Page 18 of Home Sweet Home

“You have something against personal checks?”

“I thought the money was from the county.”

“They gave it to me, and I’m distributing it. There’s money for equipment and stuff too. That a problem?”

“No,” she said, but another thought occurred to her. “It’s the full amount.”

“It’s what we agreed on, right?”

“I thought it would be every two weeks. Like a normal job.”

A sly grin tugged at the right corner of West’s mouth. “Planning on taking the cash and running, Peach? Because I know where you live.”

She wasn’t sure why she was asking so many questions. She needed the money, and as much as she wanted to avoid West, he’d presented her with an opportunity to keep the house her mom had worked so hard for. So Evie folded up the check and shoved it in her pocket, then she set her beer on West’s nightstand and got up from his bed. “Right. I should get going.”

The look of disappointment on his face was immediate, and he looked like he genuinely wanted her to stay. She had no idea why. “At least finish your beer. I’m new in town. Take pity on me.”

“I’ll see you at sign-ups tomorrow, all right?” Evie said.

He sighed. “All right.”

And before she could change her mind, she left, wondering about the tinge of sadness in his voice when he’d said it.

* * *

The baseball diamondwas at the heart of Creek Water Park, surrounded by a few sprawling acres of well-maintained grass with a big pond, a playground, and a picnic area with a gazebo. On the Fourth of July, the town lit fireworks over the pond. Her mom had brought Evie and Josh every year. They would buy popcorn in giant red-and-white-striped bags, lay a blanket out on the grass, and prop up their bodies with their elbows, heads tilted back as neon colors popped and swirled against the cloudless, dark sky.

The diamond was small, with bleachers on either side of home plate. A ten-foot chain-link fence surrounded the field. The scoreboard strung up on one side had dark spots where some of the bulbs had burnt out. Inside the fence were the dugouts, one long bench inside each. At the back of the outfield was a hand-painted billboard, chipped in more places than it wasn’t. “Home of the Creek Water Cougars” was written beneath Charlie the Cougar painted in cartoon style. A small concession stand with a mesh-screened sliding window sold Ring Pops and Laffy Taffy for a dollar, or at least they used to be a dollar.

The moment Evie stepped out of her car she regretted it, the midday sun beating down on her, sweat seeping into the underarms of her T-shirt after just a few steps. When the breeze picked up, it cut through the heat like a knife. As she walked across the parking lot, West came into view, hauling what looked like a folding table under one arm.

He grew taller with each step, taller than she remembered. Where he’d once been lean, a decade and thousands of hours of conditioning had filled him out. His T-shirt clung to the sharp lines of his biceps, reminding her he was a professional athlete. His job was to be in the best physical shape of his life. But as Evie walked, she tugged at the bottom of her shorts, suddenly remembering she hadn’t shaved all the way up her thighs in a few weeks.

West waved, walking to meet Evie at the fence. Soon she was on one side, and he was on the other, one index finger hooked through the chain links, squinting in the sun. “Come on around. People should be here in a few.”

Evie seriously considered leaving right then and there, the reality of her situation setting in. But then she sighed and walked through the section of fence that opened up onto the field, and as she rounded the corner to the dugout, she regretted her decision.

Rich sat on the bench, his attention glued to his phone. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and black dress pants. The jacket she assumed went with the whole ensemble hung on a rusted hook on the dugout wall. Sweat stains stretched from the top of his armpit toward his torso, though his dark hair, perfectly gelled, had avoided any havoc the humidity might have wreaked upon his tight curls. His thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose like a bird on a branch.

“Rich, you remember Evie,” West said, unfolding the table and sinking the legs into the dirt just outside the fence.

Rich looked at Evie for a second, like she was a fly buzzing around him, tiny and unimportant but annoying and omnipresent, before returning to his phone. “The waitress.”

“That’s me.” Evie slid onto the bench, a chipped sliver of wood threatening her ass with a splinter. “How do you two know each other?”

“Rich is my manager,” West said as he pried open two creaking folding chairs. “Been with me since I moved to LA. This man right here is the best in the biz.”

“True,” Rich said with a wry smile that made Evie want to throw up. “Which is why I only work with the best.”

“Is Rich short for Richard?” Evie asked.

“Yes,” Rich said in one long, drawn-out syllable. “Why?”

Evie shrugged, resisting the urge to ask him why he’d gone with Rich as a nickname instead of Dick, even though he was both. It was clever, and she wanted to see the look on his face, but she couldn’t afford to get fired. “What brings you to town? Don’t your other clients need you?”

“We’re expecting some press. It’s part of my job to help manage my clients’ public image.”

He said it like Evie was stupid for asking the question in the first place, but before Evie could respond, West came in from setting up the table and chairs. “Sign-ups start in about”—West glanced at his watch—“ten minutes. After, let’s get a game plan together for the first practice. Sound good?”

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