“We don’t want to do that. She’s scared. We don’t want to force it on her. If we give her time, show her we won’t hurt her, she’ll eventually warm up.”
Jackson’s face falls serious as he thinks it over. “Why is she so scared of us? We’re nice. We feed her. I won’t hurt her.”
“You and your mom are, sure. But we don’t know what her life was like before she found your yard. Maybe she was scared. Maybe people were mean to her. Maybe she only knows what it’s like to fend for herself, and doesn’t know how to let someone else help.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “But she will like the house you bought, right?”
“I sure hope so.”
“How do you know so much about cats?” I’ve been watching this conversation unfold from the kitchen, hip propped against the island and arms wrapped around my core.
Jim shoots me a look over his shoulder, winking. “I don’t know much about cats, but I have a soft spot for feisty redheads.”
I roll my eyes, pursing my lips together to hide my smile. “Pretty confident that she will eventually come around, hey?”
He twists his position to face me, forearms resting on top of his thick thighs. His eyes find me, a cocky grin splitting his face. “If I had to guess, I’d think she’s already halfway to being mine.”
A wave of heat flourishes in my chest, and I stand upright, propping my hands on my hips. “Alright you two, are you done? We have a Cubs game to get to.”
Jim picks up Jackson, tucking him under his arm like a pile of logs as he moves towards the front door.
“Oh, I almost forgot my mitt!” Jackson wiggles out of Jim’s hold and he sets him down, watching as he scampers across the living room, hopping over the couch to make his way to the bedroom.
“No shoes on the furniture!” I call out after him, my scolding falling on deaf ears. “He’s determined to catch a foul ball today,” I tell Jim, turning back and finding his gaze locked on my ass.
“Hmmm,” he responds, hungry eyes not leaving my body. “Damn, have I mentioned how good you look?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe once, I can’t recall.” I playfully slap his chest with the back of my hand and reach across the island to grab my purse and my phone, making sure to bend over nice and slow to give Jim a show. When I turn around, his face is flushed, eyes honed in on my backside. I walk towards the front door, stopping to place a quick kiss on his cheek before whispering against his ear, “Keep it in your pants, Charley-Boy.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You want another beer?” Jim points a thumb towards the vendor standing next to him with a cooler propped on his hip.
I’ve already had a beer, a giant chili cheese dog, and a handful of Jackson’s popcorn. On a normal day, I’d politely decline the beer even though I want one. The calories alone are too much, but Wrigley is alive with eager Cubs fans, and the atmosphere alone is practically demanding I have another.
“Oh, I guess one more won’t hurt.”
Jim smiles, nodding to the vendor as he leans forward to dig his wallet out from his back pocket. He exchanges the cash for a beer, stealing a sip for himself before he passes it behind Jackson’s back to me.
“You aren’t having one?”
“I’ve already had one, I’m good.”
With his size, Jim could easily have a few cheap ballpark beers and still be okay to drive, but it warms me in that weird, bubbly way again that he chooses not to.
We couldn’t have asked for more perfect weather for this game. The sun is beaming down on us, warming my pale, winter skin. Jackson settled between Jim and me with the biggest bagof popcorn between his legs and an orange mustache from his pop. He’s chattered non-stop since the game started, pointing out every player that leaves the dugout to warm up.
“So Jax,” Jim says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I got another surprise for you, if you’re interested.”
Jackson’s knees stop their incessant bouncing and he cocks his head at Jim. “A surprise?”
Jim nods. “If it’s okay with your mom, and if you want, I’ve signed you up to run the bases after the game.”
Jackson turns to look at me for confirmation, and I shrug. “What does that mean?”
“On Sundays, after the game, the first one thousand kids who sign up get to go down and run the bases. The mascot, who I guess is named Clark by the way, will be at third base to give you a high five as you round third and run towards home plate.”
Jackson’s jaw drops, eyes glimmering with so much excitement as he turns back to me. “Can I, Mom?”
