Page 93 of The Problem with Perfect

He was also adamant that he wanted to finish his college degree first, so while a few of the guys from his team went to the combine last summer, Bishop decided to wait until this year. That’s what this entire six-week program has been about—giving the players who received invitations a bit of extra prep before the week-long event hosted by the MLB.

“Well, I can’t wait to see you,” I tell him, meaning every word.

“Same, Bells. Same.”

We say our goodbyes and hop off the phone after I make him promise to keep me updated during the combine, and I return my attention back to the prep book splayed open on my desk. I’ve scheduled my official final exam for mid-July, which gives me just a few more weeks to study.

I already feel prepared, but I’m the kind of girl who wants to take her time, so the timeline feels right. While I’m continuing to search for work and think about how to get my year of experience under my belt, I’m also not trying to rush it. For now, I’m happy to continue working at The Mitch and Dock 7, enjoy the summer, and spend time with my family—and Rusty, of course.

My eyes slide over to my bed, and a wave of heat rolls through me at the memory of yesterday. God, I’m so damn into that man.

Shaking my head, I force my mind back to my book and the far less interesting topic of variance analysis.

* * *

When Rusty texts on Thursday night to tell me we’re going on a lunch date Friday, a thrill of excitement runs through me. The only date I’ve ever been on is our fake one at Dock 7, so I spend all of Friday morning tearing apart my closet, trying to decide what to wear.

A lunch date might be hiking or out on his dad’s boat or even just grabbing coffee. It takes forever to settle on a pair of jean shorts and a loose green top I think is cute enough and flexible enough to do anything.

When we pull up in front of The Pines, I blink a few times, almost certain we’re running an errand on our way to the date, but Rusty turns off the car and steps out. I hop out too, walking up to the front, and he takes my hand, a big smile on his face.

“I’ve been thinking about where to take you on our first real date,” he tells me as we take the well-manicured path around the side of the building. “I figured…you’ve already been everywhere in town, you know? So, where could I take you for a meal you haven’t already had?”

I smile as we come around a corner, spotting a table for two set up in the middle of the back courtyard with a tiny vase of flowers and two wine glasses. Rusty pulls out my chair and I take a seat, and once he’s seated in his own, a pair of French doors open and several gentlemen walk out, all of them dressed in suits and carrying trays. I recognize one of them—Art used to be a librarian at the Cedar Point Public Library before it closed, and I love seeing his familiar smile.

“When I told my friends I wanted to take Bellamy Mitchell on a date at The Pines, they insisted on helping.”

I can’t help but laugh, my soul nearly bursting at how thoughtful and sweet this entire thing is. A tray is set in front of me, and I can tell immediately that this is all cafeteria food from The Pines. A bowl of salad. A small baguette with little pats of butter. A plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

“Your gentleman called ahead and was able to reserve you a coveted piece of banana cream pie,” Art says, waving his hand at the tiny dessert in the corner.

I nod. “Thank you so much, Art. So good to see you.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “You too, sweetheart.”

“And this is Stan, and Gil,” Rusty says, introducing me to the two other men, both of whom look familiar, though I’m not sure I’ve met before.

“Nice to meet you both.”

Stan grins. “Nice to meetyou. I heard through the grapevine that the two of you were dating, but I have to be honest, I didn’t believe it.”

Rusty winks at me. “Imagine that.”

“You enjoy your lunch,” Gil says, beginning to usher the other men along. “We’ll be back in a little bit to collect your trays.”

“Thank you!” I call after them as they disappear back through the French doors, and that’s when I realize there’s a whole group of people inside watching us through the glass. I giggle, picking up my fork and digging straight into the banana cream pie. “You know, I’ve heard from my mom and Briar that this pie is so popular people try to hoard it and swap for extra meds.”

He laughs. “That seems like it could be a problem.”

“It’s just Viagra,” I say, shrugging as I put the pie into my mouth.

The flavors burst onto my tongue, and I moan.

“Okay, I get it,” I add, shaking my head. “That shit is so good.”

Rusty grins. “I’m glad you like it.”

We dig into our lunches, and I find the entire tray of food to be far better than I was expecting.

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