by Tessa Bailey
Was this his life now? Pretending as though the five years of his baseball career never happened? Some days, that’s what he wanted. He wanted to numb himself to the memories of his injury and subsequent decline. Being shared around the league like a bummed cigarette. And finally the phone call from his team manager that was the equivalent of shooting a lame horse. Other days, though . . . pretending his career never happened scared the shit out of him. What was the point of all that hard work when he’d ended up right back in Port Jefferson, hitting up his friend for a job, just like his father always predicted he would?
That was a reminder he could have done without today.
Knowing he needed a minute before having to converse with a real live human being, Travis sighed and backed away from the window, leaning up against the building’s concrete wall. Maybe he should put this off until tomorrow. It wasn’t a reunion, exactly, since Stephen had been at his place a week . . . or maybe two . . . ago. Hard to remember since he’d been knee-deep in a bottle of Jack at the time. Having a sober face-to-face conversation with the bluntest person he knew might not be the greatest idea in his shitty frame of mind.
“Travis Ford?”
He turned to find a pretty blonde he didn’t recognize approaching him on the sidewalk. When all he could muster was a nod, she laughed.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Can’t say that I do,” he responded, without matching her smile. “Should I?”
Her composure faltered, along with her stride, but she recovered fast. “Well . . . we went to high school together. Tracy Gallagher. I sat behind you in homeroom senior year.”
“Oh, right,” he said tonelessly. “Sure.”
Port Jefferson was a little bubble of a town. What happened out in the world only mattered insomuch as it directly affected the residents. But the familiar mixture of interest and censure on Tracy’s face made one thing pretty obvious: his reputation as an unrepentant womanizer had penetrated the bubble. She stood there waiting for him to elaborate on his monosyllabic answers, maybe even make a pass at her, and she was about to be sorely disappointed.
“Um,” she continued, seemingly unfazed. “You’ve been back in town for a month and I haven’t seen you around. Were you . . .” Cheeks turning pink, she squared her shoulders. “Did you want some help reacquainting yourself with the town?”
“Why would I? Nothing here has changed.” God, he was being a complete dick. As little as six months ago, they would have already been on their way back to his place. Good old Two Bats, always up for a lay. Until he wasn’t worth a damn anymore. Everyone had wanted a piece of him until shit got heavy, right? After the trades started and his stock went down, his phone stopped ringing. Here was a woman showing him some interest. Hell, she seemed nice enough. Maybe her intentions were pure. But after the fleeting smoke-and-mirrors lifestyle he’d led for the last five years, he could no longer muster an ounce of excitement. None of it ever meant anything. “Look, I’m about to meet with a friend . . .”
“Tracy. I work at the boutique.” She pointed south. “Down on the other end of Main Street. Glitter Threads.”
He forced a tight smile. “If I ever need the perfect little black dress, I’ll let you know.”
She laughed as if he’d made the joke of the century instead of a sarcastic jackass comment. “Why wait to hang out? There’s a new park down on the water, actually. If you wanted to check it out, I could pack a picnic lunch, or . . .”
His laugh was toneless. “A picnic.”
Finally picking up on the fact that he wasn’t interested, Tracy paused and her expression went flat. Irritated. Part of him felt bad for being impolite, but the other half? It felt good to not be the charming ladies’ man who took nothing seriously except his batting average. “You know—”
“Hey, Travis,” said a voice behind him. The sound reminded him of dripping Popsicles and skinned knees, but it had changed some. Grown huskier, lost the slight lisp. Georgie came into view, a ball cap pulled down low on her forehead, hair escaping in every direction. “Are you ready?”
He gave Stephen’s little sister a bland look. “For what?”
“Uh. Your doctor’s appointment, silly.” Georgie poked him in the ribs. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
Was Georgie swooping in to save him from Tracy? Yeah. It appeared she was. And he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The idea of a picnic with anyone—especially this woman who probably expected him to dazzle her with stories about meeting celebrities—was right on par with water torture. “Right. My doctor’s appointment.”
Georgie sent Tracy a wince. “When I described the symptoms to his doctor, they asked me to bring in a stool sample right away. Whatever he’s got, they haven’t seen it since the nineties.”
Jesus Christ.
Tracy raised a skeptical brow. “He looks fine.”
“That’s how it starts. One second you’re feeling fine . . . and then . . .” Georgie made an explosion sound, clapping her hands together. “Pus everywhere. You wouldn’t believe the pus. You can’t get it out with regular detergent.”
“You took it too far,” Travis muttered to Georgie. “Way too far.”
“I’m new at this,” she shot back, out of the side of her mouth.
Obviously onto the impromptu ruse, Tracy jerked her purse higher on her shoulder. “I can take a hint, Travis Ford. And by the way, you’re not as hot in person.”
“Aw, give him a break. He’s had a rough month.”
That comment earned Georgie a glare. “Don’t ever come into the boutique, Georgie Castle. Your legs are too short—even for the petite sizes.”
Georgie’s confidence dipped, but she lifted her chin to make up for it. “They don’t treat me this way at Gap Kids—you could learn a thing or two from them.”
Travis realized he was frowning down at Georgie. The top of her head only reached his shoulder. Small but fierce. Again, he marveled over the quiet girl who’d barely been capable of eye contact, once upon a time, becoming this scrappy defender of . . . him. Why the hell was she even bothering? Travis didn’t know, but he felt compelled to return the favor in some small way. Probably because she was Stephen’s little sister. “Your legs are normal-sized.”
She stared up at him as if he’d given her a way better compliment. Just as quickly, though, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
Tracy turned tail and stormed down the sidewalk. “Know what? I hope you do get some disease from the nineties, Travis Ford,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t know why every woman in town is determined to throw her hat into the ring. You’re not even worth a midweek leg shave.”
“Points for originality.” Travis and Georgie watched the blonde until she was out of earshot. “Although, did I really hear her asking you out on a picnic?”
He sighed. “You did indeed.”
“Would she have shown up with a Yogi Bear wicker basket? Would she have packed a giant cartoon ham hock? I’m disappointed you didn’t say yes, just to satisfy my curiosity.”
Travis knew he should say thank you, but he didn’t want Georgie getting the impression he wanted or needed any more of her interventions. God forbid he formed an obligation to her. No one relied on Travis for anything now and he relied on exactly nobody. Commitments were temporary, and thus he didn’t bother making them. When he’d landed in the pros, he’d allowed himself to trust teammates, coaches, managers, despite the lesson he’d learned at a young age. He wouldn’t make that mistake a third time. The only exception to the rule was waiting for him inside the office, and even Stephen was kept at a comfortable distance.
“I’m meeting with your brother, Georgie.” He turned and opened the door, air-conditioning rushing out of Brick & Morty to greet him. “Run along.”
Georgie followed him inside. “What brought you out this fine summer day? It wouldn’t have anything to do with me—”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure, becaus
e . . .”
Travis turned on a heel and the brim of Georgie’s hat drilled him in the chest, the impact knocking it off her head. He opened his mouth to tell her, no, nothing she’d said or done was responsible for his leaving his cave to meet with Stephen. It was pure coincidence. But the fallen hat had allowed her deep brown mass of hair to spill out everywhere. Over her shoulders, down her back, across half of her face. One of her green eyes peeked out through the wave of it all and he got distracted from his speech.
Yeah, she’d definitely . . . changed.
Georgie broke their stare, stooping down to grab the hat and yank it back down over her head, pulling her wealth of hair through the back opening. “What are you here to speak with Stephen about?”
The husky tone of her voice perturbed him even more, though he couldn’t say why. “Can you go play outside while the adults talk?”
She looked bored, but Travis got the impression it was an act. “It’s not my turn for the swing.”
The sound of a phone hitting the cradle ricocheted through the office.
“Georgie,” Stephen called behind Travis. “That’s enough. We’ll talk later.”
“Right,” she muttered, her smile tight. “I can take a hint, too.”
An uncomfortable sensation moved in Travis’s chest as Georgie backed toward the door. When he’d been patronizing to her like an asshole, it hadn’t sounded as bad as when Stephen did it, right? Yeah. Probably. And so be it. Making this girl feel welcome wasn’t his job, especially if her own brother didn’t see a reason to do so.
“Oh!” Georgie stopped and spun, keeping one hand on the doorknob. “Stephen, I’m starting a new tradition this weekend. Saturday brunch at my place. Can you come?”
Travis turned to find his friend scribbling on a legal pad, barely giving his sister the time of day. “Sure, sure. I’ll talk to Kristin.”
“Great.” She seemed to brace herself. “Travis, you’re invited, too.”
“Don’t count on me.”
She sent him an exaggerated wink. “It’s the blue house at the end of Whittier. Big elm tree in the yard. I’ll see you there.”
“You won’t.”
“But I think I will,” she said in a drawn-out whisper, edging into the sunlight.
Travis watched in exasperation as Georgie passed in front of the plateglass window, while pretending to be on a down escalator. “Is she always like this?”
“Who?”
Again, that weird roll of discomfort tried to pass through him, but he batted it away. “Your sister.”
“Oh, Georgie? Pretty much.” Stephen’s voice came from right behind Travis, prompting him to turn and shake the other man’s hand. “You still look like shit, but you’ve moved to a step above corpse.”
“Yeah? I’ll rebound.” He forced a grin. “You’ll look like shit forever.”
Tight-lipped and grim-faced, Stephen wasn’t a man given to laughing. His snort was his closest mirth indicator. With a chin jerk, he stomped back toward his desk and took a long sip of what appeared to be a fruit smoothie. “Saw you talking to a girl outside.” His stare was baleful. “Did she land the coveted first date?”
Travis dropped into the chair facing Stephen’s desk. “Come again?”
“Kristin tells me there’s something of an informal competition brewing in Port Jeff. Now that you’ve finally emerged from your hovel, I’m guessing it’s game on.”
A vein started to pound behind Travis’s eye. “Let me get this straight. There’s a competition and the object is to date me?”
“About right.”
“What I do is the opposite of dating. I do not date.”
“I didn’t either until I met Kristin.” He nodded, obviously preparing to tell Travis the same story he’d related several times over the phone and would probably tell another nine hundred times throughout his life. Christ, his best friend was already such a dad. Travis couldn’t even commit to a toothpaste brand. “She was on vacation in New York, visiting from Georgia. Saw her crossing an intersection in Manhattan. I pulled over, asked her to lunch, and she never went home.”
“I told you before, bro. That sounds more like kidnapping.”
Stephen let that go without comment. “What can I do for you, Travis? I’m guessing you didn’t come here looking for a job.”
There was a pinch in his chest at the prospect of signing on for a daily grind. Forming a routine. Those things meant devoting himself. Having people count on him. Being on a team. When a man’s usefulness ran out, Travis knew very well what happened, but he had no choice. Rotting away in a one-bedroom wasn’t an option, no matter how much he wanted it to be. “Actually, I did. Come here to look for a job.”
His oldest friend sat forward in his chair. “I know how many zeroes were attached to those contracts you signed, man. You don’t need the work.”
“Need? No.” Georgie’s voice caught him off guard for the tenth time that day. The guy we all looked up to is a drunk slob. “I just need something to keep me busy until I figure out my next move,” he said quickly, trying to dispel the words in his head. “Wasn’t so long ago I used to swing the hammer for extra cash during summer vacation. Your father taught us carpentry at the same time. Anything I forgot, I can relearn on the fly.”
“I hire serious candidates only.” Stephen steepled his fingers. “Men looking to grow with the company and be in it for the long haul.”
“I don’t offer the long haul to anybody.”
A muscle twitched in his friend’s cheek as they faced off across the desk. Finally, Stephen picked up a pen and wrote something down, sliding the piece of paper across the desk toward Travis. “Here’s the address of our current flip. This is where you’d be working to start.”
Travis held up the note, giving it a cursory glance. And then he read it again, a pit yawning wide in his stomach. “This is across the street from . . .”
Regret darkened Stephen’s eyes. “I know. It’s a pretty fucked-up coincidence,” he said. “That going to be a problem?”
“Nope. Ancient history.” He shoved the paper into his pocket and stood. “See you there.”
He knew if he turned around, Stephen’s expression would call bullshit, so he kept walking, doing his best to ignore the foreboding in his gut.
Chapter Three
Georgie gave her blueberry compote a final stir and stepped back from the counter, wiping sticky hands down her apron. Bacon warmed in the oven alongside Belgian waffles. She’d stayed up late whipping cream with her new hand mixer and had taken only seven finger swipes out of it since waking up this morning—but who was counting? In an exciting twist, she’d timed everything right for her first time cooking for more than one—painfully single—person.
It was her first time entertaining in her new home, period.
Georgie still couldn’t believe it. She had a house now. Granted, the Castle family business thrived on the art of sniffing out real estate deals, so she’d bought the two-bedroom ranch for a song and it still needed a lot of work. But it was hers. Not bad for a birthday party clown. Speaking of which, she had a dozen phone calls to return as soon as this brunch ended. Port Jefferson had exactly one clown and she was in high demand. It was how she’d managed the down payment on the house. Unfortunately, half the calls were from new customers who wanted a cotton candy machine, pony rides, magicians, princesses.
And she’d have to turn those jobs down.
A familiar hint of panic crept into her throat. Her fledgling clown business, along with some help from her parents, had put her through college, but it no longer seemed as sustainable. She did her best to keep the act fresh and cater to new trends, but kids’ birthday parties were a competitive racket. Parents wanting to outdo each other were beginning to look outside of Port Jeff for their entertainment needs. What was Georgie going to do about that? With a mortgage to pay, the future of her one-woman show had begun weighing more and more heavily on her mind.
Don’t worry about it now.
Not when there’s compote to be consumed, parents and siblings to impress, and mimosas to drink. And Travis.
As if she could forget about Travis and his big, beautiful, brooding self.
Would he come?
No. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d barely given her the time of day when she was a kid. What made her think this guy who’d been wined, dined, and invited to the White House would be interested in having brunch with a girl who’d chucked rotting food at his head? Still. It didn’t hurt to imagine him waltzing through the swinging door of her kitchen with that amazing animal grace, that tongue tucked into his lower lip as if he just had to utilize it at all times. Guh.
Pressing her hand to her pounding heart, Georgie checked the clock on the oven. She would find out if he’d show soon enough. There was only ten minutes to go until everyone started to arrive.
Telling her nerves to hit the road, Georgie took the pitcher of mimosas out of the fridge, arranging it at an artistic angle on the kitchen table. She couldn’t stop herself from taking her cell phone out and snapping a few pictures in portrait mode.
“Okay,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m one of these smug foodie people now.”
Before she could post the picture to Instagram, the phone dinged with an incoming text message. It was from her sister, Bethany.
B: Can’t make it. That asshole community theater director broke up with me during the appetizers last night and I self-medicated with Cuervo. Rain check next week?
