Author: Bella Andre

It was even nicer when he said, “If they don’t love it—if they let James or your ex sway them in any way—they’re all idiots.”

“Spoken like a true friend,” she said as she smiled across the table at him. “Actually, Anne said something interesting to me this afternoon that I’m still processing.”

“Is she the one with the blue and green hair?”

“It was orange a couple of days ago,” Vicki said with a laugh. “She was probably the only person there tonight who didn’t care about people’s opinions of her work and wasn’t living and dying on every smile or frown.”

“Isn’t she up for a fellowship, too?”

“She is. And I know how much she wants it. But at the end of the day, the most important thing to her is that she’s proud of her work. Not whether a random group of powerful people think she’s talented enough to receive a grant.”

“Aren’t you proud of your work, Vicki?”

It was a good question. One she’d been trying to figure out the answer to for a very long time.

“I’ve had a few great moments,” she said slowly, “but sometimes I wonder if the in-betweens are enough to make it all worth it.”

Ryan put down his fork. “Do you know how many pitches I throw on average in a game?” When she shook her head, he said, “Almost a hundred and twenty. How many of those do you think are great pitches?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Twenty. Maybe thirty. Some guys beat themselves up for that, but my first Little League coach made sure I knew that baseball wasn’t about being perfect. It was about having fun first, winning second.”

“It sounds like you had a really great coach.”

“One day I hope I’m as good with my kids as my dad was with all of us.”

Vicki’s heart turned to mush. “I wish I could have met your father.” She looked at him and mused, “Although, I suppose in a way I have, just by knowing you and your siblings. He was obviously an extraordinary man to have created such a wonderful family.”

Ryan’s answering gaze was so intense she wondered for a moment if she’d said something wrong. Finally, he said, “As long as you love what you’re doing, Vicki, it’s all worth it.”

That flutter in her belly at the way he was looking at her had her feeling lightheaded as she took away their salads and brought over large plates of goulash and hunks of crusty bread.

“How was your meeting after the game?” He hadn’t told her what it was for, but she assumed it had something to do with the Hawks.

“It went all right. I thought it would be easier to get people excited about bringing sports back to schools, but it’s taken three months to pick up our first serious donor. Fortunately, I think this couple is pretty close.”

She couldn’t get over how different Ryan was from her ex-husband. If Anthony ever did anything nice for anyone, he broadcast it from the rooftops. Would Ryan even have mentioned his charitable work if she hadn’t asked about his meeting?

“You're raising money to bring sports back to schools?”

“Sports are my first target, and then the arts programs if I can pull in enough for both.”

She knew she was grinning at him like a fool, but he was that great. “I think that's so fantastic, Ryan. Because, honestly, I don’t know if I would be a sculptor if it hadn’t been for the class I took in eighth grade. Mr. Barnsworth told me the ashtray I made in his class belonged in a museum. Becoming an art teacher was always my backup plan. At least until the districts got rid of them all.”

“P.E. teacher was my backup plan.”

“You were thinking about being a high school teacher?”

“Until the scouts came calling, yeah, I was.”

How could she not have known this about him? And why did it have to make him even cuter? She could just imagine what it would have been like in the halls of their old high school if he had become a teacher instead of a pro baseball player. Every time Mr. Sullivan walked down the hall, the giggling from crushed-out girls would have been deafening.

“I substituted for a while,” she told him, “right after college.” Until she’d married Anthony and he’d supported them both with his sculptures. She’d been grateful, but not nearly as grateful as he’d expected her to be.

“Oh man, I’ll bet those lucky punks in your classes didn’t hear a word you said.”

She had never thought about herself as the object of teenage crushes. Was Ryan right? Had she been?

“That could explain why they all seemed so spaced out all the time.”

“They probably didn’t want to come up to the front of the class, either.”

She almost spit out her sip of wine. “Just eat already. It’s not nearly as good cold.”

Finally, Ryan took a bite of the goulash. And then another. And then one more before saying, with his mouth full, “I can’t believe you made this.” He shoved another bite in. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Thanks, but we both know your mother’s straight-from-Italy spaghetti sauce is better. Just barely,” she joked, “but still better.”

It had been years since she’d sat down at the boisterous, crowded Sullivan dinner table, but she’d never forgotten how good the food had always been. Or how much fun it had been to be surrounded by all the laughter.

“By the way,” she said after they'd both eaten in companionable silence for a few minutes, “I was thinking more about the latest turn of events with Anthony joining the board. I really don’t think James is going to try anything again, not knowing my ex-husband will be coming in from Italy.” She put down her fork and pushed the rest of her goulash away. “You’re amazing for stepping in and pretending to be my boyfriend, but I can’t let you keep putting your real life on hold for me.”

He was frowning at her as he said, “I’m not putting anything on hold.”

“I heard you cancel those dates,” she reminded him.

“If I’d known you were back in town, I would have cancelled those dates anyway.” He grabbed their plates and headed over to the sink. When she got up to help clean the pots and pans she’d used, he poured her another glass of wine. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

There shouldn’t have been anything sexual about what he’d just said. They were talking about dirty dishes, for God’s sake. And yet, the subtle command to relax sent a flutter of heat down deep in her belly. But even as she reached out to pull up a stool at his kitchen island, Vicki couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the picture he made—a big, strong man elbow deep in suds, even though he could easily have employed a full-time staff to cater to his every need.

Which was why, instead of sitting down, she grabbed a clean dishtowel and started drying off the plates he’d just washed. She needed to fill her hands with cotton and porcelain and keep them too busy to accidentally fill them with Ryan’s hard muscles, instead.

“Hey,” he said with a raised eyebrow as he watched her put the dry plate away, “I thought you were relaxing with a glass of wine?”

“I was, and now I’m helping you clean up.”

She pretended she didn’t see the look in his eyes that told her he wasn’t used to being ignored when he wanted a woman to do something. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he tell her how he wanted her and expect her to behave if she wanted him to please—

She caught his dark gaze on her and almost dropped the wine glass in her hand as she realized she’d just been caught fantasizing about him. Moving to put the glass away, she prayed he couldn’t figure out what was making her so fumble-fingered. God, she hoped he couldn’t tell how aroused she was from nothing more than drying dishes next to him at the sink.

“I don’t want you dropping your guard around him, Vicki. Not yet. Let’s wait a few more days before we drop the high-school-sweethearts act.”

How could she blame Ryan for being concerned about her when she was the one who’d dragged him into the situation by panicking twenty-four hours ago?

And why did it hurt so bad when he called their act exactly what it was?

“If it will make you feel better, I guess we could do that.”

“It will make me feel better. A lot better.”

Working well together, they soon had the dishes cleaned and put away and he was taking their glasses of wine into the living room. He put them side by side on the coffee table and clicked on the TV.

“What do you want to see?”

Two hours on the couch next to Ryan. How on earth was she going to survive that?

“A horror movie.”

He shot her a surprised look. “Seriously? You want to watch a horror movie?”

“Love them.” Not really, but maybe if she was scared enough, she could forget about all the damn tingles taking over her cells one by one.

“I thought you were into indie comedies in high school?”

Warmth spread through her at his remembering something so small about her. He was right. She’d loved movies like Clerks and Muriel’s Wedding, and even more, the fact that the scrappy filmmakers had followed their vision and found such success. She’d hoped for even a fraction of success like that for herself one day. She still did.

“Don’t worry,” she teased, “I won’t tell anyone if you need to cover your eyes during the scary scenes.”

“Nothing like knowing my friend has my back,” he teased back as he started scrolling through the available movies. “How about this?” Halloween was up on the flat-screen. “It’s a classic.” He grinned and added, “This first one was practically indie.”

“Sounds great.” She curled her feet up under her and pulled a blanket draped over the arm of the couch onto her lap, even though sitting so close to Ryan already had her feeling way too hot and bothered to need it.

Having only ever seen a handful of horror movies, mostly through her closed eyelids and the hand she couldn’t help but keep over her eyes, she knew enough to expect fairly immediate blood and gore. Instead, Halloween opened with a teenage couple getting hot and heavy on a couch.

Vicki clutched the blanket tightly in her fists as she tried to keep her breathing slow and even while the kiss grew hotter and hotter. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest by the time the teenagers pulled apart and headed upstairs to the girl’s bedroom.

Thank God, she thought as she let herself relax back into the cushions. Maybe, if she was really lucky, one of the teenagers would be slashed in the next scene.

Normally, she would have been dreading seeing the crazy little brother wield the large kitchen knife, but anything was better than continuing to watch two kids, who were her and Ryan’s age when they met, making out and grinding against each other. Yes, she was totally prepared for—

“Oh my God!”

The little boy on the screen plunged the knife into his sister and Vicki couldn’t stop herself from leaping into Ryan’s arms and burying her head on his chest.

Chapter Nine

Ryan immediately clicked off the TV. His hands stroked down her back and even though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew what a bad idea it was to get this close to him, she couldn’t even think of moving from his lap while her heart was still pounding so hard and she couldn’t get the picture of spurting blood out of her head.

“It’s okay, Vicki,” he said in a gentle voice. “It’s just a dumb movie. It isn’t real.”

“I know,” she said, but her voice was shaking as she confessed, “I’ve only ever watched the Chucky movies, with the doll who comes alive.” Those movies had been scary, but nothing like the slashing they’d just witnessed.