Page 32 of Take Me Home

“I don’t see how that’s embarrassing,” she said, looking at me curiously.

I hesitated. “I think it’s more that they make me cry,” I said quickly, looking at her sideways.

“Aw come on. There’s no crying in baseball,” she said. “You’re a big baseball boy, aren’t ya? Did you play growing up?”

“You could say that. I played in college and had a short minor league career.”

Darcy’s mouth hung agape, like she was looking at me through new eyes. Her gaze traveled over my forearms and up to my shoulders while she bit her lower lip. It seemed she liked what I was telling her.

“Jake! I had no idea! What level? What position?”

“I was a Tri-City ValleyCat in upstate New York. Double-A. I played shortstop.”

Darcy got an amused look. “Is that when you had long hair?”

I nodded. “I’ll have to show you a picture sometime.”

“And you coach Little League,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “But you don’t have kids.”

“Nah. Someday, though, I hope,” I said, blushing at the admission. Darcy took a moment to absorb it all. My mind was reeling. Did Darcy want kids? How weird would it be for me to ask?

“What’s your team name? Eli used to play for the Dairy Kings. We’re a big baseball family.”

“The Gina’s Spaghetti Palace Angels,” I said with a grin. Darcy laughed at the team name, which is admittedly pretty hilarious.

“Well, I’ll be,” she said, her accent on full display for once. I got little glimpses of it here and there, and I loved hearing it. But the way she said that sentence sounded like it came straight from a grandma’s mouth. “You are somethin’ else, Jake Warren.”

God, she was irresistible. Only Darcy could make Appalachian granny cute and sexy.

I grinned at her. “You really are a West Virginian, you know that?”

Darcy groaned. “I know. It really comes out sometimes,” she said, her I’s drawling long. I couldn’t stop smiling at her, my cheeks hurting from how fucking cute she was: messed up hair falling out of her ponytail, her sweet accent, the way she was kinda bashful when she asked questions of me. Like she wanted to know but felt like it was some dirty secret somehow or not her business. I wanted everything about me to be her business. I wanted her to be my business.

“It suits you,” I told her. “I like how you sound.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’ve spent a lot of years trying to cover it up.”

“Well, you don’t have to around me.” I never wanted her to be anyone around me except exactly who she was.

She looked intently at her plate, her ears and chest getting red. She finished her last bite and stood to put her plate in the dishwasher.

“I’ll get it,” I said, swiping it from her. “You go put on The Office.”

“Not A League of Their Own? I think I’ve got an extra box of tissues around here somewhere,” she razzed me.

“I’m not the one who’s sick,” I retorted.

* * *

We decidedthat I’d stay over at the house so I could keep an eye on Darcy overnight. It was probably unnecessary, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her and I wasn’t there to help. I stopped by my trailer to get some overnight essentials, including mint chocolate chip ice cream to share with her.

We had ice cream in front of the TV, both of us splayed out on the couch. Darcy was buried under a blanket with her head on one end while I sat up on the other. She picked Season 2 of The Office “because there’s so much Jim and Pam angst.” After a couple of episodes, I pulled her feet into my lap.

“No! My feet are weird!” she cried.

“Oh, stop. You’re all scrunched up trying not to touch me. I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me,” I promised, holding her ankles in my hand and shaking them. “I won’t tell Caleb and Becca about your weirdo feet.”

“Okay, they’re not that weird,” she said, offended.

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