“Well, if you aren’t far from the stadium, you aren’t far from the aquarium. Next thing on my list. Maybe I can see it before we go.” She nods softly, before she angles her head in concern. “And the next thing on your list is catch.”
“Yeah, uh—yeah.”
“If you’re not ready for—” she starts.
I interrupt with a shake of my head. “Nah. It’s okay. Gotta, uh, rip the Band-Aid off, especially if this”—I wave a hand between us—“worked and it really might be time limited. Pressure’s on if you’re taking a new job and I’m waiving my clause.”
“We’ll see. The competition is open for a few more weeks,” she murmurs, turning back to the water again. “Do you leave tomorrow?”
Shifting on the bench, I turn back to the water too, my shoulder brushing hers. “Yeah. I’ll be gone for about a week and a half. Back-to-back away series.”
“Where are you going?”
“Uh—Boston. New York.”
“Big games,” she remarks, and her shoulder bumps mine again, but she leaves it there, resting against me. “Let’s make sure you get the trophy tonight, then. He might be good luck.”
I smile faintly, looking out at the last rays of the sun swelling over the lake. “Deal.”
“Miller?” she says, so quiet I can barely hear her above the final calls of the birds, the lap of the waves against the shore.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for taking me to the thrift store. It made me happy.”
Swallowing, I nod out at the water. “Anytime.”
Even if it is just a list to her, even if it is just time limited, even if she’s just temporary, even if the idea of her absence hurts just as much as Matt’s, I can’t think of anything more important to me than that.
Ren
“It really is a fascinating game from a statistics and mathematics perspective.” Imani nods fervently, eyes glued to the TV hanging above the crowded bar before she carefully marks something down in her notebook.
My gaze lifts from my laptop. “This baseball obsession is getting a bit out of hand, no? Don’t tell me you’re—” I lean across the worn, scratched wood of the table, snatching her notebook to get a better view. “Oh, thank god, I thought you might have been gambling. Never mind, carry on.”
Imani taps her pencil against the table with a frown. “Do people bet on baseball?”
“I think you can bet on just about anything.” I drop against the cracked vinyl seat.
Something lights up behind her eyes, but she gives her head a small shake. “I’d be quite good at that, but I’m not sure it’s for me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have guessed baseball was for you, and here we are, at a college sports bar one of your students told youabout so we can watch the game.” I squint to get a better look at the television. “Who’s playing?”
“Oh, not Miller. Their series finished last night.” Imani starts scratching something out on her notebook again.
“I know.” The words rush out before I can stop them. Embarrassment burns across my cheek, and disappointment rises in my throat. I try to stamp it down with a swallow, half-heartedly flashing her the photo Miller posted with our shared custody dinosaur trophy in the dugout in Boston on my phone. “He took our trophy for good luck.”
She peers at my phone. “That raptor looks shockingly accurate.”
I laugh, glancing back at the post. “For a cheap trivia night trophy, it does look pretty good, you’re right.” My eyes linger on the screen, but they don’t snag on the anatomically accurate golden winglike forelimbs or sickle claws. They get caught on the wave of damp, postgame hair curling across Miller’s forehead. On the swirls of navy in his eyes—brighter than usual—as he holds up our trophy in one hand, with a singular finger in the air on his other. The ridge of his thigh muscle running under the material of white baseball pants, and the cords of muscle roped around his forearms.
They get stuck on the caption, too.
my good luck charm couldn’t come to boston, so she sent a surrogate instead
Imani gingerly sets her pencil down, folding her hands over her notebook with a furtive glance around before asking, “How is your ... arrangement going?”
I blink, my eyes unsnagging from all things Miller, and that wave of disappointment from the other night on the beach comes closer to shore. Dropping my phone face down, I chew on my bottom lip, whispering, “Am I doing what I’ve always done?”But Imani’s brows knit behind her glasses, and I try to clarify, “With Miller? The list?”
