Page 26 of Last Fall

That word. That one little word was so important to me. So many other words could be used to describe kissing.Give. Take. Need. Hot.Sexy.More.

But he choseshared.And followed it withhoped.Words meant more to me than the normal person, I knew that, but they were an overlooked clue into who people were. The vocabulary they unconsciously chose was a window into their inner thoughts. It told me how they viewed the world and themselvesinit.

It told me that Erik didn’t see my kiss as an act that happened to him. It told me that it was something he waited andhopedfor—patiently—to sharewithme.

Maybe the male dating pool wasn’t made up of turds after all. Maybe, just maybe, there were one or two decentguysleft.

And maybe I was looking at oneofthem.

That sent another rush through me. A thrill of excitement. “I still can’t believe I kissed youlikethat.”

His eyes twinkled. “It was a dreamcometrue.”

There was a softness to Erik, vulnerability that bordered on shy. He tried so hard to be polite. His words finally started to sink past my fear.Family. Worthwhile. Take care of...Maybe doing something for himself was actually as foreign to him as dating wastome.

“Thank you for my congratulations cake.” It was nice having someoneunderstandme.

He nodded toward my plate. “We should eat it.” He grabbed his fork and cut a slice, holding it up like a cocktail. “To your amazingsuccess.”

I held up a matching forkful. “Cheers.” Then proceeded to devour half the cake, because dang, it was so,sogood.

Erik slowly enjoyed his cake as well, savoring each bite. But I noticed his eyes looked a little unfocused like he was thinking about something, and being the curious writer, I decided to ask him what he was thinking. “What’s onyourmind?”

His eyes snapped to mine. “I was thinking about the commercial I have to shoot next week and how I’d rather be just aboutanywhereelse.”

“If you hate it so much why do you do it?” This felt like prime getting-to-know-you information. Was he a perfectionist who didn’t like his acting skills? Or maybe he simply got boredonset.

He sat back, folding his hands over his flat stomach as he finished swallowing. His brows drew down. “Why do you go to signings andinterviews?”

Well, that was an easy one to answer. “It’s part of the job. I could hide behind my computer,” I shrugged because that was what I would prefer to do, “but getting out there, doing the interviews, participating in the industry, all of that is what has helped me build acareer.”

“Exactly. I’m an average second baseman but I made myself part of the community. That’s the real reason I have a career at this level. Don’t get me wrong, it matters to me that I don’t waste my opportunity, that I give back to the city that’s given me so much, but it also helps secure my position on the team because people know me, they fill seats and cheer for the team because they eat cereal with me everymorning.”

I noticed that he focused on the endorsements, not his charity. That was the real reason everyone loved Erik Cassidysomuch.

I also noticed how he called himselfaverage.

If Erik and I kept up this new friendship I was going to have to work on his fun side. “Well when you put it like that, I guess I canrelate.”

It was strange how I felt both awkward and comfortable with Erik. Part of me was wondering if I was chewing too loud, if not saying anything was weird, but mostly it just felt normal. I didn’t know why, but I was fairly certain that Erik was as happy with the stretches of silence asIwas.

“Congrats, Zo,” he said quietly between bites, eyes back on the remainder ofhiscake.

For a moment it was like I wasweightless.

Then he looked up and our gazes caught. Weightlessness turned into free-fall. So much concern and emotion swam in hisbrowneyes.

That doubt, that loud, incessant doubt that I kept pushed back screamed at me. I’d done such a good job of locking it up after I moved to Tampa. Doubt got in the way. It almost ruined my life. There was no place for doubt in my life. But ever since this book and movie deal had come into my life, it had started pushing back into the edges ofmylife.

I noticed it most in these heavy, quiet moments of congratulations. I seemed to stop, unable to move forward or absorb what was happening, and instead I gave the answers I was expected to give and moved the way I was supposed to move, not really living the moment. Maybe that was why I avoided celebrating. Maybe it wasn’t that I didn’t want to enjoy life’s victories. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to give doubt any access tomylife.

“It doesn’t feel real,” Iwhispered.

June and Carrie were so hell-bent on me owning my success that I stopped bothering with confiding in them. I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened out of self-preservation.

“It’s a big change. Going from what you thought was it to suddenly having everything you secretly dreamedabout?”

We have a lot in common.His words from earlier came back to me, only this time they made a lot of sense. Ballplayers and writers lived lives that had absolutely nothing in common—except that we spent our entire lives dreaming of being the exception. The one or two lucky people who made it. Neither of us was an overnight success. I never, ever thought, no matter how hard I worked, I’d ever see this level ofsuccess.

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