Page 76 of Totally Fanatic

“Tickets to the game! Granny, you did it! You’re the best.”

She looks over at me, her eyes glassy, and her grandson wraps his little arms around her neck. She mouths, “Thank you,” and I nod and go back to work behind the counter.

Tim and the guys grab drinks and stay for a while, chatting with Chester and promising him all sorts of extra-special fun on Saturday, like dancing with the team and getting to throw out the first pitch.

Before they go, Tim heads toward the back and nods for me to follow. I close the door over on my way in just in case a reporter is lurking around.

“You have the biggest heart of any guy I’ve ever known. What you did back there for that woman and her grandson, that was so selfless and sweet.”

“It was just tickets to a game.”

“No, you don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me close, looking up at me with those big blue eyes and cheeky Australian grin.

“You don’t get to shrug off how awesome you are. You spend your days making other people feel good, you deserve a little good, too.”

“I have a lot of good. I have you.”

“You do, you know.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, for as long as you want me. I’m yours.”

“Even if people keep calling me a Tim Sage fanatic?”

“You can be totally fanatic about me all you like, because Lion Matherson, I’m totally fanatic about you, too.”

Epilogue

TIM

I POP THE LAST OF the banana pudding cups into the fridge and check the time. Six-oh-five. Okay, the guys will be starting to arrive in just over an hour.

“We can do this. It’s just like every other game night on the roof. You’ve cooked for them a bunch of times, tonight is the same,” I try to tell myself. But it isn’t exactly the same. Since Lion scored me Big Bertie, yep, we’re keeping the name the late Mr. Shannon gave the old smoker, it just didn’t seem right changing it. Well, since then, it’s been full steam ahead on the food truck. I’ve been learning how to use him, tweaking my recipes, trying to get them just right in such a beast of a smoker meant a lot of failed attempts. No, not exactly failed, but not perfect, either.

I finally have it figured out now, along with a collection of potential side dishes we could serve. My possible menu is far too much for a food truck, so in order to narrow down what we do serve when we have the soft opening the first week after BananaBall season ends, we need honest feedback, and who better to be brutally honest with me than our best friends?

“I picked up the cheese, but are you sure we need more? The table up there is pretty full already,” Lion asks, walking through the door to my loft.

“The more the better. The point of tonight is for everyone to taste a bit of everything and tell us what they like and what sucks.”

“Nothing you make sucks.”

“Not even the black cherry sauce I made yesterday?” I ask, raising a brow. He puts the bag on the benchtop.

“Okay, that didn’t work on the beef, but it was really good drizzled over the ice cream later, right?”

“I still can’t believe you thought to do that.”

“It’s cherry and ice cream. What’s not to love?”

“It also had balsamic vinegar and red pepper in it.”

He shrugs and starts pulling out the small brown-paper-wrapped cheeses. “It worked.”

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