“I want you to marry Captain Citrus before the first spring training game.”
CHAPTER 3
JEFF
I don’t remember sayingyesto fake marrying the team mascot, but I guess I didn’t manage to saynobefore Molly slid past me, giving me a first up-close inhale of the scent of her long, wavy locks as she escaped from my office.
She smelled like determination and something painfully bright and optimistic.
That idealistic scent lingers long after she leaves. I go to sleep thinking of her unique spirit and wake up hard as fucking nails.
I accept that I’ve agreed tomarry our mascotas part of a state-wide free wedding event that happens around Valentine’s Day every year.
We manage to cobble together a roster. It’s not great, but it’s a starting point.
And then spring training opening day is upon us. Friday, February 13th. A weekearlier than usual because we’re playing an exhibition game as part of the World Baseball Classic event. My daughter shows up with my grandson for a quick visit, which is a great surprise.
“We’ll get out of your hair soon,” Sinclaire says as I bounce Silas in my arms. She glances at my assistant hovering in the doorway with a sheaf of papers.
“No, it’s fine.” I stare in wonder at the little person my daughter made. I’ll ignore the fact that she made him with my former player, and before that, a long time ago, a once-upon-a-time teammate of mine, a big bruising slugger named Trick Lowry.
I didn’t approve of them falling in love, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
And they did make a perfect child.
“Rosie, you need to sign this wedding license,” my assistant says, shoving the paper on top in my direction. “They’re going to print a hundred of them for the fans who are getting married alongside you and the Big Grapefruit.”
Sinclaire grins. “And now we get to the real reason I’m here. Couldn’t miss my dad’s wedding to Captain Citrus!”
“Stop it,” I growl. I gesture for my assistant to hand me a pen, and I sign it one-handed.
“How’d they talk you into marrying the mascot?”
Secret shame thickens in my throat. The last person in the world I could ever confess mycomplicated feelings for our new PR person is my daughter, who’s probably five yearsolderthan the indomitable Molly Henderson.
But I don’t need to tell her. I don’t need to tell anyone, because the way I feel about Molly? This painfully bright desire that came out of nowhere and smashed me right in the chest?
I’m taking this secret to my grave.
“It’s good PR,” I manage to say.
“I’ll say. I saw the videos all the way in Wyoming. Had to get on a plane to come and see this for myself.” She grins. “And get some much-needed sunshine on the coast for me and Silas, of course.”
“All right, kiddo.” I kiss the top of my grandson’s head, then hand him back to his mom. “Get out of here. I have work to do.”
My assistant is long gone, so I’m thankfully able to focus on the actual baseball we’re going to play after the mass wedding Molly has organized.
Gesturing for our pitching coach to join me, I focus my attention on the whiteboard on my office wall and try to block out the thought of Molly one day holding a baby smaller than my grandson, a baby I’ll have nothing to do with.
Fuck.
Molly holding a sweet little sassy child.
Now I have another secret fantasy to file away and only think about in the dark of night.
CHAPTER 4
MOLLY
