I look up the stairs. “Molly? Can you come down here, please?”
There’s a pause that feels like it lasts forever. Then Molly appears at the top of the stairs. She’s smoothed down her shirt and finger-combed her long hair, but her lips are still swollen from my kisses and there’s a flush on her cheeks that makes it very clear what we were doing.
She descends slowly, her hand trailing along the banister. When she reaches the bottom, she stands beside me but doesn’t touch me. I can feel her trembling.
“Sinclaire, this is Molly Henderson. She works in PR for the Outlaws.” I take a breath. “And she’s… my wife.”
Sinclaire’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Yourwhat?”
“My wife,” I repeat, more firmly this time. I shift Silas to one arm and reach for Molly’s hand with the other. She weaves her fingers through mine.
“How—when…?” Sinclaire shakes her head. “You didn’t tell me you were even dating anyone, let alone married.”
She refocuses her attention on Molly, taking her in. Her head tilts to the side. Then, slowly, she rolls her attention back to me. “Dad.”
“Yep.”
“Dad.”
“Don’t be rude, Sinclaire.”
“I’m not being rude.” Her head spins back to look at Molly as the door creaks open behind her.
Trick Lowry steps in the door, laden down with bags.
He’s my former teammate, the slugger who came into the league when we were teammates, who I returned to Florida to coach, and who is responsible for the third World Series ring I own. He’s a big lug of a man, a cowboy through and through, and in the two years since he retired and stole my daughter back to his ranch in Wyoming, he hasn’t come down to Florida as much as Sinclaire has.
And now he does a slow, careful perusal of the tableau in front of him.
His former coach. His wife. His son, who immediately wants down from my arms to race to his dad. Trick sets the bags down with a heavy thud and catches his toddler.
But his attention is clearly on the unexpected stranger who immediately clutches my hand again, as if she trusts I’ll protect her.
I will, and I like that she knows it.
“Trick, man, this is my wife, Molly.”
“Your…” His eyebrows jolt upward. “All right. Nice to meet you, Molly.”
Sinclaire is still staring at her.
“I know how this looks,”Molly says.
I squeeze her hand. “We both do.”
Sinclaire’s expression is unreadable.
Trick looks at Silas and says, “Should we go find some toys, buddy?”
“Toys!” My grandson races up the stairs, his father right behind him, and Sinclaire pushes past me and Molly, heading for the back of the house.
We follow.
Sinclaire sits down heavily in an armchair. “Okay. Somebody better start explaining, because I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate universe. Because I definitely remember a time very recently where you were opposed to me and Trick,Dad.”
Keeping Molly’s hand in mine, I guide her to the couch opposite my daughter and we both sit. “Remember the wedding promotion at spring training? When I married Captain Citrus?”
“Yes.” Sinclaire frowns. “I was there.”
