Page 5 of Stealing Home

His eyes shift down to mine and flick to my leg. “Should you be though?”

My mouth falls open. “Did you actually need my help?”

The smirk becomes a shit eating grin. “Nah, we’re going to plant a tree like every class before us. I’ll be sure to tell her you talked us out of planting a female ginkgo tree, since they smell rancid.”

Placing my hand over my heart and batting my eyes. “You’d do that for me? I’ve already committed the major sins of working and not having children. I think if I don’t talk the team out of planting a stinky tree my reputation would be forever ruined.”

“I’ve got your back,” he says, but the teasing glint is missing from his eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t really know what to say to you. You’re kind of a flirt, hotshot.”

He smirks, revealing a shallow dimple in his cheek. “It’s genetic.”

Glancing over at his parents and seeing his dad focused solely on his mom, I can see what he means. “Yeah, I’m thinking it is.”

Scott laughs. “They’re horrible. I’m going to get them out of here before they start making out in front of my teammates.”

“They wouldn’t,” I gasp.

“Oh, they would and have before.” He gives me a serious look. “Take care of yourself, Harlow.”

My smile is weak. “I always do.”

The look on his face lets me know he doesn’t believe me, but that makes two of us.

Mercifully, by the time I return to the table, Mrs. Harper is deep in a discussion with one of her friends about last year’s Women’s League gala. Since I didn’t attend I’m not expected to contribute to the conversation.

Nando stays until the last person leaves. He’s high on all the adulation, and my stomach drops. “Are you ready to go home?” he asks.

“I’m ready to get out of these shoes,” I sigh.

He heads to the door without waiting for me, and I run after him on my battered feet. Prince Charming has nothing on my man.

3

Harlow

When Nandoand I were in college I hated baseball season. Sure, I put on a smile and pretended to be excited for him. I’d never have discouraged him, in fact I did everything I could to keep him going. But, for four months out of the year he was on the road. In the summer and fall there were additional training camps and exhibition games. Basically, he was occupied most of the year.

Now, I celebrate every time the season starts. That separation I used to hate, I now crave with a passion. It means space and room for me to breathe. Nando does his thing and I do mine. It has always been this way, the only difference is I don’t ask him anymore for what he won’t give.

I work in the university’s bursar’s office. My accounting degree is hard to use in a college town where most of the employment opportunities center around the school. Thankfully, few institutions deal in as many large transactions as post-secondary education. There are only two of us who track billing and handle the university’s accounts. It’s a very involved position that requires a high attention to detail. What it doesn’t come with is a high salary. It’s enough for a modest living for one person, and the best I can do in Centralia.

Not that Nando recognizes the importance of my position. If you asked him he’d insist the school was a hundred percent financed by the sports program. Maybe he just didn’t believe that I could possibly contribute to the maintenance and success of the running of the university.

Even though we work at the same campus, I rarely see him at work. So when he shows up at my office a week after the banquet I go instantly on alert. “Nando, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for a game?”

He pulls out a chair. The wooden legs screech against the floor. My eyes dart around wondering who might be around to overhear whatever he has to say. “I’m supposed to run a youth clinic this weekend.”

“Okay,” I draw out. “We don’t have plans this weekend, so I don’t see the problem.”

“I have game tape to watch and I need to meet with my coaching staff to adjust practice for the following week. We’re up against our arch rivals soon and it will set the tone for the whole season.”

I stare at him, waiting for the rest of the explanation, because the dots aren’t connecting for me.

“You know, social outreach is more of a coach’s wife’s job,” he states.

“What exactly are you asking me to do, Nando?”

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