“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” I wave my hands, desperate to disperse the nervous energy circling me. “Hopefully, these designs work for you.”
Eddie leans against the chain-link fence, his dark gaze on me. “They’re perfect. Exactly what I needed. Far better, if I’m being honest.”
I kick a pebble with my shoe, eyes glued to the ground. “Great.”
“And for the record, you smell good, too. I’m just glad you said it first.”
My gaze cuts up to meet the smirk crossing his face. Just like that, he dissipates the tension.
He’ll never know how much that means to me.
“Keep me posted about the job. I’m crossing my fingers for you.”
“Absolutely. Here’s hoping, right? This would set my guys up with work throughout the winter.”
I bite back a smile.
I highly doubt Eddie Landry is hurting for work. Not when his portfolio includes a luxury resort and more than a few Gilded Age mansions scattered across the hillsides around Sparkwood.
But Eddie is humble. A show-don’t-tell kind of guy.
I like that about him. He’s the complete opposite of Drake.
And maybe—justmaybe—if I’d chosen a man like Eddie, I wouldn’t be standing here now, carrying the weight of someone else’s sins.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
I swallow the thought before it can take root.
Eddie gazes toward the far end of the ballfield as a small dark-haired boy grabs a bat and walks toward the plate. He cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, “Come on, Theo. Knock it out of the park, buddy!”
“So, that’s the infamous Theo.”
Of course he’s adorable. Just look at his father.
The little boy hoists the bat. I swear, it’s almost as big as he is.
He swings and misses.
“That’s all right,” Eddie says, clapping once. “You’ve got this!”
Another swing, another miss.
I glance down at my fingers, now curled around the fence, as I say a silent prayer for his son. Silly, really. It’s just Pee-wee League. There’s a good chance Theo won’t remember playing ten years from now, but in this moment, it’s everything.
And God, I want to see him win. One of us deserves it, right?
The ball cracks against the bat, and Theo takes off, tearing around the bases as the opposing team scrambles for the ball.
Eddie and I stand there clapping and cheering as Theo rounds the bases, sliding into home with an exaggerated flourish and jumping up and down, his little fist in the air as he smiles toward his dad.
It’s not a gorgeous hit. It’s better—messy, clumsy, and absolute perfection.
“That’s my boy,” Eddie says, the joy lighting him up from the inside.
“Absolutely amazing,” I crow, clapping as Theo high-fives his teammates. “I witnessed the first infield home run of a future Major League Baseball player.”
Eddie snorts, tapping the folder against his thigh. “You probably witnessed his only home run, if we’re being honest. Theo loves the game, but he could use some work. I’m terrible at baseball and can’t stand the sport, so I’m probably not as much help as I should be.”
