Page 93 of Mom Ball

A part of me wishes she would.

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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.

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