Chapter 16 Bennett
Bennett
Seven Weeks to Opening Day
If Bella wanted an “unromantic non-date” on Valentine’s Day, then she was going to get it. And as far as I was concerned, there was nothing less romantic than waking up before seven a.m. on a Sunday morning.
The sky was still dark by the time I knocked on her door. I’d been up since five, nerves buzzing worse than before a playoff game.
Bella had made it crystal clear that she wasn’t into the usual, cheesy Valentine’s Day crap—that made two of us—but this was still our first date, so yeah, I was nervous.
You can’t blame a guy for caring.
When she opened the door, the porch light caught her just right, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
She was drowning in my Roasters sweatshirt, the charcoal one I’d given her the night of the blackout. It hung off one shoulder, sleeves rolled three times just to free her hands, hem brushing mid-thigh over dark leggings.
The thing was comically oversized on her, swallowing her curves in soft gray fabric, but somehow it looked like couture. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few dark strands escaping around her face, and she had that sleepy, just-woke-up glow that made my chest tighten.
“Good morning.”
“Morning,” she said, stifling a yawn. “You look way too upbeat for seven a.m.”
I grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “You wanted the least romantic date ever. I aim to please.”
She scoffed. “Overachiever.”
My eyes dropped back to the sweatshirt. “You know, I could get you one in your size. Women’s cut, fitted. Whatever you like.”
She glanced down, tugging the hem self-consciously, then looked up at me with a small, almost shy smile. “I like this one.”
“Because it’s comfortable?”
She hesitated, cheeks turning the softest pink. “That and it smells like you,” she admitted quietly. “It’s like your arms are wrapped around me, even when you’re not here. I find that comforting.”
I didn’t think. I just reached for her, one hand sliding to the small of her back, the other cupping her jaw as I pulled her into me.
Our mouths met softly at first, then deeper, her lips parting on a surprised breath that turned into a quiet hum against my tongue. She tasted like toothpaste and sleep, and the way she melted into me, fingers curling into the front of my jacket, made every early-morning nerve worth it.
I resisted the urge to press her back against the doorframe, mostly because I knew she didn’t like feeling boxed in, but also because that would lead to other, naughty things that we did not have time for.
When I finally pulled away, her eyes were still closed. “That was—”
Intoxicating? Delicious? Hot as fuck?
“—way too romantic for our unromantic non-date.” Her eyes popped open and she gave me a mock glare. “No kissing on the doorstep like a Hallmark movie, Bennett King.”
I brushed my thumb across her lower lip, grinning. “It’s your fault, baby. You can’t say stuff like that and expect me not to kiss you.”
Her laugh was soft, breathless. “Understood.”
She slid out of my arms and climbed into the passenger seat of my truck. I had both the heater and my favorite playlist blasting seconds later.
She buckled in, rubbing her hands together against the chill. “So, what are we doing for our unromantic non-date date? Gas-station sushi and a monster-truck rally? Renewing our licenses at the DMV?”
I snorted. “Damn, don’t take all my good ideas.”
“Brooks took Dani on a ghost tour once.”
“That actually sounds kind of fun.”
“Sure,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “If you’re into spooky stuff and true crime documentaries. I’m more of a rom-com and nature documentary kind of gal.”
I shifted the truck into reverse, backing out of the driveway with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching across to lace my fingers through hers.
“So, I should cancel our hike to a secluded cabin then?” She blinked repeatedly. “Relax. I promise I’m not luring you into the woods to harvest your organs.”
“Comforting,” she deadpanned.
“That’s more like a fifth-date activity.”
We drove in easy silence for a while, the playlist humming low—some indie stuff I’d thrown together, nothing too sappy. The sky changed from black to bruised purple as we headed west on a quiet highway.
After about twenty minutes, I turned off onto a narrow country road lined with bare trees on either side. The pavement quickly turned to gravel, then to packed dirt. Bella straightened in her seat, peering out the windshield.
“Okay, this is how horror movies start.”
I laughed so hard I almost missed the turn.
“I’m serious. Random farm road, zero cell service, hot guy who’s probably great at hiding bodies.”
“Hot, huh?”
She rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. “You know what you look like, smartass.”
A minute later, our destination came into view. It would’ve been damn near impossible to miss the farmstand, what with its Barbie-pink hue and twinkling lights, not to mention a disco ball that rivaled the size of Saturn.
And of course, there was the sign.
Mounted above the stand like a Hollywood marquee, the letters blazed in warm white bulbs: DOLLYGOODS. Big, bold, impossible to ignore, just like its namesake.
Bella stared out the windshield. “Is that a disco ball?”
“Unless you’re in the mood for a long-winded story involving her second husband, a bowling championship, and morally justified disco revenge, I recommend you not ask her about it.”
I parked and killed the engine. Before I could even open my door, the stand’s window flew open.
“Well, don’t just sit there, Benny,” a husky voice called out. “I didn’t get up at the ass crack of dawn to admire your truck.”
Bella gasped. I bit back a smile.
“Morning, Dolly,” I called, climbing out.
The woman in question—all five-foot-one of her—stood behind the counter, silver hair tucked neatly under a bejeweled bucket hat that had seen better days. Her lipstick was aggressively red, her earrings were enormous, and her smile was sweet enough to lull you into a false sense of security.
Until she opened her mouth, that was.
“You’re late,” she said. “I got everything all packed up for you. Even threw in an extra dozen of those little lemon things you like.”
“Dolly—”
“Don’t argue with me.” She leaned over the counter to fuss at my sleeve, brushing off imaginary lint. “Seriously, do I need to have a word with the team’s dietician? You’re practically wasting away.”
There was no point in arguing with a woman who talked a mile a minute and was old enough to be my grandmother. Or maybe great-grandmother.
I grabbed the stack of boxes she slid across the counter—pink, of course, and still warm. The smell of butter and sugar hit me all at once.
“You’re a saint.”
“I know,” she said. Then her gaze slid past me.
And landed square on Bella.
“Well, well,” Dolly said slowly, eyes lighting up. “Who the hell is this pretty thing?”
Bella’s lips twitched, her clearly fighting a smile as she glanced at me. “Bella Pink. Nice to meet you.”
Dolly leaned forward, squinting at her like she was appraising a prized watermelon. “You got good posture, Bella,” she declared. “I like that. Strong bones, too.”
“Um, thank you?”
“And I can’t help but notice that you’re wearing his sweatshirt,” Dolly added, nodding at Bella’s chest.
Bella’s cheeks flamed instantly. “He . . . lent it to me.”
“Mm-hmm,” Dolly said, deeply satisfied. “That’s how it starts.”
“Dolly,” I warned.
“Oh, hush up, Benny. I’ve been alive longer than dirt. I know a thing or two.” She wiped her hands on her apron peeking out from beneath her Roasters jacket. “I’ve got two-hundred bucks riding on you guys making it to the World Series again this year, so you better not let me down.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, cheeks burning now. “The season hasn’t even started yet.”
Dolly waved me off like I’d just claimed the sky was green.
“Details. I’ve got a feeling in these old bones.
” She turned back to Bella, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“And I’ve got another feeling about you two.
Mark my words, sweetheart, this one’s a keeper.
I should know. I’ve been married four times. ”
“Five,” I reminded her.
“It doesn’t count if you marry the same one twice.
” She reached across the counter and patted Bella’s hand with surprising gentleness.
“You come back anytime, honey. And I’ll tell you all about husband number three.
That one involved whipped cream and a hotel balcony in Vegas. Lord, the size of his—”
“Okay, that’s our cue.”
Bella laughed, soft and genuine. “It was really nice meeting you, Dolly.”
“Likewise, sugar.” Dolly winked.
We escaped back to my truck, me carrying the baked treat haul while Bella trailed behind, barely containing her laughter.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered. “Dolly’s . . . Dolly.”
Bella bumped my shoulder, eyes bright with amusement. “I don’t know. I think I might need to come back for that whipped cream story.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Diabolical.”
“Dolly or me?” she teased.
“Both of you. Together, you could take over the world.”
She dissolved into giggles. “I have to say, while I’m glad you didn’t drive me out her to murder me and feed me to Dolly’s pigs, I’m surprised this is what you picked for our date.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling. “Oh, baby, this is only our first stop.”
I was just polishing off my second lemon blueberry scone when we pulled into the stadium parking lot.
“You brought me to work?”
I killed the engine and turned to her. “Remember the Junior Roasters clinic I mentioned? Today’s the first session, and I thought you might want to join us.”
Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You volunteered me to spend Valentine’s Day playing baseball with twelve-year-olds?”
“Best unromantic non-date date ever, right?” I teased, already one foot out the door. “Come on, we’re already cutting it close and we’re bringing the breakfast.”
She followed me through the gate, still processing. “You could’ve warned me.”