“Mm hmm.” She wags her brows and heads off to her car, still talking to me as she goes. “So underwhelming is he, this chiseled man who should be on the cover of some magazine. You’ll be unaffected, I’m sure.”
“Get a life!” I shout after her.
“Great idea! You first!” she shouts, laughing.
I run a few errands after lunch and pick Mia up from school. We dart home so she can put her school things away and change, and then we head to the ball field.
The Waterford Community Center sits off to the side of the wide park-like property. Cars fill the parking lot. Scatteredtrees line the edge of the lot and the park beyond the ball field.
I glance around, and an army-green vehicle catches my eye.
My pulse momentarily kicks up.
That’s Greyson’s Jeep. It has all the same markings and coloring. What’s he doing here?
My eyes narrow and I scan the parking lot as if he’ll appear suddenly. I don’t know if I’m ready for the guys at work to know about Mia. I will tell them, but I’m still establishing myself—earning their trust and proving my capability.
Mia jumps out of the van and starts running toward the field.
“Catch up, Mommy! I want you to meet Coach G!”
I pick up my pace, reaching her just as she runs onto the field. We’re the first family here. A coach is standing near the dugout, his broad back turned to us, head bent, looking down at a clipboard.
Mia runs toward him. “Coach G!” she shouts.
He turns and our eyes meet. For one disoriented beat he feels too familiar.
Greyson?
My mind swirls:Coach G is the best, Mommy!You’re meeting the hot coach!Copy that, dispatch.
The breath whooshes out of my lungs, but then I square my shoulders. I guess we’re doing this.
“Coach G, huh?” I say, unable to hide my smirk.
Greyson has the sense to look a little caught. But his face resumes resting neutrality in an instant.
“It’s been a nickname for years,” he tells me.
He doesn’t seem the least bit shocked that I have a child. But who knows what goes on behind Greyson’s chronically neutral face. Avery’s right. He’s objectively gorgeous. She’sgoing to die when I tell her I see that face for hours on end every other day.
Mia glances between the two of us, obviously confused.
I turn to my daughter. “I work with Coach G.”
Mia’s face scrunches up even more.
I explain, “Coach G is a fireman. Like me.”
“But you’re a firewoman,” Mia corrects me.
“Yes. I am.”
“You work with Coach G?” Mia’s face fills with overjoyed astonishment. I could have told her I’m best friends with Dolly Parton and she wouldn’t have been nearly as awestruck.
“Yes. We work together,” I confirm.
“Mia can’t stop talking about you,” I say, looking up into Greyson’s blue eyes.
