“What do you need help with?”
I smirk. I don’t have a sister nearby to run this stuff by. They live in California. So, I’m going on instincts with this one. Taking a big swing, so to speak.
“You know IKEA?” I quirk a brow, and Renleigh stares at me in dead silence.
My pulse speeds up a tick, and for a beat, I worry I played this wrong. Women love IKEA. I read it on some influencer’s post a few months ago, and tucked the idea away for the perfect moment. I was really sure this was it. But maybe?—
“Are you kidding me?”
Her statement is devoid of emotion, so I’m still not sure.
I shake my head and utter, “Uh uh.” She might smack me and jump out of the truck. Damn it all if I played this wrong.
“What are we buying?” Her eyes light up a hint, I swear.
“I need everything. Basically.” It’s not a lie because my rental is bone bare. I have a mattress on the floor and a folding table, and a sofa that came with the place that I refuse to lay on because there have been a lot of renters before me.
“Everything. So like, bookshelves, dresser, table . . .”
“I mean, I probably don’tneedbookshelves.”
She waves me off.
“If we’re going to IKEA, you’re getting bookshelves. Unless you were lying about being a big reader.” She stares at me with the intensity of a detective trying to work me for a confession.
“I wasn’t lying. I read, yeah. I mean, I didn’t exactly haul my books down here with me for Triple A ball, but?—”
“Right, right. Because you’re just passing through. You’ll be called up soon. Short stay in Sweetwater and all that.” She throws my words back at me swiftly, and I can’t help but wonder if my short tenure in this town is part of her hesitation to give me a shot.
“I didn’t really want to haul books from place to place. Eventually, I’d like to have a home somewhere. And I don’t know if that’s Sweetwater or Dallas or . . .”
She’s turned her attention back to the roadway, and her arms are once again folded over her chest.
“It’s not Sweetwater. This isn’t the kind of place people choose to make home.”
There’s a slight bite to her tone, so I let her words simmer in the air for a few solid minutes as I pull onto the highway and head toward Oklahoma City. I wait until her arms untangle and she appears to relax a touch before I broach the subject of her dad.
“Your dad coached in Sweetwater for a long time, huh?”
She shifts in her seat, her blue eyes flitting to me briefly. A few strands of hair have blown across her face, so I reach over and tuck them behind her ear. She stiffens at my gesture, but her gaze follows the movement of my hand, and her lips form a faint smile.
“Thanks,” she says, her voice softer than before. “And yeah, my dad was born in Sweetwater. He went to Florida State for college, though. He played there, met my mom, and they moved back to Sweetwater when the coaching job opened up. So, thirty years or so? He’d still be out there if he could handle the stress of it all. It’s not so much the standing, but not being able to kick dirt on the umpire that really holds him back.”
She breathes out a soft laugh that I mimic. I can see the coach’s fire in her dad based on the few interactions we’ve had. He reminds me a lot of the ones I’ve played for.
“Did you ever think about leaving Sweetwater?” I chew on the inside of my mouth when she sighs.
“I did leave, for three and a half years. I went to Tennessee to study psychology. I’d like to work in family therapy. Of course, I need a license to do that, and since I’m fifteen credit hours shy of my degree, it looks like I’m more likely to renew my liquor serving license before I ever get an opportunity to help people navigate complex relationships.
I give her a half-hearted smile.
“I mean, isn’t that sort of what bartending is?” I shrug, and she laughs.
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know that anyone in Sweetwater listens to the shit I say, though.”
It’s quiet for a few long seconds before I respond.
“I listen to you. For example, I now know I should ask what’s in a smoothie before I drink it.”
