Bella trailed behind her, clutching a slim paperback like it was armor. She cast a skeptical glance around the café, taking in the communal tables, the bulletin board of information about adopting and fostering, and the cats padding across every surface.
“That’s just how cat mouths look,” she corrected.
“Bella,” Nessa scolded gently, though I caught the twitch of a smile she tried to hide.
Carolina mulled over this information, eyes bouncing between the cats splayed out around the room. “Then, all cats are smiling.”
Touché.
Bella blinked, quietly processing Carolina’s response. For a second, it looked like she wanted to counter—her lips parted, a thought poised on the edge—but instead, she just gave a small nod. “I’m going to grab a tea.”
She excused herself to the café counter without another word.
This had become somewhat of a routine the past couple of weeks. While the guys ground through back-to-back road series in Chicago and Kansas City, I visited Pawsitive Vibes, soaking up the scent of coffee and catnip, sometimes while I got some backend paperwork done. It had become my go-to office away from the office. The kitten-induced serotonin boost didn’t hurt either.
Even better, I had befriended “Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather,” aka Sherri, Celia, and Nancy, the trio of septuagenarians who owned and operated Pawsitive Vibes like some kind of modern-dayGolden Girls.Talk about friendship goals.
I was currently working with them to coordinate a Roasters sponsored adoption event at the stadium, one where the fans could cuddle and, hopefully, take home their next furry friend. It wouldn’t be the first time the team had partnered with a local animal shelter—just last month, we had orchestrated a jersey auction with paw prints smeared across the fabric courtesy of some rescue dogs—but the idea of filling the concourse with cats and kittens, especially from an organization so dear to the man I loved, felt like something special.
And then, there was the calendar.
I had taken Nessa up on her suggestion. The Roasters were getting a calendar—a sexy one, with rescue animals—just in time for next year’s holiday season.Merry fucking Christmas, baseball fans.
Now I just needed to talk Brooks into posing for it.
“I should get a cat for Smutty Buddies,” Nessa said, sweeping her hand across the back of black furball. “And name him something romance-y, like Axel. Or Wyatt.”
“Sebastian,” I offered. “There’s always a Sebastian.”
“It’s like the universal romance hero fuckboy name.” She sank into one of the café’s mismatched chairs. “Even though I’ve never met a Sebastain in my life.”
I pressed a hand over my bump and eased into the chair opposite her with a sigh of relief. Pregnancy had turned sitting down into an Olympic event.
Nessa’s grin sharpened. “Speaking of romance heroes, I was thinking about something the other day that I wanted to run by you.”
“And how much nudity is involved in this one?”
“Minimal, at best.”
I laughed so hard, my bump jiggled. “Hit me with it.”
“Okay, imagine this . . . A baseball romance signing event at the stadium during the off-season. Authors, merch tables, and maybe a few photo ops with the guys.”
I tilted my head, already spinning through the logistics. This was the part of my job I loved most—taking a half-formed idea and figuring out how to make it sing, how to connect it with the fans, the brand, the bigger picture. My brain immediately started sifting through dates, sponsorship tie-ins, and at least half a dozen ways we could market the hell out of an event like this.
“That could work,” I told her. “Off-season, we’d have the space and staff available. Authors would get exposure to a whole new audience, fans would get an excuse to come back into the park, and the team could promote it as a community crossover event. Sponsors would eat it up.”
Nessa leaned back, smug as hell. “I knew you’d see the vision.”
I took another sip of chai, fingers drumming against my bump as the idea solidified. “We would need to frame it right. Something playful but accessible. Not just for romance readers, but also baseball fans who might get curious. It would help if we could tie in a charity, too. Maybe a portion of the ticket sales could go to a literacy program or library?”
“Damn, Dani.”
I arched my brow. “What?”
“You make my harebrained ideas sound like marketing gold.”
I shrugged, but inside I was already drafting the pitch in my head—just one more thing to add to my “before birth” to-do list.
