Page 1 of Mom Ball

CHAPTER 1

Brooke

I sip sweet tea and snuggle against my lawn chair. Daisy comes into the sunroom with my cousin Erica slogging behind her.

“You’re up, Aniston.”

Aniston leaps toward Daisy like a kid in a sack race. We laugh, and she frowns.

“What? It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a massage.”

Morgan snorts. “You mean Easton doesn’t massage you?”

“Sometimes, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Daisy’s magic.” Aniston pats Daisy’s shoulder. “Pun intended.”

Daisy laughs, and I roll my eyes. However, I agree that her homemade candles take a relaxing massage to the next level.

“Come on.” Daisy exits and waves Aniston toward her.

I lean back, content with the home spa day I planned since none of us have time for a real spa day. Not that I’ve had one in years, but that’s beside the point. We’re all busy with work and kids—Erica’s kid being the orchard’s new website—and Aniston has additional obligations as president of the PTSO.

I take a big gulp of my drink and try to ignore the constant question looming in the back of my mind. The one that would likely have come up during the recent daddy-daughter dance had my child been a girl. The one that’s bound to come up sooner than later with my son.

Who’s my daddy?

Thanks to my loving family and a comfortable life at the apple orchard, Timothy hasn’t asked that dreaded question . . . yet. But I know it’s coming one day.

“Hey, where are those cucumbers I sliced for our eyes?” Erica asks as she lathers on some of the facial cream I brought.

Morgan leans up. “Wait, those weren’t snacks?”

Erica glances at me. I shrug at her, then laugh.

“It’s okay, Morgan,” I say.

“Oops.” She laughs. “Since they were on that tray with the lemon slices, I thought it was some kind of dieting charcuterie board.”

Erica shakes her head. “No, the lemon slices were for our drinks.”

Morgan raises her chin, then twists her lips. “Oops again.”

“It’s okay.” Erica gives her a forced smile.

I bite back a laugh. My cousin is such a Southern belle and Morgan is, well, Morgan. They’re cordial, but they couldn’t be more different. The only thing they have in common besides me is that Erica sometimes shops at the Pig and Morgan works there.

Morgan sits back and sucks her Diet Coke until the straw slurps against the ice. I close my eyes and soak in the sun shining through the glass room. I wiggle my nose when the heat itches my skin. I don’t want to scratch it and mess up my skin cream.

“This is nice. Us chilling while the kids play in the pasture.”

I jerk my head toward Morgan. “Pasture? I thought they were in the house with my mom.”

“The girls are. The boys went to play ball.”

“Timothy is playing ball?” I wrinkle my forehead. It feels like it’s breaking beneath the hardened cream.

“Yeah. He’s plenty old enough to play with them. My kids came out of the womb hitting stuff.” Morgan leans to one side and pulls a lemon out from under her. “I say whatever keeps them off drugs.”

“Don’t you have like a seven-year-old?” Erica asks.

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