“It doesn’t count if you marry the same one twice.” She reached across the counter and patted Bella’s hand with surprising gentleness. “You come back anytime, honey. And I’ll tell youallabout husband number three. That one involved whipped cream and a hotel balcony in Vegas. Lord, the size of his—”
“Okay, that’s our cue.”
Bella laughed, soft and genuine. “It was really nice meeting you, Dolly.”
“Likewise, sugar.” Dolly winked.
We escaped back to my truck, me carrying the baked treat haul while Bella trailed behind, barely containing her laughter.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered. “Dolly’s . . . Dolly.”
Bella bumped my shoulder, eyes bright with amusement. “I don’t know. I think I might need to come back for that whipped cream story.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Diabolical.”
“Dolly or me?” she teased.
“Both of you. Together, you could take over the world.”
She dissolved into giggles. “I have to say, while I’m glad you didn’t drive me out her to murder me and feed me to Dolly’s pigs, I’m surprised this is what you picked for our date.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling. “Oh, baby, this is only our first stop.”
I was just polishing off my second lemon blueberry scone when we pulled into the stadium parking lot.
“You brought me to work?”
I killed the engine and turned to her. “Remember the Junior Roasters clinic I mentioned? Today’s the first session, and I thought you might want to join us.”
Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You volunteered me to spend Valentine’s Day playing baseball with twelve-year-olds?”
“Best unromantic non-date date ever, right?” I teased, already one foot out the door. “Come on, we’re already cutting it close and we’re bringing the breakfast.”
She followed me through the gate, still processing. “You could’ve warned me.”
“And miss the horrified look on your face? Absolutely not.”
The field was already alive in that perfect early-morning way. Freshly cut grass striped under the rising sun, bases gleaming, portable cages and cones set up along the warning track. A long table near the dugout groaned under stacks of tiny helmets, gloves, and cherry-red Roasters tees.
About thirty kids between the ages of eight and thirteen milled around with parents, some bouncing balls off their gloves, others staring at the empty stands like they’d walked onto hallowed ground.
The second the kids spotted me, the chorus started.
“Bennett King! Bennett King!”
A wave of them circled me, and I dropped to a knee for the usual chaos of high fives and helmet bumps.
Bella hung back a step, clutching one of the pink bakery boxes, eyes wide as she took it all in.
I straightened, stretching my hand around to the small of her back. “Everybody, this is Coach Bella. She brought pastries, which officially makes her the most important person here today.”
That earned an immediate, unruly cheer.
Bella laughed and surrendered the boxes to a volunteer, who whisked them to the snack table.
I led Bella away from the swarm of hungry preteens and lowered my voice so only she could hear me.
“Okay, real talk,” I said, the words coming out rougher than I intended. “If this feels like too much or you’d rather not spend your morning chasing grounders with sticky-fingered kids, I can set you up in Clarke and Dani’s office upstairs. They have the best stash of snacks in the building, not to mention a couch made for napping.”
