Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
Brooke
Last night still doesn’t seem real.
I had the best kiss of my life with the only person I’ve ever loved. Then we spent two hours talking and cuddling under the stars. It was everything I’ve dreamed of and more.
And now I’m in Sunday morning service, finding it hard to concentrate. One Sunday I’m daydreaming what it would be like to kiss Nate, and this Sunday I’m replaying what it was like in my head.
I could really use a trip to the altar.
Speak of the devil—or angel, in this case—Nate slides into our pew.
“Hey, Nate.” Timothy grins and slides down, leaving a Nate-sized space between him and me.
“Hey, bud.” They fist bump and Nate sits beside me.
He greets my parents and settles closer to me. My limbs tingle as his big arm brushes against me. I smile to myself and glance his way before staring back at the pulpit.
In the few seconds it takes me to turn my gaze, half-a-dozen people make eyes at us. A few even cover their mouths and lean toward their neighbor. It’ll be a miracle if we make it out of here without my name mentioned in a prayer request.
Brother Johnny is barely through the announcement side of the bulletin when Nate stretches his arm across the back of the pew and cups his hand on my shoulder. Warmth shoots down my spine, and I relax against him.
Mumbled whispers come from behind us, which is to be expected. I keep my eyes forward and regain focus on the preacher by the time we start singing.
On the third song, the choir director asks everyone to stand. Nate slides his arm away from me, but stands even closer as we’re singing. He holds a hymnal where we can both see it.
I watch Timothy from the corner of my eye. He looks as content as I feel. Maybe this really can work, not just for Nate and me, but for everyone.
I’m almost certain Timothy would welcome the news that Nate is his father. Same for my parents, even though I’m somewhat certain they may know.
Of course, there will be a fair amount of backlash from people in the town. Some blaming me for never telling Nate, and others blaming Nate for getting me pregnant.
Whatever ridicule from the peanut gallery awaits, I can handle. Heck, I lived through moving back here in my second trimester, young and single.
What I can’t handle is hurting Nate or Timothy—especially both.
The song ends, and we take our seats. Nate’s arm finds its way behind me again, and I comfortably welcome his touch. Brother Johnny resumes his position behind the pulpit and begins his sermon.
Now that Nate is here beside me, my focus has returned. It’s like I’ve gotten my fix and can go on with life as usual.
Brother Johnny talks about Issac and his love for Rebecca. He uses them to make a point about God’s plan, but I get caught up in their love story. I can’t help but feel like Nate came back at the right time and that we are meant to be together.
When the message comes to a close and the preacher asks us to bow our heads, I lift up a silent prayer. I really hope God’s plan for my life involves Nate. If not, He best get started on changing my heart, because it’s totally in love with Nate.
The same as it has been for forever.
* * *
Nate
I put my arm around Brooke in church. That’s pretty much all it takes in Apple Cart to come out as an official couple. Last night went so well, I figured I’d go ahead and rip the Band-Aid off before people started making up assumptions.
Several older people followed us out like a pack of zombies. Also like a pack of zombies, we managed to outpace them. Still, it changed my mind about asking Brooke and Timothy to lunch at Mary’s.
At least when you’re publicly together in church, nobody talks to you. They only talk about you, then follow it up with a “bless your heart.” In the restaurant, there’s no way of restraining them.
Before the zombies could wheel their walkers across the gravel, I asked Brooke if they’d like to come to my house for an early dinner.
All afternoon, I’ve been worrying over making my house look like someone actually lives here. Turns out that’s not easy when you have five-thousand square feet to fill with little more than sports memorabilia and a recliner. Good thing I got Carolina to order some furniture for the place after we closed.
The ancient doorbell rings, and my stomach plummets. They’re here. I hurry to the front door and pull it open. Brooke and Timothy smile up at me.
“Watch your step.” I take Brooke’s hand as they step down into the living room. I joke with my teammates that my Alabama mansion is so fancy, it has front steps inside.
“This place is even more beautiful from the inside.” Brooke beams as her eyes scan the detailed molding.
“The kitchen’s this way. After we eat, I can give y’all a tour.”
They follow me to the kitchen. A crispy scent catches my attention, and I find an oven mitt. It’s a hideous fish with an open mouth. Jack gave it to me as a housewarming gift. The dude who owns the hunting camp—not the kid who pees on everything.
Brooke’s eyes widen when I pull a pan from the oven. “Uh, is that a glove?”
“Yeah. A first baseman’s glove for Timothy.”
Timothy gasps, and Brooke scrunches her nose. “Why was it in the oven?”
“To soften it. New gloves are a beast. This will help break it in quicker.” I set the pan on the flat stovetop.
She shrugs. “As long as we’re not eating that.”
“No.” I grab a bag of to-go boxes and push them forward on the countertop. “We’re eating Big Butts.”
“Yes,” Timothy cheers.
I pull plates from the cabinet near my head.
“Can I help with anything?” Brooke asks.
“You can fix some drinks. I have tea, Mountain Dew, and stuff in the refrigerator.”
She opens it and laughs. “And stuff?” She holds up a bottle of Starbucks vanilla Frappuccino.
“I thought that might do until I can take you out for real coffee.”
A smile covers her entire face. My chest catches as she opens the lid and takes a big sip. I love making her happy.
“Mama is addicted to caffeine.” Timothy shakes his head.
I chuckle. “You’ll understand why when you get older.”
Brooke sighs and sets the bottle on the counter. It’s already a third gone. She pours Timothy and me tea and moves the drinks to the table. I hand him three plates and forks to carry while I take the food.
I choke back the emotions of how much this feels like a family. Brooke and I may be reunited, but I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Timothy adds another layer to us, and I can’t assume his dad will be fine with me having them over like this.
Even if he isn’t in his life now, he may resurface when he finds out Brooke is with me. She said Timothy doesn’t know him, but she also said she hasn’t been with anyone since him. I’ve seen enough to know how guys get jealous and territorial.
I unbag the boxes and open them in the center of the table. Then I get some tongs and big forks and spoons so we can fill our plates. Timothy asks the blessing, and we start eating.
I’m at the head of the table beside both of them. Although I can’t get carried away, it does feel nice to have them here. Most nights I eat in front of the TV or with Mom.
“Timothy, since we’re all here, I need to ask you something important.”
“Yes, sir.” He sits up straighter and wipes macaroni from his mouth.
“Your mom and I had a lot of fun on our date last night. With your permission, I’d like to ask her to be my girlfriend.”
His face stretches like he’s seen a ghost. Not quite the reaction I’d hoped for. Is that a bad thing?
“Are you kidding?”
“I wasn’t, but if it’s not okay with you, I might be.”
I glance at Brooke. She’s all smiles, enjoying her potatoes. Maybe it isn’t so bad.
“That’s awesome.” Timothy’s face normalizes. “Can I tell everyone at school tomorrow my mama is dating the starting pitcher for the Braves?”
I cock my head. “I may not say ‘starting,’ but the rest is accurate.” I started three games late last season before my injury.
“Starting or not, it doesn’t matter.” Brooke pats my hand. “Playing or not, it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I wink at her, then take a sip of my tea. “Timothy, what if I didn’t play baseball?”
“What do you mean?” He scrunches his eyebrows with confusion.
“If I weren’t in the MLB, could I still date your mom?”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be as cool.”
I laugh, and they join me. I watch Brooke for a hint of how she feels about me playing ball. All she has to do is say the word and I’ll retire.
A part of me wishes she would.
* * *
Brooke
Monday mornings usually have my mind going in a million directions, from getting Timothy ready and off to school to starting a new work week. Or starting a normal work week if I had gotten called in over the weekend. Today is different.
My mind is on one thing—or person—Nate.
Timothy and I ate dinner at his house last night, then talked and laughed for a while. He gave Timothy a new glove, and we toured his house.
It was big and beautiful, but a little sad. So many rooms, some without any furniture. Every room we entered added to my realization that Nate lives there alone.
My parents have a big house, but not quite that big. And they did raise three kids and run a business on the property. We always had people coming and going and eating with us.
Nate said he invited his mom to live there, but she wanted to keep her trailer. That made me sad on several levels.
I know him well enough to know that while he may have everything money can buy, he really enjoyed our company. Of course, we enjoyed his that much or more.
I’m halfway through packing Timothy’s lunch for the day when I hear a car door shut. I peek out the kitchen window and see Nate’s truck.
My spirits lift when he climbs out and walks toward our door. Before he has time to knock, I swing it open.
Without saying a word, he steps closer and kisses me. I fall into his embrace and kiss him back, then snuggle against his chest as he hugs me close.
I could get used to Mondays like this.
When we pull back, I look up at him. “I thought you were heading back to Atlanta.”
“I am. This is my only stop until I need gas.” He smirks.
My stomach does a small flip. “Don’t get bad gas.”
We both laugh at the memory of him almost ruining his old truck by making that mistake.
“Nate?”
I turn to Timothy bounding down the stairs. He hurries to the door and hugs Nate’s waist. Nate pats him on the back.
“I wanted to tell you two bye before I go for a bit.”
“How long?”
“Several weeks. I need to head down to Florida to start spring training.”
Timothy stares at the ceiling as if calculating. Then he shifts his gaze to Nate. “You should only miss a few games, and several practices.”
Nate chuckles. “Is that allowed?”
“It’s for the Braves.” Timothy shrugs.
Nate wraps his arm around me and gives my side a gentle squeeze. I swallow at him touching my waist. For some reason, it resonates different than when he touches my back or shoulders, or even my face and hair. Maybe it’s the way he squeezes my side that says we’re now totally out of the friend zone.
Whatever the case, I hope he means it the way I take it. He hasn’t been gone for more than two days straight since I first saw him again. For all I know, there could be other women anxious to see him.
I mean, obviously there are plenty. I just hope there’s nobody there he’s anxious to see.
I lean my head against him for a second, then pull away. As much as I’d love to throw all responsibility aside and go with him—or even better, have him stay—that’s not possible.
We all have places to be and things to do. Hopefully one day those places and things will align more than they do now.
“Y’all call me whenever, and I’ll call and text, too, while I’m gone.”
Timothy nods and I smile.
Nate steps onto the porch, and I follow him. He stands on the bottom step and turns to me. We’re now close to eye level. My heart jumps near my throat at the memory of how we used to always stand with him one step down. It made eye contact and kissing much easier with our height difference.
He cocks his mouth into a half grin and focuses on my eyes. “I love you, Brooke.”
My mouth parts, but I’m speechless. That’s the first time he’s told me that as an adult.
“You don’t have to say anything back, but I had to tell you that before I leave.”
I want to say it back so badly, but my throat is hot and clogged like I’ve suddenly swallowed a lit piece of charcoal. I clear my throat, then manage to squeak out a single-word answer.
“Same.”
Not the most thoughtful or romantic response when the love of your life confesses he still loves you after a nine-year absence. But it’s enough to make Nate kiss me on the cheek before he gets in his truck.
I sigh as he drives away. And just like that, I’m back to a mundane Monday.