Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Oh, my gracious, I don't do mornings and I definitely don't do smiling before coffee.
But my lips are still tingling from kissing Jay Talley in the garden last night, and apparently my face didn't get the memo that we're supposed to be playing this cool. I’m smiling before I even slide out of bed. Quite alarming when you think about it.
I reach over to check my phone on the nightstand.
Jay: Good morning, lucky charm. Sleep well?
I bury my face in my pillow to muffle what might be a squeal. I'm twenty-seven years old. Marketing professionals do not squeal.
Me: Morning. And yes. You?
Jay: Best night's sleep in five years.
"Get it together, Tracy," I whisper to myself. "You are a mature adult who is definitely not grinning at her phone like a teenager."
Jay: Have to be at the field by 8 for a mandatory team meeting. Coach's orders.
My stomach drops. The wedding photos start at 2:00. The ceremony is at 4:00. If his meeting runs long...
Me: You'll make it back in time?
Jay: I'll be there. Promise. Might have to change in the car, but I'll be there.
Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.
Jay: I missed five years of important moments. Not missing anymore.
"Tracy!" Megan's voice carries through the door. "Bridal party breakfast in ten minutes! And don't think you're getting out of explaining why you're glowing!"
I shoot out of bed and assess the damage in the mirror. Oh no. I am glowing. My face has achieved levels of happiness that no amount of concealer is going to hide.
"Coming!" I call back, then whisper to my reflection, "Stop looking so happy. Look normal. Try to look like someone who didn't spend half the night texting her ex-boyfriend who's not her ex anymore."
My phone buzzes.
Jay: And yes, I'm your boyfriend again. In case that wasn't clear.
Me: How did you know I was wondering that?
Jay: Because I know you, Tracy. You're probably talking to yourself in the mirror right now.
I look around my room suspiciously, then back at my phone.
Jay: Also because I was wondering the same thing at 3 AM.
By the time I make it downstairs, the kitchen is full of bridesmaids in matching robes, and Megan takes one look at me and starts clapping.
"I knew it!" she shrieks. "Look at her face! Look at that Jay Talley glow!"
"There's no glow," I protest, pouring coffee with hands that are definitely not shaking. "This is just my regular face."
"Your regular face doesn't smile before coffee," Sarah points out. "Also, you're humming."
"I'm not humming."
"You're literally humming 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame.'"
I stop humming.
"So," Megan slides into the seat next to me, "tell us everything. The kiss, the declarations, the?—"
"Shouldn't we be focusing on you?" I deflect. "It's your wedding day! You're the bride! Let's talk about bride things!"
"Nice try." She grins. "But watching my sister get back together with the love of her life is the best wedding present ever. Now spill."
My phone buzzes. I try to check it casually.
Jay: Heading to the field. Thinking about you.
"Is that him?" Megan tries to peek at my phone. "What did he say? Are you sexting?"
"MEGAN!"
"She's blushing!" Sarah announces. "Tracy's sexting the baseball player!"
"I'm not—we're not—" I fumble my phone. "He's just saying he has practice."
"Practice," another bridesmaid says with air quotes. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
Me: Stop making me smile. Megan's bridesmaids think we're sexting.
Jay: Are we not? I can start if you want. "Hey girl, nice ERA..."
Me: I hate you.
Jay: No you don't.
Me: No I don't.
"She's grinning at her phone again!" Sarah stage-whispers.
"I'm checking the weather," I lie. "For wedding purposes."
"The weather forecast is partly cloudy with a 100% chance of Tracy being in love," Megan sings.
The morning flies by in a blur of hair, makeup, and me trying not to check my phone every thirty seconds.
Our hair stylist asks why I keep smiling, and I blame it on wedding excitement.
Then the makeup artist says she's never seen someone's face naturally this happy, and I pretend I don't know what she means.
By noon, I've checked the MiLB app twice.
Jay: Meeting's running long. Coach is discussing lineup changes.
Me: You'll make it, right?
Jay: I promised. Have I ever broken a promise to you?
I think about five years ago, about promises we didn't make and ones we couldn't keep.
Me: No. You haven't.
Jay: Not starting now. Plus, Ted's driving. We'll make it.
At 1:30, Megan finds me pacing in my bridesmaid dress, phone clutched in my hand.
"He'll be here," she says softly.
"What? I'm not—I'm just checking the timeline. Making sure we're on schedule. You know me and schedules."
"Tracy." She takes my hand. "He'll be here. That boy would probably miss the fam before he’d miss this wedding. For Greg and for you."
"He's right-handed. Pitching left-handed would destroy his mechanics and—" I catch her knowing look. "I'm being obvious, aren't I?"
"You cited his pitching mechanics. So yes."
My phone buzzes.
Jay: In the car. Ted's driving like we're stealing home. ETA 2:47.
Me: Photos start at 2:00.
Jay: I know. I'm changing in the backseat. Ted's not happy about it.
Me: TMI
Jay: You asked about my tux yesterday. Figured you'd want confirmation I'm wearing it.
Me: I hate you.
Jay: Still no you don't.
Me: Still no I don't.
At 2:00 sharp, we're assembled in the garden for photos. The photographer has us arranged in various combinations, and I'm trying to look bridal-party-appropriate when I hear tires squealing in the parking lot.
"That would be Jay," Greg says with a grin. "Twenty bucks says he's still got eye black on."
My heart does this stupid skippy thing as Jay comes running across the lawn, tux perfectly in place except for his tie, which is draped around his neck untied. His hair is still damp, probably from a quick locker room shower, and yes, there's definitely a smudge of eye black under his left eye.
"Sorry, sorry!" He skids to a stop next to the groomsmen. "Coach wouldn't stop talking about the Sacramento series."
"Dude, you've got—" Brian gestures to his face.
"I know." Jay rubs at the eye black, making it worse. "Tracy?"
And then, because apparently we're incapable of subtlety, I'm walking over with the tissue I grabbed from my emergency kit, reaching up to clean the smudge while he stands still, looking down at me with those stupid blue eyes.
"Hi," he whispers.
"Hi," I breathe back. "Hold still."
"Yes, ma'am."
The entire wedding party is watching us. The photographer is taking pictures. Megan is actually clutching Sarah's arm.
"There," I say, stepping back. "Now, your tie."
"I can?—"
But I'm already reaching up, muscle memory from three years of pre-game adjustments taking over. Loop, tuck, pull, smooth. My hands rest on his chest for a moment, and I can feel his heart racing as fast as mine.
"Still remember," he murmurs.
"Some things you don't forget."
"Awwww," the entire bridal party says in unison.
I jump back. "We should—photos. We should do photos."
"Tracy was just being helpful!" Megan says innocently. "She's very helpful. Always helping with ties and... things."
The photographer, bless him, starts arranging us for group shots. But I catch him smiling as he reviews his camera, probably at the dozen candids he just caught of me fixing Jay's appearance like we're an old married couple.
Which we're not. We're a newly reunited couple who's known each other for nine years and spent the last five pretending we weren't still completely in love.
"Bridesmaids on the left, groomsmen on the right," the photographer directs.
Jay catches my hand as we pass. "Thank you," he whispers.
"For the tie?"
"For waiting."
"I wasn't?—"
"Tracy, you kept my baseball card in your mirror."
"That's not waiting, that's... organizational... memorabilia management."
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. "I love you too."
"PLACES!" the photographer calls.
We separate, and I try to arrange my face into something appropriate for wedding photos, but Megan catches my eye.
"Best wedding gift ever," she mouths.
And as we smile for the camera, Jay across from me with the groomsmen, that little smirk playing at his lips, I think she might be right.
The photographer runs through what feels like a thousand combinations—bride with bridesmaids, groom with groomsmen, full wedding party, couples' shots.
Through it all, I'm hyperaware of Jay across the way, how he keeps adjusting his cuffs (nervous habit), how he laughs at Greg's terrible jokes (still loyal), how his eyes find mine between every single shot.
"Now let's get some candid shots!" the photographer announces. "Just talk among yourselves, act natural."
"Act natural," I mutter. "Sure. Natural. I'm very natural."
"You're catastrophizing out loud again," Sarah says.
"I never do that. I strategically evaluate potential scenarios."
"Is that what you call making heart eyes at the pitcher?"
"I'm not making heart eyes!"
Jay chooses that moment to catch my eye and wink. I promptly trip over my own feet.
"So natural," Sarah laughs.
"Okay, wedding party, let's head to the ceremony space for a few more shots!" the photographer calls.
As we walk across the lawn, Jay falls into step beside me.
"So," he says casually, "nice weather for a wedding."
"Are we really talking about the weather?"
"Would you prefer to discuss how you still remember my pre-game tie routine?"
"Would you prefer to discuss how you changed clothes in the back of Ted's car?"
"He's seen worse. Remember the time we?—"
"Had to change after the rain delay in Jacksonville," I finish. "You split your pants sliding into second."
We both stop walking.
"I can't believe you remember that," he says.
"I can't believe you slid into second as a pitcher."
"It was a fourteen-inning game! Everyone had to hit!"
"Still. Your form was terrible."