Chapter 31
The bleachers at Westshore Little League had become familiar over the past few weeks.
The way the aluminum seats caught the afternoon sun.
The smell of cut grass and hot dogs from the concession stand.
The sounds of kids warming up, balls hitting gloves, parents calling encouragement from the sidelines.
Emily had missed most of the season, but she'd made it to the last four games. Enough to learn the names of the kids on Jacob's team, to understand the dynamics between the parents, to find her spot on the third row where she could see both the field and the fence where Jake always ended up.
He was there now, crouched on the other side of the chain link, playing catch with Jacob while they waited for the earlier game to finish.
The kid's swing was still a work in progress, but his arm had gotten stronger.
Emily watched him wind up and throw, watched Jake catch it easily and toss it back with instructions she couldn't hear from here.
"You're watching him again."
Emily turned. Erika was settling onto the bleacher beside her, two bottles of water in hand. She passed one to Emily and took a long drink from the other.
"Can you blame me?"
"Not even a little." Erika's smile was knowing. "Jake Walsh playing catch with my kid is pretty much peak wholesome content."
Emily laughed. She'd grown close to Erika over the past weeks, closer than she'd expected.
The group text with Claire had started as a joke.
Claire insisting that Emily needed "female reinforcements" who weren't also her coworkers, but it had become real.
Daily check-ins. Photos of nothing in particular.
The easy rhythm of friendship that Emily had never quite let herself have before.
Her tribe was expanding. That was the word Claire had used, and Emily had rolled her eyes at it, but she couldn't deny the truth of it.
She had people now. Not just Jake, not just the family at The Anchor.
She had Erika sending her memes at midnight and Claire analyzing her outfit choices and the three of them making plans for a girls' night that kept getting postponed but would happen eventually.
At the fence, Jacob threw wide and Jake had to lunge to catch it. Whatever he said made him laugh, then demonstrated the grip again, patient as always. Jacob tried again. Better this time.
"So," Erika said. "Three months. Has he started to lose his shine?"
Emily felt her face do that thing she couldn't control. The smile that came up from somewhere deep, the one that made her feel like a teenager with a crush instead of a thirty-one-year-old federal prosecutor.
"I'm afraid it's just gotten brighter."
Erika's grin widened. "God, you've got it bad."
"I really do."
"Good. He deserves someone who looks at him like that." Erika took another sip of water. “Jake said you're moving in?"
Emily nodded. The decision had been easy, in the end.
She'd been spending every night at his place anyway, her apartment becoming little more than a storage unit for clothes she never wore.
Last week, Jake had cleared out half the closet without being asked.
The week before that, Ranger had started waiting for her at the door instead of him.
"Next weekend," she said. "Claire's already planning the unpacking party. She has a spreadsheet."
"Of course she does."
On the field, the earlier game was wrapping up. Kids streamed toward their parents, high-fives and consolation hugs depending on the outcome. Jacob jogged back to the dugout, and Jake straightened, stretching his back, scanning the bleachers until he found her.
He smiled. The real one. The one that started in his eyes.
Emily's heart did the thing it always did when he looked at her like that. Three months, and it hadn't faded. If anything, it had gotten stronger. The knowledge of him that she carried now. His nightmares and his patience. Making breakfast on Sunday mornings. All of it made the wanting deeper.
"You know what I keep thinking about?" Emily said, still looking at Jake.
"Tell me."
"Six months ago, I would have taken the Washington job without hesitating. I would have packed my apartment and moved across the country and told myself it was the right choice because it was the successful choice." She paused. "And I would have missed all of this."
"But you didn't."
"No.”
"Why not?"
Emily considered the question. She'd asked herself the same thing, in the weeks since Katherine Winters had flown back to Washington with a polite rejection and a promise to keep Emily in mind for future opportunities.
Why not? Why had she walked away from everything she'd spent her career building?
"Because I finally figured out what I actually wanted," she said. "Not what I was supposed to want. Not what looked impressive or made my parents proud or checked the right boxes. What I wanted." She turned to Erika. "He's the first thing I ever chose just because I wanted it."
Erika's expression softened. "That's either the most romantic thing I've ever heard or the saddest."
"Maybe both."
"Yeah." Erika reached over and squeezed her hand. "Maybe both."
The teams were switching now, Jacob's team taking the field for warm-ups. Jake made his way toward the bleachers, stopping to talk to one of the other dads, then continuing up the aluminum steps until he reached their row.
"Ladies," he said, settling beside Emily. His thigh pressed against hers, warm and solid. "What are we talking about?"
"You," Erika said.
"Favorite subject."
"We were discussing your shine," Emily said. "Whether it's faded."
"And?"
"The jury's still out."
Jake put his hand over his heart. "Wounded. Deeply wounded." But he was smiling, and when he leaned over to kiss her temple, Emily felt herself lean into it without thinking.
This was her life now. Bleachers on Saturday afternoons. A man who kissed her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. A kid at the plate with a swing that was finally starting to come together.
She pulled out her phone.
"What are you doing?" Erika asked.
"Hold on."
Jake was still at the fence, talking to Jacob before the he headed to the dugout. She opened the camera and framed them, Jake crouched low, one hand wrapped around the chain link, Jacob grinning at whatever he'd just said. The afternoon light caught them both, golden and warm.
She took the photo.
Another piece of her life, captured. Another image for the digital frame that sat on Jake's dresser, their dresser, now. The bleachers photo was still her favorite, but this one might give it competition.
Some people had lives that fit in a frame.
Emily Callahan was building one.
The game went well. Jacob got a hit — a real hit, not a walk or an error, but a line drive into left field that got him to second base. He was so excited he nearly forgot to stay on the bag, and Jake had to yell from the bleachers to remind him.
Afterward, they went for ice cream. Jacob's idea, endorsed immediately by Jake, who'd never met a post-game celebration he didn't support. The shop was crowded with families from both teams, kids still in their uniforms, parents comparing notes on the season.
Emily found herself in line behind a girl who couldn't have been older than seven, studying the flavors through the glass case with the intensity of a federal judge reviewing evidence.
"Sprinkles are superior," the girl informed her, unprompted. "Everyone knows that."
"What about hot fudge?"
"Hot fudge is for old people."
Emily looked at Jake, who was trying very hard not to laugh. "I've been informed that hot fudge is for old people."
"Devastating news," he said. "I'll adjust my order accordingly."
The sun was starting to set by the time they said their goodbyes in the parking lot. A hug from Erika, a wave from Jacob who was already recounting his hit for the third time. Emily watched them head to their car, then felt Jake's arm settle around her shoulders.
"Good day," he said.
"Great day."
"You ready to head home?"
Home. The word still sent a small thrill through her, even now.
Home wasn't her apartment with its neutral walls and functional furniture.
Home was a craftsman in an established Tampa neighborhood with a dog waiting at the door and a man who made her coffee every morning and curtains that were finally getting replaced next week.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's go home."
They were almost to the Range Rover when her phone buzzed. Then Jake's buzzed a second later.
Emily pulled hers out. A text from Ray.
My office. Monday morning. Both of you.
She showed it to Jake. He showed her his, which said the same thing.
"Well," Jake said. "That's either very good or very bad."
"With Ray, it's usually very interesting."
"True." He opened her door, waited for her to climb in, then leaned against the frame. "Worried?"
Emily thought about it. Six months ago, a text like that would have sent her spiraling, running scenarios, preparing arguments. Now she just felt curious.
"No," she said. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it."
"Together?"
"Together."
Jake smiled. Closed her door. Walked around to the driver's side while Emily watched him through the windshield, this man she'd chosen, this life she was building, this future that was unfolding one Saturday at a time.
Her phone buzzed again. The group text. Claire.
Erika says you were being disgustingly cute at the game. I'm going to need details.
Then Erika: She was taking PICTURES of him. Like a teenager. It was adorable.
Emily laughed and started typing a response as Jake pulled out of the parking lot. The evening light was golden, it always was in Tampa, and Ranger would be waiting at the door, and tomorrow they'd wake up together in a bed that was finally starting to feel like theirs.
Whatever Ray wanted on Monday, they'd figure it out.
They always did.