Instantly, it becomes my life’s mission to see that endearing flush again—that and winning the World Series this season. Back-to-back wins would solidify the Waves in baseball history.
Alex tucks her hair behind her ear, fixing her gaze on her new plant. “Thank you. For Leaf, for breakfast, for cleaning my kitchen. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
I don’t tell Alex that this is a tiny scratch on the surface of things I’d like to do for her. If she’d let me, I’d spend the rest of the day assembling furniture, helping her unpack. I’d grab my tools from my house and fix the leaky faucet. I’d feed her lunch and then dinner and fill this empty kitchen with her favorite snacks. A pressure builds in my chest, and I grip the counter’s edge to keep myself quiet.
My mental list is the epitome ofToo much,and I should know better. My over-the-top tendencies have already gotten me in trouble this morning.
Buzzing vibrates down my arms, but I force myself to stay still. “You’re welcome.”
A few beats of silence stretch between us, and I decide to try my question from earlier again. If nothing else, I can help Alex with this.
“How do I hold up my end of this truce?” I ask, keeping my expression and tone light.
Alex lifts her face, and her gaze shifts. It’s sharper, more serious than I’ve ever seen it.
“You’re going to help me surf again.”
Chapter 25
Alex
Three days later, I’m pacing the Virginia Beach boardwalk when Mags video calls me. Exhaling a deep breath, I tilt my eyes skyward in a silent prayer. Then, I turn my body so the wall of hotels—and not the shoreline—is the only thing in my phone’s camera frame before answering. Maybe if I get lucky, she won’t hear the black-tipped gulls squawking overhead.
“Hi, Mags!”
I muster more enthusiasm than I should be capable of after the craziness of the last few days.
“Hey, Spitfire.”
The mischievous grin on my grandmother’s face, in addition to her use of my childhood nickname, makes a cold sweat break out over my already chilled body. I’m not feeling very fiery orstrong today as my old moniker would suggest. In fact, I’m two seconds from hanging up on my grandmother and running inland until I can’t smell the ocean anymore.
“What—” Noticing my sagging lips on my screen, I push them into my on-camera smile. “What’s up?”
“I finally caught up on your reports over the last week.Veryinteresting stuff about your boyfriend.”
My shoulders sag with relief that we’re talking about Mags’s—and half of America’s—favorite topic: Tenny. Since my grandmother has been on a Caribbean cruise with her book club for the last week and doesn’t believe in buying on-ship Wi-Fi, Mags has been in the dark.
“You’re doing a good job sniffing them off the case.” She beams, eyes twinkling.
“What?”
“You know. Sniffing them off the case. Throwing people for a loop. Keeping ‘em guessing. One day, you accuse Tenny of being a womanizer, and then report on his grand slam with breathy enthusiasm the next night.”
I nearly let my face fall into my palm. Mags’s observation isn’t a result of knowing me well. In the interview with Tenny after his win in Atlanta, I’m dripping with admiration. I’m supposed to keep a modicum of journalistic objectivity, but nope. Footage doesn’t lie. While he’s describing his grand slam, I have poster-sized hearts in my eyes and look like I’m one second away from asking him to sign my press badge.
I’m actually surprised Tenny didn’t bring it up when we met to discuss our tentative truce a few days later. Normally, he’d have a jokey comment after our segments air, but maybe Tenny’s not watching anymore? The sudden whip of disappointment tightening my throat is completely unfair.
I can’t ridicule him publicly and then expect him to keep watching the show. I should be grateful that Tenny even answered my texts that night, that he agreed to meet me. There’s no denying that the whole seagull debacle was madness, but it was what happened afterward that was far more dangerous.
The way Tenny couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking care of me nearly dismantled all my defenses. When I found him scrubbing my kitchen like his life depended on it after he’d been so patient with me when I couldn’t quite ask for help…something inside me snapped.
At first, I’d been irritated that he hadn’t thought about his wound. I’d just spent entirely too long cleaning it, after all. But what really bothered me was how Tenny never seems to think about himself.
I’d been furious and confused and ridiculously attracted, and then…then he had the gall to see right through me. Tenny knew how much that patio meant to me, and before I knew what I was doing, I was hugging him.
I’d told him to stop, but not what.
I wanted itallto stop—the warmth, the charm, the endless caring.
