Page 100 of Dropping the Ball

“Micah,” she calls, stepping to the side. I’m not sure it’s an invitation, so I stay where I am.

He appears from a hallway and stops, surprised. “Katie. Hey. Everything okay?”

“I wondered if you and Tori would want to come over for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

He hesitates, exchanging looks with his mom, but I can only see her profile, so I can’t read the look.

“At your place?” he asks.

“My parents’ place,” I say. “You’ll know at least half of us. Madison, Oliver, and Harper will be there.” I smile at Tori. “Harper’s my niece. She’s two months old.”

“We do a neighborhood thing,” Tori says.

I can’t tell if it’s a yes or no. “My mom does a formal spread, and we eat at 6:00.”

Tori rolls her eyes. “My parents did that too. Rest of Texas eats at 2:00 so we’re done in time for the Cowboys game. Where do your parents live?”

“Waterfront.”

She scoffs. “No, thanks. I’ll take card tables and Dixie plates in the yard right here, thank you.”

I steel myself against the embarrassment rejection always brings, but she’s not done.

“You should go,” she tells Micah. “I’ll be fine.”

He looks from her to me and back again, his forehead wrinkling. “You sure?”

“Yeah. You’ll have plenty of time to say hey to the neighbors before you go, and I’ll watch the game with Cindy.” When he still hesitates, she sighs. “Truly, kid. Going might set me off, butstaying here, I’ll be fine.” She turns back to me. “Thank you for the invitation though.”

“You’re welcome,” I tell her. “Micah, I could really use a wingman tomorrow.”

His eyes soften and he nods. “I’ll be there.”

As I walk back to the car, I smile. He’ll be there. Of course he’ll be there. It’s Micah.

And Micah always shows up.

Chapter Thirty

Kaitlyn

We decide Micah shouldmeet me at my house, and when he rings the doorbell, I open it wearing a tight smile and Lela Rose silk pants in a hand-painted floral motif with a cashmere sweater. The colors are muted mauves and creams, tasteful for a family dinner. A semiformal family dinner.

I nearly swallow my tongue when I see Micah. He’s in a three-button brown suede blazer over charcoal slacks and a thin forest green sweater.

“You look good,” I say. He looksperfect.

“Can’t embarrass my client,” he tells me. “Who’s driving?”

I reach for my purse and pull out my keys. “Can you handle the Audi?”

He grins. “Grandson of the Croft racing empire? I’ll be fine.”

He greets Daisy with scritches before I lead him to the garage and hit the automatic opener. He holds my door for me, settles into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine. A slow smile curls over his mouth as he feels the purr and thrum.

I get it. Usually, starting the engine sends the same vibrations up my legs and back, but this time Micah’s smile does.

He backs out smoothly, and once we’re on the road toward my parents’ place, he glances over at me, his expression serious.

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