“Yeah. Just some scratches.” I held up my forearm, displaying the angry red scratches.
“You saved it!” Alice crashed into my legs, wrapping her arms around my knees. “That was so cool!”
“You were so brave!” Audrey added, more reserved but clearly impressed. She was staring at me with the kind of awe usually reserved for superheroes.
I laughed, ruffling Alice’s hair. “I don’t know about brave. I was definitely a little scared.”
“Daddy made sure you didn’t fall,” Alice said matter-of-factly, still clinging to my legs.
My eyes flicked to Cam. He was looking anywhere but at me, jaw working like he was chewing on words he refused to say.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Your dad definitely helped.”
Silence stretched between us, awkward and charged. The girls were still staring at me like I’d just descended from the sky on a golden cloud, while Cam studied a spot somewhere over my left shoulder with intense focus.
“Well,” I said finally. “I should probably go finish my laundry before it mildews in the basket.”
“Right. Yeah.” Cam cleared his throat. “Thanks for... that.”
“Anytime. Though hopefully there won’t be a next time because that cat did not appreciate my efforts.”
That almost got a smile out of him. Almost.
I gave the girls a little wave and headed back toward the gate, feeling three sets of eyes on my back the entire way. Just before I slipped through to my yard, I glanced back.
Audrey and Alice were both talking at once, gesturing animatedly up at the now-empty tree. And Cam was watching me, something unreadable in his expression.
Our eyes met for a heartbeat.
Then I turned and walked back to my yard, my heart doing things that had absolutely nothing to do with tree climbing and everything to do with the ghost of his hands still burning through my shirt.
CAM
The smell of hot dogs and fresh cut grass hit me the second we walked through the gates at Truist Field. Opening day. The Knights versus the Gwinnett Stripers, and the energy in the stadium was electric.
“Can we get cotton candy?” Alice tugged on my hand, already eyeing the concession stands.
“Maybe later.”
“But what if they run out?”
“They’re not going to run out, monster.”
We found our seats about fifteen rows up from third base. Perfect view of the field, close enough to see the players’ faces but not so close we’d get knocked out by a foul ball.
Audrey settled into her seat and immediately pulled out the mini tablet I’d said she could bring. I bit back the urge to ask her to at least wait until the game started.
“Okay.” I set down the bag I’d packed with snacks and drinks. “Who wants what? Alice?”
“Cotton candy. And nachos. And a hot dog.”
“I brought granola bars and apple slices.”
Her face fell. “That’s not baseball food.”
“We can get other stuff later. This is for now.”
“But Daddy?—”
