His lips tilt on one side. “Thanks for saying that. She’s absolutely unhinged half the time, but you can’t win them all.”
“That’s what I like about her. Also...” I use my palms to cover my eyes. “Oh my God, I am so sorry for being there when she told you today. I was so out of place and that was such a special moment for you two, and—”
“No.” Emmett stops walking and grabs my arm for me to do the same, pulling my hands away from my face. “No, I’m glad you were there. It was...nicegetting to share it with someone. There were so many times when she was growing up I wished I had someone to celebrate with. It’s been lonely in that regard, so today was really nice. It’s really nice having someone to talk to about it all.”
Good God.My heart physically aches at the sweet words. At the soft way he says them.
He’s so deserving of literally anything he wants, and it’s difficult to stop myself from basking in his warm attention. How lucky am I to be the one he looks at? Formeto be that person he wants to talk to.
His smile is a bit shy and, regardless of the distance we’re supposed to keep, or the professional wall that should be rebuilt, I just want to hug the man.
So, I do.
Not paying attention to how far we are from the house or who may be watching, I kind of throw myself at him, reaching up and wrapping my arms around Emmett’s neck to hug him.
For the first time ever, I realize.
He’s frozen for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but eventually he pulls his hands from his pockets, wrapping one around my lower back, the other sliding into my hair.
“Thanks for choosing me to talk to,” I say quietly.
He buries his face against the curve of my shoulder and holds me tighter. “I’m so glad you came today.”
“I am too.”
22
Emmett
“And I’m sitting Travis tonight,” I tell Reese as we go through tonight’s lineup together, sitting on opposite sides of her desk.
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, just the usual wear and tear. He took a hard bounce to the mask in yesterday’s game and needs a night off to rest.”
“But you’re sure he’s okay? Does he need anything?”
“He’s a catcher. He’s tough.”
“Okay. But please let me know if he needs anything more than just a night off.”
I lift a brow. “How business-minded of you.”
“Yeah. Well, he’s a piece of the business.”
I hum. “Sure.”
“Leave me alone,” she says playfully, refocusing on her computer sitting on the left side of the desk.
She looks good there, the field and stadium working as a backdrop for her.
I’ve spent a lot of time in this office, meeting with her grandfather over the years. But Arthur never looked that good sitting there. The energy in this office was vastly different. Before this season, I never dreamed of sweeping an arm over this desk to clear it off because I think the team owner would look fucking lovely spread across it.
I also never looked forward to my pregame meetings with Arthur the way I look forward to those same meetings this year. In fact, they’ve become one of my two favorite parts of gamedays. The other being the dugout visit from Reese that happens before the first pitch.
Pale pink nails type away at the keyboard as she chews on that bottom lip, slipping it between her teeth in concentration as she works.
I’ve come to find out I thoroughly enjoy watching this woman work.
