She bursts out laughing. “Girl, you are so screwed.”
I wave the long, wooden spoon at my phone. “Stop interrupting me. Anyway, after we got back, they spent two hours in the back yard together doing baseball stuff.”
“Baseball stuff,” she deadpans. “Got it.”
I roll my eyes and scoop the pasta into a glass baking pan, then cover it with aluminum foil.
“You know I was never good with sports jargon.” Propping my elbows on the countertop in front of my phone, I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “I may have window-stalked them for a while. Watching them together and seeing how happy Brandon was—he hasn’t smiled much lately. It was good to see, but it also made me sad. Dirk never did that kind of stuff with him. He never even showed up to any of Brandon’s games. It was always Mom and me.”
Kama bites her bottom lip and nods. “Brandon is going to be okay because he’s lucky enough to have you. And you’ve got me. Sista friends to the end.”
“I miss you, Kama Llama.”
She playfully sticks out her tongue in mock disgust. “I think we can retire that little nickname.”
I gasp. “Never.”
“And I miss you too… Maria.”
Standing, I snatch the phone to carry with me when the front doorbell rings. “Maria?”
“Aria plus Mason equals Maria.”
“Yeah, that’s a no,” I tell her. “Hold on, babe, there’s someone at the door.”
“Hopefully a shirtless, bare-chested, dripping wet, right out of the shower Mason needing to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“Muting you now,” I tell her as I swing the door open to find not Mason, but Michael standing on my front porch. As in, last night’s date, Michael.
Unmuting Kama, I utter, “I need to call you back.”
“Wait! Was I right? Is it—”
I end the video call.
“Um, hi?” I ask, brows furrowed and confused as to why he’s here.
Michael shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and shuffles his feet in an adorably shy way. He looks over his shoulder, then back at me.
“Hi. I hope it’s okay that I stopped by like this. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi… so, hi.”
His mouth spreads in a slow smile, and I can’t help but return it.
Michael is a nice guy. Cute. Funny. Sweet. Has a well-paying job and coaches little league baseball during the summer, so likes kids. Left a huge tip for our waitress last night which isalways a plus in my book. He’s everything a woman like me should want—if it weren’t for the man who unexpectedly popped back into my life and is currently living next door.
Wait a minute. I backtrack a few thoughts to ‘well-paying job.’ Michael is the assistant coach of Brandon’s varsity baseball team. And Mason is the new head coach.
Oh dear god. How has this become my life?
Not knowing how to handle this, I step out onto the porch and close the front door, some innate voice telling me that inviting him inside would not be the appropriate thing to do. It could send mixed signals that I’m interested. I should be. I’d be crazy not to want to go out on another date with him.
“So, in the neighborhood, huh?” I ask, walking over to the new porch swing Brandon helped me put up last month. The distressed wood creaks when I sit down.
Michael’s handsome face displays a playful wince. “Not really. Truth?”
I nod.
“I just wanted to see you. I had a great time last night. I thought, maybe, you’d like to do it again.”
