack up. “Noted.” It tastes perfectly sweet to me, so obviously the taste buds of kids are much different than adults.
“What is the Landsharks?” she asks next.
“The Landsharks are a baseball team. My brother, Finn, plays for them and tonight is his first home game since his injury.”
“Oh wow. I didn’t realize that.” Callie takes a sip of her coffee.
“The whole family is going. We’ve got a suite at the stadium. What do you say?”
A look of panic crosses over Callie’s face. I’m a little alarmed myself. The invitation came out without a second thought, but I probably should have considered it for at least a minute or two. My family knows Pascale the bodyguard. They don’t know Callie, the woman I’m falling for again. It’s a big fucking deal bringing her and Rylee with me.
“No pressure,” I add and dig into my breakfast.
“If we go, does that mean I get to stay up past my bedtime?” Rylee asks.
“Yes,” Callie says simply.
“I’m in.” Rylee’s firm decision is so damn cute I don’t know how Callie can say no now. I lift a hand across the table and Rylee slaps it for a high five.
“I’ve got some work to do today, but I’ll be back to pick you girls up at five o’clock.”
“We’ll be ready,” Callie says, reluctance in her tone. I write the hesitation off as nothing more than her usual morning displeasure.
Because if it’s something more and she plays with my heart again, even unintentionally, I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
Chapter Eighteen
Caught Up in Something Good
Ethan
I’m on my feet clapping and shouting like a super fan gone wild. This is not me. Yes, I’m one of my brother’s biggest fans, but I’m not normally so demonstrative in my support. However, with Rylee to my left jumping up and down and waving her Landsharks pom-pom like crazy, and my sister-in-law, Chloe, next to her doing the same, I’ve been swept up in Finn Fandom.
It feels good.
Finn is up to bat for the first time since fracturing his clavicle in last year’s World Series. Surgery was required a few months ago and he’s finally back to show off what an incredible athlete he is. The girls and I aren’t the only fans on our feet. The entire stadium is shouting Finn’s name and cheering him on. My ears are ringing. My heart is pounding. My brother is the best player in the National League and on track to be one of the best players to ever play the game. Every other person here tonight is wearing his name and number on the back of their jersey.
Including the little pipsqueak beside me. She’s also wearing a Landsharks baseball cap—backward because she said she couldn’t see “good enough” under the bill—and new white sneakers with tiny blue sharks all over them.
We’re standing on the outdoor deck of the suite overlooking the field along the third baseline. The rest of our entourage is inside, watching the game on the big-screen TV or through the glass behind us. I peek over my shoulder to find Pascale and my grandmother standing at the window. Callie’s tender expression as she looks back and forth between me and Rylee hits me square in the chest. For some reason, Rylee’s decided to stick by my side since we arrived an hour ago.
My grandmother says something to snag Callie’s attention. I turn back to the game in time to see the first pitch. It’s high and outside.
The second pitch is low and the catcher has to dig it out of the dirt.
Finn sits back and waits on the third pitch. It’s a strike. Much to the offense of the crowd, with groans and jeers indicating the ump made a bad call.
“Boo it out your ass!” Chloe shouts, then remembering Rylee is next to her says, “Sorry. Don’t yell that. It was clearly a strike but Finn’s got this so I’m not worried in the least.”
FYI: Chloe’s dad is the home plate umpire.
The next pitch is a fastball. Finn’s favorite. His bat makes crisp contact with the ball and that sweet sound of perfection echoes around the stadium. Everyone leans forward as we watch the ball sail higher and farther, hoping it’s over the fence.
It is.
“WOOHOO!” Chloe screams. She jumps up and down waving her pom-pom like crazy.
I’m not sure Rylee knows what’s happened, but one look at Chloe and she’s a bundle of excitement, too, doing a little dance that is the cutest thing ever.
Finn rounds the bases and after he crosses home plate he gives a nod to Chloe’s dad, then looks up to where we’re standing and blows Chloe a kiss with his hand. She returns the gesture. The look on her face after my brother returns to the dugout is total adoration and love. “I think this calls for some celebratory ice cream. Want to join me, Rylee?”
Rylee turns to me for approval and I suddenly have to sit down. Her big blue eyes are full of reverence and warmth for me. She wants my approval, something I’m not sure I have the right to give yet. But since Callie is inside, I have no choice but to give her an answer. And let me tell you, I am never going to say no to this little girl. “It’s okay with me.”
“Yay!” they both say at the same time.
I sit back in the comfortable leather seat to continue watching the game. I hope Pascale isn’t pissed at me. Rylee did eat some pizza when we got here, so at least she’s had something respectable. Inside the spacious suite is a couch and several chairs, a coffee table, and a granite counter along one wall lined with hot food trays. There’s mini-pizzas, pasta, shredded pork for sandwiches, garlic fries, and hot dogs. With concierge service, the drinks are never ending and the bowls of peanuts, popcorn, red licorice, and blue and white M&M’s don’t ever reach empty.
Then there’s the soft ice cream dispenser with every kind of topping imaginable.
“Hey,” Callie says, joining me on the deck.
“Hi, beautiful.” I immediately lose interest in the game and focus on the woman beside me.
“Rylee
is currently making the biggest sundae in the history of sundaes.”
“Bigger than Chloe’s?”
Callie looks over her shoulder into the suite. “Okay, second biggest.” She turns back around. “She’s never had a family like this, Ethan. Thanks for including us today.”
I take her hand in mine. “Not just for today.”
We let that sink in.
“You’ve ruined her for future baseball games, you know.”
“Happy to do so. You always remember your first time. But it’s as much fun in the stands as it is here, so I think she’ll get over it.”
“You sit in the stands?” she asks like my ass is only happy in the current cushy seat, which okay, is loads better than the hard plastic seats, but I can handle some field-level seating too.
“Many times,” I say.
“Did you play baseball growing up?”
“No. I preferred individual sports like surfing and tennis.” I glance down at Callie’s fingers securely intertwined with mine. “I know you’ve got some badass skills now, but I’ve never asked you about sports growing up either.”
“I was a volleyball girl.”
“I can picture that.” On a beach in a bikini. My dick twitches. It started twitching the second she sat down and I got a whiff of vanilla and raspberries. I’m saved from further arousal when my grandmother appears and sits on the other side of Callie.
On the diamond, the Landsharks take the field, up 1-0. Finn runs to his position at center, throws some long ball with a teammate while the pitcher warms up, then tosses the ball up into the stands where the fans go crazy and high-five the guy who caught it.
“Rylee is cute as a button,” Grandma Rosemary says.
“She is,” Callie agrees.
“And sharp as a tack.”
Callie smiles. “That, too.”
“Ethan only cared about one thing when he was her age.”
“What was that?” Callie asks while I inwardly cringe. I think I know what she’s going to say.
“Let me tell you a story,” Grandmother says.
Yep, she loves this story.
“One day Ethan was in the bathroom with the door closed. He’d been in there for a little while so I knocked and asked what was going on. He answered with, ‘Nothing, Grammy, I’m just playing with my penis.”
Callie laughs. I feel the vibration move up my arm since we’re still holding hands.
“He paid so much attention to that thing, we thought he was going to hurt himself.”
Callie laughs harder, slipping her hand free to cover her mouth.
“Can we please talk about something else?” I say.
“When his mother caught him time and time again and told him she didn’t want to see him do it anymore, he answered with, ‘Okay then just close your eyes.’”
“That’s so funny,” Callie says. “And cute.” She gives a brief look my way.
I lean forward to address my grandmother. “Did you hear that? I’m cute.”
“Says who?” Drew asks with aversion as he steps onto the deck. “Your girlfriend doesn’t count.” He plops down next to our grandma with a bag of popcorn in his hands and proceeds to stuff his face.
The G-bomb hangs in the air. I haven’t used the word yet and judging from Callie’s stiff shoulders, she’s not ready for it. I quickly change the subject to Drew’s favorite topic. Not.
“How’s the planning for Grandmother’s birthday party going?”
Drew glares at me.
“Oh yes, do tell,” our soon-to-be eighty-year-old grandma says. “I’m tired of being out of the loop. Maybe the theme should be Tatas and Tiaras, you know as a play on Toddlers and Tiaras?”
I should have covered my ears. I think they’re bleeding. Grandsons should never hear their grandmothers say the word ‘tatas.’ Or penis, for that matter. Drew nearly chokes on his popcorn, and my job here is done.
“Callie, how about some ice cream?” I ask.
“Love some.”
“Or,” I hear Grandmother say to Drew as Callie and I take our leave, “I do still love Chloe’s Malibu Barbie-Q idea. We could get some shirtless hotties to serve drinks.”
“Did your grandma just say shirtless hotties?” Pascale asks.
“I’m afraid so.”
“She is too much.”
I give a little shake of my head in hopes of erasing words I’d rather not associate with my grandmother. “Let’s see how tall you can build a sundae, Nichols.”
“You think you can make a bigger one than me? Not a chance.”
“Winner gets to lick whatever they want later,” I whisper in her ear. Her eyes glint with interest then dart away. A faint blush stains her cheeks. This woman completely undoes me.
Rylee is sitting between my mom and dad on the couch and coloring in a Landsharks coloring book. Chloe is on her phone, presumably hashtagging the shit out of Finn’s home run since she’s the Landsharks’s social media manager. Pascale playfully elbows me out of the way to make her ice cream Tower of Pisa.
Between breakfast this morning and the game tonight, I’m one hell of a lucky guy. Three hours later, once Rylee is tucked in bed, I may have lost the sundae contest, but Callie gets lucky when I lick her inside and out.
*
I pace around the kitchen for the tenth time. It’s Saturday morning and Pascale is bringing Rylee over to the house for the first time. You’d think I haven’t already spent significant time with her by the way I can’t stop fidgeting. I haven’t wanted to impress anyone this much since…since ten years ago when I bumped into the love of my life on a Maui beach. Regret rarely rears its ugly head, but more than once since having Callie back, I wish I’d chased after her. I wish I’d called until she picked up. I wish I’d known then what I know now: she’s it for me.
The doorbell rings and it’s like I’m an Olympic sprinter, there in a flash to open the door and say hello.
“Good morning,” Pascale says, looking springtime gorgeous in loose-fitting white pants and a form-fitting lavender T-shirt.
“Morning. Come on in.”
“We brought muffins,” Rylee says, stepping inside with a brown bag and MoMo in her arms. She looks around the house with curiosity, but doesn’t seem too impressed. I imagine I’m missing a few key kid ingredients like toys and books. I’ll remedy that for next time. Although, what I do have to show her ought to be fun.
“Before we dig into those muffins,” I say as we enter the kitchen, “I’d like to show you something outside.”
Rylee puts the bag of muffins on the table. “Is it something that can’t wait?” she asks with a serious expression on her face.
Callie stifles a laugh. “Sorry, she’s really hungry.”
“How about I cut your muffin in half and you walk and eat it? What do you say?”
“I say okay.” She pulls a chocolate chip muffin from the bag and I cut it in two.
“All right, then. Let’s go.” I slide open the French door and we stroll down the palm-tree-lined path toward our destination. We pass the swimming pool and outdoor fireplace and seating area then cut across the grass to the stone steps that lead up a small embankment to another grassy area that’s secluded.
“Aren’t we there yet?” Rylee asks and I can’t help but smile. She’s finished her muffin, but left a trail of crumbs for us to find our way back.
“Almost.”
“Should we count the steps?” Pascale asks.
“One,” Rylee says. She continues with, “Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.”
“Good job.” Pascale puts her hand up for a slap.
“I know my numbers really good,” Rylee answers proudly with a high five for Callie and a skip in her step at reaching the top. She lifts her head to see where we are and her eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open.
“We’re here,” I say.
“You did it,” Pascale says, referring to the round-top chicken coop a few meters away.
“Baby chicks!” Rylee shouts. She runs toward the coop and the chickens on the loose.
John, my hen master—I have no idea if that’s a thing, but John is officially hen master around here—is here to check on the brood and clutch. (Do I know my chicken lingo or what?) The coop arrived last week. It holds up to twelve in ultimate style and function, with solid wood construction and an ergonomic design that makes it the top of the coop class. There’s an easy-fill feeding and watering system, so the enclosure basically runs itself. Not to say I haven’t been out here daily to talk to them and retrieve eggs.
Four hens and four ten-week-old chicks are currently frolicking around on the grass, squawking and chirping, with a very excited little girl on their tails. I always keep them in the wired run space underneath the coop so I don’t have to chase them, but John knew I was bringing visitors this morning.
Pascale and I keep our distance and simply watch the joy in front of us.
“John, meet Rylee,” I call out.
Rylee waves to him while chasing the birds. He says something to her and she quickly freezes in place. He proceeds to pick up a chick and walk toward her.
“John’s like a chicken whisperer,” Pascale says. “Is he here every day?”
“Not every day. Have you seen that coop? It’s a self-sustaining masterpiece. But I do appreciate his help. And I enjoy bringing my coffee out here and collecting eggs.”
She lays her head on my shoulder. “I’m glad you get to do that. It sounds peaceful. And soon you’ll learn their quirks and characteristics and you’ll be able to tell them all apart. They won’t just be chickens. They’ll be pets.”
“I thought Rylee might like to name them.”
“Oh my God. She’ll freak out even more.” She lifts her head. “It’s weird. I’ve only had her for a short time, but there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
“Pascallie! C’mere,” Rylee shouts. She’s holding a chick in her arms and beaming.
Pascale strides to her side and is rewarded with her own chick. The two girls talk and laugh as John brings more of the flock to them and discusses the life of chickens. Pascale is a natural with Rylee. Patient. Kind. Impressive and appealing on a whole new level. I can’t take my eyes off her.
Sweet Talker Page 17
