Baker chuckles. “That has to be hard for him to grasp.”
“I know. He was just staring up at the screen, as if Knox was going to jump out of the TV and land in the living room.” I laugh.
“I should have bought those tickets,” he says.
“You’re busy celebrating your win. Besides, you have to travel to and from with the team. We’re holding down the home front until you come home to us. I mean, until you come home,” I say, cursing myself inwardly for my words.
“I’m coming home to both of you, Sloane,” he says, and my heart flutters in my chest.
“You know what I meant,” I say, brushing off my slip of the tongue.
“I did, and you were right the first time.”
“So, you’ll be home what time tomorrow?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Our flight leaves at nine. It’s a quick flight from Michigan, so I should be home early afternoon.”
“Perfect,” I reply as cheering from the background comes through the line. “You'd better go celebrate this win with your team.”
“I’m celebrating with my home team, talking to you.”
Did he really just say that? Damn, how am I supposed to resist him and keep my heart from craving nothing but him and his son when he talks like that?
“We were definitely cheering you all on,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else. Well, that’s not true. I could ask him what’s going on with us, but I’m too afraid of what his answer might be, so I continue to play pretend and just hope like hell whatever this is that’s brewing between us doesn’t blow up in our faces.
“All of us or me?” he asks, his voice husky.
“Well, all of you, of course, but Cam and I might have been watching number 32 a little more than the others.”
“I miss the two of you,” he says softly, so soft that, with the background noise of the locker room, I almost don’t hear him.
“We’ll be here when you get home,” I tell him. I want to tell him that I miss him, too, but I keep the words locked tight within me.
“I’ll text you once we make it back to the stadium.”
“Okay. Congratulations, Baker. You played a great game. All of you did.”
“Thanks, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My damn heart reacts to his words with a rapid beat. “See you tomorrow,” I say, ending the call. I try to get back into the book I was reading, but it’s hard when it feels like I have my very own swoony hero. Instead, I call it a night and head upstairs to my room. I check on Camden, who’s sleeping peacefully, before getting ready for bed. The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I’ll get to see him.
Camden claps his hands as we use the football cookie cutters I bought to make another helmet-shaped cookie. “Great job, buddy.”
“Cook-kie!” he says in his adorable little voice.
“That’s right. We have lots of helmets. Let’s do a couple of jerseys and a few more footballs.” Grabbing the jersey cookie cutter, I help him press it into the dough, and he laughs, clapping yet again. He’s celebrated after every single cookie we’ve cut out, and it’s absolutely delightful.
“Okay. Let me get this first batch in the oven, and we’ll do a few more. We also need to make icing,” I tell him.
“Cam make, too,” he says.
“Of course. You’re my big helper,” I remind him. He smiles at that and pokes his finger into the excess dough. I’ll need to round it all up again and roll it back out before we start cutting the next batch.
Popping the pan into the oven, I get busy rolling out more dough, then hand him the football-shaped cookie cutter. “Let’s do a few more footballs.”
“Daddy, ball.” He giggles and presses the cutter into the dough with all of his might.
“That’s right. Daddy plays football.” I bop my index finger on his nose, and he cackles with laughter, as if that move is the funniest thing he’s seen in his entire two-plus years of life.
