I stop midway through the garage and stare at my son. He opens the door to the kitchen and looks at me. “What? Nolan said his uncle likes you and I can see it too.” He shrugs and walks inside. “Come on, Mom,” he yells. “We’re not heating the outside.”
I’m stunned by what Chase has said, but then again, maybe I shouldn’t be. He’s clearly taken to Hawk, likely because he paid attention to him when his own father couldn’t be bothered. Ugh, that reminds me I have to tell Chase that we’re going for a long, stupid drive this weekend. That can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to let my son have fun with his new favorite person.
While Chase works on his homework, I open a bottle of wine to give me a little bit of confidence. This newfound courage has me sending Hawk a text, telling him that if he’s in the neighborhood to feel free to stop by early. I do this because I know Chase wants to spend some time with him and I want to see my son happy.
No sooner do I start wrapping the potatoes to put into the oven, our doorbell rings. Chase is out of his seat and to the front door before I can even suggest he wait for me. I don’t want to seem eager, so I continue my task, close the oven door and wipe my hands off on the towel. I don’t straighten my hair or clothes and when I turn to leave my kitchen, Hawk is standing there, leaning against the wall with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, my son next to him with a beaming smile across his face. Any thoughts I had about not letting this guy in are slowly washing away. One day . . . that’s all it’s taken for me to easily see myself falling for this man, knowing full well that he’s leaving and we lead two vastly different lives.
Nineteen
Hawk
Cooking has always been my thing. When any of the guys have get togethers, the girlfriends and wives usually gather in the kitchen while the men hang out by the grill, and for whatever reason I always find myself with a set of tongs in my hand, making sure the meat is grilled to everyone’s liking. But this dinner with Bellamy and Chase is different. It feels special and somehow more important that these steaks are cooked perfectly. Sort of how this night is going so far, effortlessly, in my opinion.
When Bellamy texted and said I could come over early, I took advantage of the offer, mostly because I wanted to spend time with her in her own setting, to see if my desire to get to know her is real or if I was caught up with the idea of meeting someone new. One look at her tonight, walking out of her kitchen, and I knew. She’s someone I want to spend
as much time with as possible.
Even though the outside temperature isn’t ideal for grilling, Bellamy left the sliding glass door open and I want to think it’s because she’s trying to include me in what’s going on inside the dining room. Chase is laughing and each time he does, Bellamy lights up like it’s the best sound in the world. My mother has always said there’s no greater joy in the world than your own children, and while I can’t agree because I don’t have any, I can see the happiness that Chase brings his mother.
He walks over to the door and smiles at me. “Mom wants to know if you need anything.” I glance at the small window where I can see his mother’s shadow and wonder why she didn’t come ask me herself and chuckle. Bellamy’s trying to play hard to get and it’s cute. Not that I’m trying to get her into bed or anything, but I do want to get to know her a lot better. Her son too. As I open my mouth to tell Chase what I want, his mother appears behind him and dammit if my heart doesn’t skip a beat or two when she smiles at me.
“I took the potatoes out. I normally slice ours open, throw a chunk of butter in there and wrap them back up for a minute.”
“A chunk?”
She shrugs. “I might overdo it a little bit on the butter.”
“It sounds perfect.”
Bellamy and I maintain eye contact, at least until I wink at her, which causes her to blush. Who knew flirting could be so fun? Chase interrupts my gawking when he comes and stands next to me. On instinct, I put my hand in front of Chase to keep him from the grill.
“Can I help?”
“You can if you promise to be careful. The grill is very hot, and you could get burnt if you’re not paying attention.”
“I promise.” I don’t want to tell him I don’t need his help because he seems excited to be out here, but I’m also one-handed and if his hand were to slip, he’d likely hurt himself. I hand him the tongs anyway and move closer to him in case I need to intervene. Chase grips the metal with both hands and places the tongs around one of the steaks.
“Be gentle but you have to grip firmly,” I tell him. He does as I say, his tiny muscles straining in his arms as he flips the slab of meat over.
I crouch down so we’re eye level and tell him, “Perfect.”
“My dad never cooked,” he says, never breaking eye contact. “He never did anything with me except yell and tell me I have to try harder.”
“I’m sure he was stressed from work.” I don’t know what else to say. All I know is that he’s an absent father and Bellamy is doing her best to fill both roles. However, even as I make this excuse for a man I don’t know, I somehow feel like I’m lying to this boy that I’ve only known for a day.
“I hate him,” Chase whispers. He throws the tongs down and runs off into the yard. I don’t know if I should follow, but something tells me I should. I take the steaks off the grill, hoping they’ve cooked through enough, set them on the plate and shut everything down. Inside, I place the platter on the table and without saying another word, I’m back outside and wandering through the Patrick’s backyard, struggling to see due to the setting sun. Thankfully, the wooden planks nailed into the tree gives me a good starting spot to seek him out. Of course, being limited to one arm makes it near impossible for me to climb up.
Pressing my back up against the tree, I start talking, hoping like hell he can hear me and that he’s actually up there. “When I was your age, my dad wanted me herding cattle and mucking stalls in my spare time and the only thing I wanted to do was throw a baseball. I don’t remember when I decided I wanted to be a pitcher but I remember the day clearly when my father whooped my butt for painting a strike zone on the back of the barn. He wasn’t mad because I painted the barn but because I was throwing my baseball at it and scaring the horses. After that, he helped me build a field in one of our pastures and my friends and I used to play there all the time. We even had a mini scoreboard and my mom would make snacks for everyone. But still, my dad wanted me to be a rancher because it was all he knew. My grandfather and great grandfather were ranchers so it’s in our blood, at least it’s supposed to be.” I pause and look up at the treehouse. Man, I would’ve loved to have a treehouse when I was his age. A place to escape and pretend nothing else matters in the world. I suppose I had that with my field, but it wasn’t private.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that dads aren’t always what we want . . . or need . . . them to be. I love my dad but know deep down he wishes I lived here and worked on the ranch, and sometimes that hurts. Living in Boston is lonely at times and I wish my parents were there. I also know that being a dad can be hard when your kids don’t live with you. My friend, Branch, has a son that he doesn’t get to see all the time, while my friend, Cooper, has twins and he carries them both in his arms. Not sure how he does that though. I’m sorry your dad isn’t around, Chase. I really am. I know I’m only here for a short time, but I’d really like it if I could teach you everything I know about baseball.” I have no idea where the last line comes from but since seeing Coach Farmer, witnessing the way things are being run with the Little League program, and playing with the boys yesterday, apparently my subconscious is telling me I need to coach or at least get the band of misfits together to have some fun.
I’m about to give up and go back inside to admit defeat when I hear rustling above me. Chase climbs down and I pretend like I can’t hear him. I’m staring off into the settling darkness when he bumps into my side. “My dad has a new family.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Your mom told me.”
“It sucks.”
“I bet. I know I’m not your dad, but I’d love to be your friend.”