Chapter 30
THE LAWN MEN
CORBIN
In my yard the next night, under Christmas lights that Charlotte and I hung twinkling from a maple tree, I toss a bag at the cornhole board, but miss badly, the bag skidding to the grass.
“Bummer. Can’t win everything,” Miller says, blowing on his nails and peacocking because he keeps winning game after game. He taps his chest. “I mean. I can. But you? Not so sure.”
I hand Miller the striped bag of mine from the ground. “Would you like this for your trophy case? A memento of when you came to my backyard and won a lawn game?”
He takes it, holds it up, and considers it. “As a matter of fact, I think I would.”
“You need something for your trophy case, Lockwood,” Tyler says from his spot a few feet away. He’s one of our friends from the Sea Dogs, our cross-town rivals, and he tries to hang out with us when he can. His kids are in the garage with Charlotte, watching a movie.
“This will be your first recognition of any kind, right?” Riggs asks. He’s on the deck, stretched out in an Adirondack chair.
“Right,” Miller deadpans. The dude has won multiple awards as a top goalie. “And I will display it proudly.”
“All right, let’s see who wins this round,” Tyler says, then goads Ivan and Lake into joining in the next game.
I join Riggs on the deck, pouring myself an iced tea from the pitcher.
Don’t want to drink liquor since Charlotte is here with me tonight.
I pick up the glass and then flop into the chair next to my teammate’s, glancing at the few remains of the spread that had covered the table earlier.
We plowed through all the sandwiches and left no crumbs.
“How are you doing, man?” Riggs asks.
“Good.”
He scoffs. “Don’t give me a rote answer. How are you really doing? You’ve got a ton to manage. The kid, the regular job, your side hustle.”
I appreciate the thoughtful question. Most guys are afraid to ask how another dude is doing. We haven’t been taught that in a lot of cases. But Riggs tries to practice the hard stuff.
And he’s not wrong, so I give a better answer.
“It feels doable. I feel good. Maybe because we’re playing well, or maybe because the bakery’s first week was a success.
But then again, I’m not the one who’s at the bakery all day long.
Mabel is.” A smile tugs at my lips as I think of her regular reports and how much I look forward to them.
She sends me photos of empty trays with only crumbs left, pictures of the card reader displaying the sales at the end of the day, and mouth-watering images of what she’s baking.
Those pictures give me life. “She’s doing a great job. ”
Riggs arches a brow, then shakes his head, like something amuses him.
“What’s that for?”
He smirks. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
He takes a drink of his seltzer water, then sets it on the railing. “I was partly wondering how it’s going since it’s always seemed like you were into her.”
He said something similar back in Los Angeles when we kidnapped Lake. But that felt like a lucky guess. Not sure if this is the same.
“Yeah?” I ask nonchalantly as I try to figure out how to answer, if at all.
“Just something I pick up on now and then,” he says, tone serious.
He leaves it at that—an offer to listen.
I was truthful earlier. I’ve been truthful whenever we’ve had tougher conversations. Might as well be now. It’s clear his remark isn’t in the vein of lucky guesses or giving a teammate a hard time.
I scratch my jaw. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t into her, but I’ll be one hundred percent honest and tell you it would be a bad idea if I were to do anything about it.”
Any more things about it.
He blows out a breath. “I hear you. I think the same thing sometimes.”
I arch a brow. “About Sapphire?”
He shakes his head. “No. Things are cool with her. It’s going well.” He pauses, like he’s rewinding something in his mind. “I meant I have in the past. Some women are just off-limits.”
Briefly, I wonder who’s off-limits for him, because it doesn’t sound like Sapphire is. But he’ll tell me if and when he’s ready. He fiddles with the label on the bottle of seltzer water, then looks back at me with a shrug. “What can you do though?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? I don’t have any answers. I’m grateful when my attention snags on a silhouette near the sliding glass door leading to the deck.
Riggs turns to it too. “Speak of the devil.”
Charlotte slides the door open, and Mabel’s right behind her, carrying a grocery bag. My heart slams hard against my chest.
“Don’t worry. We won’t be out here long, interrupting your man time,” Charlotte says, precocious and far too observant.
Mabel cracks up, then says to my kid, “Why do I feel like you’ve said that before?”
Charlotte shrugs. “I let them do their thing. And I can do my thing. Do you want to watch this cool documentary with me? It’s all about the planet’s diverse ecosystems and which animals thrive in them.”
Riggs snaps his gaze to Charlotte. “That does sound interesting.”
“It is. I’m learning a lot,” she says. “You could learn more for your trivia nights.”
Riggs looks tempted, but then he says, “I should keep your dad company.”
“Good plan,” she says.
I turn my gaze to Mabel, who’s wearing one of our Afternoon Delight sweatshirts that says F*ck Mornings on it, and it just looks so damn good on her. Bet it’d look good off her too. Quickly, I strike that thought from my head since one, I shouldn’t be thinking it, and two, my kid is right here.
“How’s it going, Mabel?” I ask evenly, trying to strip all the longing and affection from my tone.
She lifts the canvas bag. “Charlotte asked me to bring some things over. She thought you guys might want a little extra food here. I made some of your famous seven-layer bars, even though I didn’t taste them because they have nuts. And I made some grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Riggs sits up straighter. “Did you say grilled cheese sandwiches? Because we just ran out of sandwiches.”
Mabel smiles. “I did. I had some cheese from The Cheesery and some bread from the gourmet market, so I thought I would try it out. Here you go. They’re still fresh and gooey, so you’d better eat them now.”
Riggs beelines for the bag, then holds it up toward the lawn. “Behold, the grilled cheese, boys.”
The games stop, and the guys descend on the bag like bears at a campground.
“Knew I liked coming up here for a reason,” Tyler says, grabbing a sandwich.
“Because we’re a better team and you want our awesomeness to rub off on you,” Miller says.
Tyler scoffs. “I see you’re still practicing for a career change as a comedian.”
Mabel tips her head toward the sliding glass door. “I’m going to leave you to your lawn games.”
Lake’s ears must perk up from the yard, since he whips his gaze to us. “The Lawn Club. That’s our new name.”
“That’s a terrible name,” I say, cringing.
“It is,” Lake says. “That’s why we’re going to use it. It’s ironic.”
“Not sure that’s irony,” Riggs says. “Irony is…”
I leave them to their discussion of irony as they devour cheesy sandwiches.
Like there’s an invisible force pulling me, I follow Mabel and Charlotte inside, stopping in the kitchen.
“Thanks again,” I say to Mabel as she leans a hip against the island.
Damn, she looks good here in my home, all casual and comfortable.
“No problem.”
“Especially for the sandwiches. That was really thoughtful,” I add, leaning against the other side of the counter, maybe needing a barrier between us so I don’t run a hand down her arm, absently touch her hair, or reach for her hand.
“It was Charlotte’s idea, so credit where credit’s due.”
“I had a sandwich when she arrived,” Charlotte says matter-of-factly, patting her belly. “They’re really good.” To Mabel, she adds, “I’m kind of a grilled cheese expert. My grandma made them. It was her specialty, and I learned it from her, but I think you did a really good job too.”
Mabel smiles warmly. “High praise, and I will take it.”
Something about the way they interact, like they’re friends already, does funny things to my heart.
Charlotte beams, then turns to me, whip-fast, like she’s just remembered something. “Dad, the rescue emailed about the volunteer options, and they listed a bunch of things that we could do.”
Mabel tilts her head, looking right at Charlotte. “Does that include fostering?”
Charlotte taps her chin. “I think it did, actually.”
From my vantage point, I watch them volleying, which seems kind of…rehearsed.
“I have a friend who does that,” Mabel begins.
“I was thinking about what your dad said about his schedule and your schedule, and I know it’d be hard for you guys to have a dog, but fostering is a great way to help animals in need.
Even if you can just foster for a weekend here and there, or be a temporary foster. Rescues need that all the time.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen as she turns to me. “Dad, that actually sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”
Mabel smothers a smile. And I’ve got a feeling. I’ve got a damn good feeling that they’ve plotted this. I wouldn’t put it past either one of them. Also, I kind of love that they’re in on something together.
“Works for me,” I reply.
Charlotte rushes to me, wraps her arms around my chest. “You’re the best, Dad.”
I hold her close. “I have the world’s best daughter.”
When we break the hug, Charlotte high-fives Mabel. They both look pleased. And I like making that happen for them.
I walk them to the front door, with Charlotte heading to the garage and Mabel to her car. But I need to catch up with her on some bakery business.
“Got a sec? I wanted to touch base on some of the holiday delivery plans,” I say. I arranged for Mariah’s son, Carson, to deliver some cookies and other holiday items for us in the afternoon when he’s home from school.
“Definitely,” she says, and we chat about the details for a few minutes.