19. Diaz #2
Bella, the keeper of all spreadsheets, pulled her phone out of her pocket.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the woman had a spreadsheet for everything—favorite restaurants ranked according to location and wait time, potential books for future book clubs, the nicest (and worst) public bathrooms she had been in.
Just last month, she had somehow produced a color-coded seating chart for tonight’s Friendsgiving dinner even though we were eating buffet-style and sitting wherever the hell we wanted.
Needless to say, the baby pool was no exception.
She tapped rapidly at her screen, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Okay, let's see . . . birth date, November twenty-sixth. Eight pounds, eight ounces. Twenty inches long.”
We all waited, the baking show forgotten.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh, wow.”
“What?” Pink demanded, nearly spilling his beer. “Did I win?”
Her face split into a grin. “You didn’t. Coach did.”
Every head in the room snapped toward the man kicked back in the recliner.
“You were in the pool?” Roman blurted.
“Since when?” I asked.
Coach Ward shrugged his shoulders, unaffected by our surprise. “What? I’m not allowed to participate?”
“Of course you are,” Pink said. “We just didn’t realize you had . . . opinions about fetal growth.”
“I have two kids.”
Pink pointed an accusatory finger at him. “That’s cheating.”
“It’s called experience.”
“It’s called insider trading.” Pink huffed.
Dani burst out laughing. “How dare you accuse my husband of using advanced dad knowledge to rig a baby pool.”
They all broke out into cheers and teasing.
This was it. This was family.
Not the one I was born into, but the one I had chosen—and the one that had chosen me right back.
Three seasons ago, most of us had been little more than coworkers in matching uniforms. Since then, we’d lived entire lifetimes together.
We’d won two World Series championships. We’d become parents and babysitters, emergency contacts and moving crews. The kind of people who showed up with taco casseroles after injuries and Champagne after victories.
We’d become witnesses to each other’s lives.
And somehow, unbelievably, it was my turn. I had found myself right in the middle of it all, my head in my boyfriend’s lap, cradling his dog while we all watched the baking show we’d accidentally fallen in love on.
If somebody had pitched this as a rom-com three years ago, I would’ve told them it was too unrealistic.
Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without it.
And Matty . . . Matty was my home.
I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his knee, hidden from everyone else. His hand tightened gently on my shoulder. When I looked up at him, his eyes were a little misty.
“Guess the family’s getting bigger,” he said quietly.
I reached up and covered his hand with mine. “Yeah. It is.”
A few hours later, after Coach Ward piled his sleeping girls—Dani included—into his SUV and Brock dropped off the rest of our inebriated cohort, the final five of us polished off the last of the pie.
Bella was curled into Bennett’s side on the sectional, her engagement ring catching the glow of the Christmas tree lights Matty had insisted on putting up weeks ago.
Talk about a surprise.
Mr. I-Have-Six-Categories-For-Bedsheets was also a closeted Christmas freak.
The kind who dragged out the decorations the day after Halloween and spent an entire weekend transforming his farmhouse into a Hallmark movie set.
I was still trying to process how someone so orderly could also lose his mind over twinkling lights and garland.
He drew the line at tinsel, though.
Christmas’s “silent killer.”
Bella yawned and tucked her legs beneath herself. “So . . . ,” she said, glancing around. “Who’s coming for Christmas? Bennett planned enough food to feed forty people.”
I arched a brow. “You’re cooking?”
“I’m catering,” he said with a wink.
“Plus,” Bella added, “we’re doing cookie decorating and ugly sweaters and, maybe, another drinking game. Should be fun.”
“That sounds amazing, but we’re actually going to Alabama.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
I nodded toward the man across from me. “Somebody promised to introduce me to every aunt, uncle, cousin, and family friend he’s ever had.”
Matty snorted. “It’s not that many.”
“Tesoro, we’ll be lucky if your mother doesn’t end up inviting the entire township.” I turned back toward Bella. “After that, we’ll head to Puerto Rico for Three Kings Day.”
Bella practically melted. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”
“Abuelita would disown me if I missed it.”
“Fair,” Bennett said. He nodded toward Roman. “What about you? Whose remote island will you be partying on this holiday season?”
Roman scratched at the back of his neck. “None actually. I’m, uh . . . going home for a while.”
I blinked, taken aback by his announcement.
Roman was, and had always been, the spontaneous jetsetter of the group.
He was the only person I knew who could be snowboarding in Aspen one weekend and the next, find himself on a private yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean, living his best chaotic bisexual life with an international supermodel.
And her husband.
True story.
The man operated on pure impulse and vibes. So, hearing him say he was going home to Awful, Oregon, the tiny, barely there town he usually avoided talking about, felt . . . off. Like something bigger was going on.
I kept my tone light. “Everything okay back there?”
Roman gave a small shrug, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Family stuff. Casey, my older brother, took a fall last week. Jax—he’s the youngest of us—reached out to see if I could come help on the ranch for a bit.”
Bella sat up straighter. “I’ll be out there sometimes too, working with Parker on new products. The spa should be ready soon.”
Roman’s mouth curved into a small, almost shy smile.
“Yeah, about that . . . I actually bought her farm.”
Bella’s eyes widened. “You . . . what?”
Roman’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re looking at the new owner of the Duffy Dairy Farm.”
Something told me there was a lot more to the story than he was letting on. Matty must have sensed it too. Our eyes met across the room, a silent conversation passing between us.
He gave me the tiniest nod and gently nudged Mo out of his lap.
“Bella,” he said smoothly. “You’ve got to see the new ornaments I picked up last week at the Crafty Wonderland market.”
“But—”
“They’re made out of beeswax.”
Her eyes lit up.
“Lead the way.”
As they wandered over to the tree, I squeezed Matty’s hand in thanks. God, I was so in love with him it hurt sometimes. But it was the best kind of hurt, the kind that made me want to wake up next to him every single day for the rest of my life.
Someday soon, I would tell him.
For tonight, though, I was more than happy counting down the minutes until I could strip him out of that argyle sweater and show him just how thankful I was to call him mine.