Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Decker
My Uber pulls up at the park Penelope and I agreed to meet at, and the first thing I see is Hazel waiting on the sidewalk while Penelope and some man get a cooler out of the trunk of an SUV.
It’s one hell of a big cooler.
I’m out the door before my Uber driver comes to a full stop, leaving him a rating and a tip as I hustle toward Penelope.
“Decker!” Hazel waves at me when she sees me coming.
“Hey, Hazel. How are you?” I walk over and take the side of the cooler that Penelope is carrying. “I’ve got this.”
She heaves out a tired breath. “I might have overdone it.”
“She’s been cooking all morning.” Hazel outs her mom, and Penelope gives her a look. We get the cooler onto the sidewalk, and Hazel sits on it. “She made these peanut butter goodies.” Hazel’s eyes fall to the back of her head as though she can’t wait to have one.
“Don’t make my mouth water, I’ll start drooling and embarrass myself.”
Hazel laughs, and Penelope’s eyebrows rise as though she’s telling me to stop embarrassing myself.
“What?” I pull my wallet out to tip the driver for helping Penelope with the cooler.
“Cheesy and…” She hip-checks me. “I have it.” She pulls a twenty out of her pocket as though she had it ready and hands it to the driver.
“Thanks.” He gives her a quick smile and leaves.
I let it go although I would’ve preferred to pay, especially if she’s been cooking and preparing a lunch for us all morning.
“Now we have to get the cooler onto the grass.” I take both sides and lift.
“I can help.” Penelope pulls a large bag I’m guessing contains the blanket and other things over her shoulder.
“Hazel, lead the way,” I say.
She jumps off the sidewalk with the hula hoop around her arm, heading toward the grassy area where there are a few other families.
Penelope falls into step beside me.
“I could’ve picked you up to help with this, then we could’ve headed to the park.”
She side-eyes me. “That seems a little close to a date.”
“You are dating now, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t respond, and I regret my words. That’s the problem with us—things leak out because we’re trying to gate-keep every one of our thoughts.
“I wouldn’t say one date is dating.”
Hazel continues ahead, and though my arms are getting a little tired, I don’t want to rush her. I like having time with just her mom, even if it’s only a few stolen moments.
“Want to talk about how it was?”
She huffs out a laugh. “Nope.”
I let it go. It really is none of my business, even though I’m dying to know if she hit it off with the doctor.
“Hazel, you gotta pick a spot, honey. Decker is going to strain a bicep, and Grandpa will blame us for taking out his best third baseman.”
Hazel stops and looks around as if she’s searching for the perfect place. Then she points to the right, and we head in that direction, closer to the playground. Smart girl.
“That’s up for debate,” I say about my position at third base. I’ve been playing well, but so far no one in the Colts organization has approached me about a new contract. Every game feels as though I’ve got a knife at my throat, and if I boot a ball, I’ve sealed my fate.
“Oh, stop it, you know you are. And if the Colts are idiots and let you go, well, they’re idiots like I said.”
I smile that she believes in me that much.
“Here!” Hazel stops at a spot by a tree on the edge of the playground area. It’s pretty crowded around here.
I put the cooler down and lower my hat a little more.
“Oh, I forgot we’re with a celebrity. We could have just gone to my house.” Penelope pulls a blanket from the bag.
“It’s fine. I do go out in public.”
“I know, but I know how it is. My dad went with us to the children’s museum and got stuck in the archeology dig area with five dads circling him, telling him how to manage the team.”
I grab one side of the blanket to help her straighten it.
“Hazel, do you mind taking that side?” I ask, and her small hands tug on the other side of the blanket. It feels as if we’re a family. It’s nice. But it’s just a fantasy.
Once the blanket is down, I place the cooler on one end to stop the wind from taking it.
“Do you want to help me find some rocks to secure the other sides of the blanket?” I ask Hazel.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll be back,” I say to Penelope. “I’d rather be here than holed up in a small backyard. It’s life, but I apologize ahead of time if we get interrupted.”
She smiles but says nothing.
Hazel slides her hand into mine, and I clock Penelope’s gaze fall to them, her face neutral and not telling me what’s going on in her head.
“Let’s go,” Hazel says.
I walk her to the lake’s edge, and we search for rocks, her picking them up and asking if they’re big enough, me searching for the perfect ones. When we stop for a second, I hand her smaller rocks and show her how you can make them skip over the water.
“Whoa!” She takes one from my palm, and I squat behind her, positioning the rock between her fingers. Then I put my hand over hers and try to help her. But it doesn’t skip.
“Let’s do it again.”
We try a few more times. Then she finally gets one that skips three times before sinking to the bottom of the lake.
She throws herself at my legs. “I did it!”
Her small arms tighten around my legs, and I glance back at Penelope, who strips her gaze away from us the minute our eyes meet.
“Way to go!” I pat Hazel’s back, wishing she was comfortable enough for me to pick her up and swing her around. But we’re not there yet, and I’d hate to ruin the progress we’ve already made because I’m too eager.
“I’m gonna go tell Mommy!” She runs off, and I watch her fall to her knees, her hands flailing, telling Penelope all about skipping rocks.
As I walk over, Penelope says, “Wow, hula hooper extraordinaire and also premier rock skipper on the résumé? What can’t Decker Davis do?”
“Nothing.” Hazel smiles big and picks up her hula hoop. “Let’s go.” She tugs me by the hand.
“Hold on, Haze, let’s eat lunch. Then you and Decker can do your hula hoop.”
Hazel abandons the hula hoop and gets on her knees, opening the cooler. She takes out different containers, one at a time, telling me what’s inside. “Turkey sandwiches… brie.” She cringes. “Mommy said some people like it. It smells funny.”
I laugh, but she keeps going.
“Pasta salad made with small bowties… my favorite.” She preens.
“Strawberries, blueberries, a cheese and meat tray, some more sandwiches, and the best thing is these.” She holds a clear container, showing me the sweet treats inside.
“Peanut butter goodies.” She falls back.
Either Monroe is having an effect on her, or this is how she is when she feels comfortable.
I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t give me a bit of an ego boost.
Penelope’s hand smooths down Hazel’s hair. I’ve noticed she does that a lot. “Okay, thanks, our little waitress.” She takes the peanut butter goodies from her. “These are for later.”
“You went to too much trouble. We could’ve gone to eat after.” I shift to get comfortable.
Penelope shakes her head. “We made a deal. You help Hazel, and I cook.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
“But I want to.”
Our eyes meet and hold as if we’re both remembering another time. She’s always been a good cook, and I made no secret about enjoying her cooking. Now that we’re older, I wouldn’t mind cooking with her, but we don’t have that kind of relationship.
After we eat, the lesson goes well. I’m starting to think Hazel is going to pull this off. She’s got the basic rotation down, and we’ve been working on the neck roll she wants to do at the end, which is ambitious but not impossible. She’s so focused and determined, she’s easy to coach.
She also has Penelope’s stubbornness, which helps. She never wants to quit.
Now Hazel is on the playground across the open grass, working through the obstacle course with more seriousness than the kids surrounding her. I watch her calculate the monkey bars from the ground before she commits to the first rung.
“She’s really great,” I say.
Penelope looks up from the container of strawberries. “She is. Thanks.”
She pops a strawberry into her mouth, and I have to force myself not to lean over and place my lips on hers. I want to kiss her and taste the sweetness of the berries on her tongue.
“She’s going to be good at this,” I say.
“The hula hoop?”
“All of it. She approaches things the way any good athlete does. She watches first. Figures out the problem before she tries to solve it.”
Penelope is quiet for a moment. “Probably got it from my dad.”
“And her mom.”
She glances at me then back at the container. “Not sure about that. I ran in a circle, remember?”
“How many medals did you earn?”
She laughs. “Please, that was a long time ago.”
“Okay then, let’s talk about your four-course picnic here.”
“It’s not much. I stress-cook.”
“You were stressed?” The question is loaded, and I know it might take us down a road we probably shouldn’t veer down.
“You must know I would be. Every time we’re…” She holds out the strawberry container. “Want one?”
I notice the way she edits her reactions around me, the same way I edit mine around her. Two people who spent years being completely transparent with each other now performing carefully curated versions of themselves.
Hazel drops from the monkey bars and moves to the climbing structure, where she finds a high platform and sits on it, surveying the other kids.
“Can I ask you something?”
Penelope side-eyes me. “Hmm… I’m not sure.”
“Hazel’s dad.” I watch her face carefully. Not for reaction, just to make sure she’s okay with the question. “Is he involved?”