Page 46 of The Do-Over

She lifted her chin and kept a smile on her face. She was Jenna Scarlett Cooper, and just because she hadn’t hit a grand slam lately didn’t mean she wasn’t a Beyoncé in her own right. For instance, with her last illustration, she’d hit the Morchella esculenta out of the park.

She also resisted the urge to step closer to Billy, or hold his hand, or take his arm, or any other gesture that could be read as “claiming him” or even just “dating him.”

This was a joint appearance in support of a worthy cause. That was it.

The first stop on the gauntlet was to pose for the photographer. They carefully kept several inches of space between them as Jenna delivered her most formulaic smile.

“This is Jenna Scarlett, my former spouse,” Billy told the photographer for his notes. “All my donations are in both of our names, so I asked her to come support the Helping Hands organization along with me.”

“You said former spouse?” A woman shooting video stepped alongside the still photographer.

“That’s right.” Billy smoothly shifted to address her instead. “We’ve always presented a united front on the most important things, and this cause definitely qualified.”

“Nicely done,” Jenna murmured as they wound their way past linen-draped tables to the one closest to the stage. A few other members of the Twins were already seated, and there followed a flurry of back slaps and hellos and man-hugs. The only awkwardness was between Billy and the backup shortstop, Pedro Carro. He introduced his wife, who looked even less excited to be there than Jenna. Maria looked utterly bored with the whole event, even her husband.

The players and their dates were all kind to Jenna, and no one questioned her presence. Still, she felt out of place and wished she could take the edge of discomfort away with a glass of white wine.

But she’d sworn to avoid alcohol after the disaster with Lacey, so club soda and lime it was.

Servers in snappy black uniforms zipped through the ballroom delivering plates to each guest. Rosemary pork and scalloped potatoes. A vegetable medley with yellow squash and broccoli. There was no chance to mind-meld with the chef or the server, and she wouldn’t want to draw attention to herself anyway. So she picked at a roll and wondered what Annika and the boys were doing right now. Had they abandoned the blanket fort and put on a movie? How much snow had accumulated? Was the power staying on?

She pulled her phone from her clutch and checked the weather. Good Lord. A foot of snow had already fallen. Maybe she could take the boys sledding tomorrow. There was a good sledding slope within walking distance, so they wouldn’t even have to wait for the plow trucks to finish up.

“Foot of snow,” she whispered to Billy. He was busy buttering a roll and exchanging trading rumors with the player sitting next to him.

“Good thing I booked a room.”

The player—Randy Barnes, first baseman from Edna, Oklahoma—overheard. “Y’all are staying over? I’m only asking in case y’all want to host the afterparty.”

“No,” Billy said firmly.

Jenna couldn’t help laughing at Randy’s pleading pout. “Trying to make trouble, Randy?”

“Always and forever. Look, don’t mind me. My ex and I can’t even say ‘hello’ without arguing over who should say it first, or who said it better, or what hidden meaning they might have put in there. My hat’s off to you two. I’d rather take a rattlesnake to a dinner like this than my ex.”

“I’m with you on that.” The conversation broadened as another player joined in. Marco Perez, outfielder from Oaxaca. Even though she’d never met him, Jenna knew all about him. She knew all the players because she still kept track of the team out of habit.

“You aren’t even married,” Billy pointed out.

“I still have exes. Many, many exes. All my exes live in Mexico. I like to keep a border between us.”

“No exes in Canada?” Jenna asked, amused by his lighthearted style. “That’s the border we’re closest to.”

“Too close.” Marco shuddered dramatically. “I cannot risk it.”

“Exes aren’t so bad. Are we?” She nudged Billy, who sat up straight and answered as if he’d just been called on in class.

“No, dear. Of course not, dear. Exes are the bestest.”

Everyone laughed and Jenna pretended to throw a roll at him.

“I think it’s absolutely fantastic that you get along so well,” a stunning woman across the table chimed in; the supermodel wife of the star pitcher, Dwight Booker. Chelsey, that was her name. She spoke with a slight British accent, and already looked buzzed from visiting the open bar. “Maybe some marriages simply aren’t meant to be.”

Jenna felt her hackles rise. It was one thing for her to decide that, entirely another for a stranger to say so.

“Ain’t that the truth,” said Randy. “That’s what they got prenups for.”

Chelsey shuddered. “Don’t mention that word around me.”

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