With glitter.
“I think that might be your color, Matty,” June teased, snapping a picture with her phone.
Matty leaned back in the chair with exaggerated dignity, his voice dripping mock tragedy. “Don’t lie. You know damn good and well that this color was not meant for a man of my complexion.”
“What’s the name of it?” June fired back.
“Sour Apple.”
Beside me, Carolina squealed with delight at the sight of his nails, her own little toes already glowing purple. “You’re so sparkly!” she said, pointing toward his fingers.
Matty winked at her. “Darlin’, real men wear glitter.”
“What about you, Benny boy?” June nodded toward his salmon-colored fingernails. “What bet did you lose?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. I usually keep them painted anyway to make the calls more visible.”
“That’s a good idea,” Bella added, surprising the rest of us. She had been quietly flipping through her book for the past hour while a technician finished layering her toes with clear polish. It was a wonder we had gotten her in the pedicure chair at all, though I had a feeling that had more to do with Bennett than the allure of a spa day.
To her credit, his eyes had barely left her since we’d sat down.
I got it, though. Bennett wasn’t flashy like Matty with his easy grin, or loud and boisterous like Tucker and Roman. No, he had a kind of quiet steadiness that felt . . . magnetic.
Hmm, sounds like somebody else I know.
Long brown hair tucked behind his ears, a trim goatee framing his mouth, bright blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, he looked a little like Keanu Reeves, if Keanu had spent his life behind the plate—thick thighs, sun kissed skin, and forearms strong enough to hold the whole world steady.
Bella didn’t blush, not exactly, but her fingers stilled on her book. And Bennett? He didn’t grin or wink, didn’t do anything to call attention to it. He just looked at her like her words mattered.
Like she mattered.
Something about it tugged at me. I knew what it felt like to have someone’s attention hit that hard. To be seen and wanted at the same time. And god, if Bella felt even half of what I thought she might, she was in trouble.
Before I could linger on it, Matty nearly launched out of his chair, sloshing water all over the tile. “What the hell? That was a clean strike.”
Our entire row turned toward the flat screen mounted above the polish racks, where the All-Star Game blared in high definition. The salon owner had looked at us sideways when we’d asked to put it on, but a little extra cash from Bennett had done the trick.
While the rest of the Roasters spent the break scattered across the greater Portland area—sleeping in, rehabbing sore muscles, or just breathing for the first time in months—three of our guys were on the clock. Pink, Roman, and Wes had all been tapped for this year’s American League All-Star roster, a well-deserved honor that meant they’d spend the so-called “break” under brighter lights than ever.
The game was being played in Minneapolis this summer, and the broadcast showed a stadium packed to the rafters, a sea of navy, red, and white. Pink adjusted his cap on the mound and wound up with that smooth, easy delivery that somehow always looked casual even when he was throwing ninety-five miles per hour.
June smirked, sipping her mimosa. “Do you think the cameras will cut to Nessa in the stands?”
“I doubt it,” I said, running a hand over my belly just as my little girl delivered a sharp kick. She was feisty already—just like her mom—always moving, reminding me she was there. Brooks and I had been tossing around names for weeks, but so far noneof them had stuck. For now, I just called her BB—short for bothBaby BernalandBaby Bailey-Ward.
We hadn’t even settled on her last name yet. And it wasn’t because Brooks didn’t support her taking mine; he’d told me, in no uncertain terms, that he would back me no matter what.
No, the indecision was all me.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pass onBernalwith all the baggage that clung to it, all the memories tied up with my mother. Some days, I thought it was important to hang on to it, to keep that piece of myself alive through her. Other days, I wanted a clean slate, free of old ghosts.
Either way, BB kicked again, hard enough that I pressed my palm firmer against the swell. She didn’t care what we decided—she already knew who she belonged to.
The salon erupted with cheers.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Matty shouted, nearly knocking over the bowl of cotton balls beside him.
The nail techs exchanged bewildered looks, muttering to each other under their breaths, but none of us cared. We were too busy cheering for our guys, glitter nails and all.
