Page 68 of The Fake Out

Confused, I frowned and studied her. My what?

She pointed up to the entertainment center with a smile, and I followed her line of sight. When I saw it, I rose. There were two frames and a magnet of the firefly from the Disney movie The Princess and the Frog. In the first frame was a note that said Puzzles are fun, but not as fun as a game of pool with you. Thanks for an unforgettable night. ♥ D.

“I gave Cort that the night we met. I can’t believe he kept it, but he never wants to lose it.” Dylan shrugged. “He’s much more sentimental than people realize.”

In the second frame was a sketch. I lifted it off the shelf and took in the details of the black-and-white sketch I’d done last season. I’d left it at Chris’s apartment because I wanted the charcoal to set before I moved it. Then I’d forgotten it completely.

Chris was on the mound, mid-pitch. Behind the plate, Cortney was sporting his number 8 pinstripes. Behind them, a boat floated in the Boston harbor.

“Gano, right?” she asked.

I’d started signing pictures at four or five, back when my drawing ability was better than writing and I was still learning to spell my name. My mom had suggested shortening it, maybe because she got tired of repeatedly telling me how to spell Damiano. But now, every time I signed a piece, she was there with me.

I nodded and spun, a question on the tip of my tongue.

Before I could ask it, she answered, as if she could read my mind. “Emerson and Chris gave it to Cortney when he retired. You are really good with details. Even Cort’s ass in his baseball pants.” She giggled.

My stomach twisted as I took in the image again. The frame matched the one the oil painting of Puff had been matted in. It had Emerson’s mark all over it. My heart flipped over itself. What was I supposed to do with this idea that Emerson thought my work was good enough to gift a friend?

“I want something similar for the background of the Little Fingers logo, but I want kids playing the part instead of the guys.”

As she went on, describing the colors and her vision, the picture played out in my head.

“Maybe the shaded areas could be imperfect,” I suggested. “Like a child colored outside the lines?”

“Yes.” Dylan beamed. “I knew you’d be perfect for the job.”

I set the frame down and moved back to the sofa. “So here is what I’m thinking…” I pulled my sketch pad and a pencil out of my bag and got to work drawing the baseball diamond. Then I smudged the middle line and worked the rink in on the far right. From there, I went on, smudging and sketching until I had the backdrop. Then I flipped it. “I thought since Langfield Corp owns both the Bolts and the Revs, we could play on both teams.”

“Perfect.” Dylan had adjusted Willow in her arms and scooted closer. “I get the feeling we’ve got lots of new souls joining the Bolts family soon.”

I had no idea what she meant by that, but she and I played around with a few ideas. Dylan had to be one of the most open, honest, genuine people I’d ever met, and she was very easy to please. When I left the house forty-five minutes later with a promise to send her drafts over soon, I was riding a high. I pulled out my phone, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a text from Emerson asking me to let him know how it went.

Me: It went really well

Me: She officially hired me - I’ll have the first round of drafts to her next week - I’m excited.

I hadn’t been this excited to start a new project since the meeting with the Boston Zoo over six months ago. Maybe it was because, in both instances, I had the opportunity to meet with the client and see their excitement about their work directly. Through the firm, I was never included in that part of the process. I supposed it made projects feel more impersonal. My phone buzzed in my palm as I headed away from the house.

Emerson: GIF of a guy dancing in celebration

Emerson: Headed out for batting practice, but I’ll call you after. I want to hear all about it.

He was just like my dad in that respect. Anytime I was excited about a project, Pop got antsy to hear all about it. And all my life, he’d been the first person I’d call or text over big news, good or bad. Guilt crept up when I realized I hadn’t even thought to text him. I hadn’t talked to him since Sunday. That in and of itself wasn’t strange, but how could I so quickly have moved Emerson up to the top of the list of people I wanted to share good news with? Maybe because I’d never dated a guy who hyped me up and got excited about my work. Not that I was dating Emerson.

I headed down the steps into the subway in a rush, since I had a Zoom call at noon with Jake and the team. As I hit the last step, my phone buzzed again.

Emerson: Excited for you.

Me: Thanks.

I couldn’t stop the smile that lifted my lips. My friends and Chris and Pop, even Avery, had made the same remark, but from Emerson, it hit so much more potently. And I didn’t hate the feeling.

I boarded the train and found a seat, all the while thinking about how I could make him feel just as supported as he’s made me. His comment about seeing me in Revs blue and the glint in his eye left me wondering. Athletes had a thing about their women dressing in their jerseys. Everyone knew it. I couldn’t wear his number to a game without garnering way too much suspicion, but I could wear it for him. I didn’t have the type of body that looked cute in a buttoned-up jersey, but I’d once seen a TikTok video with the perfect idea. After a quick internet search, I found the Revs site, and two clicks later, I’d purchased an XXXL number 21 for pickup from the store next to the stadium. I could run by after my meeting and grab it. There was no way I had time before.

In fact…I peeked at my watch. Shit. I only had ten minutes to make it back to my computer and log in to the meeting. I flew off the train and ran up the stairs to the street level. I bolted the half block to the building, and by the time I got on the elevator, I was sweating. The distance had been short, sure, but it was almost ninety degrees today.

Inside the apartment, I pushed my hair back from my sweaty face and glanced in the mirror, swiping the mascara from under my eyes, and then fanned myself to minimize the bright red flush.

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