Well Matched (Well Met #3)(8)

“Okay . . .” But she still looked uncertain, and it twisted my heart.

“Come on.” I squeezed her hand one more time before standing up. “Homework can wait. Let’s go find something mindless to stream on TV.”

Caitlin tilted her head. “Popcorn for lunch?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

That earned me a smile. Still thin, but genuine. “M&M’s in the popcorn?”

I scoffed exaggeratedly. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.” This time her smile put a sparkle in her eyes too, and that made me feel better as I went into the kitchen to get the popcorn going.

I glared at the microwave like it had had something to do with all this mess. Goddammit, Robert. You left years ago. Couldn’t you have stayed away? There was a tightness in my chest, telling me that things were about to change in a big way. I didn’t want to think about my ex-husband anymore, and what he might want out of contacting Caitlin after all this time. Then my mind strayed to Mitch and what he wanted. Much more straightforward, but also much more deceptive.

I sighed again. All these years, it had been Cait and me, not needing to worry about what a man might want. I didn’t like this turn of events. I didn’t like it one damn bit.





Three





There were a lot of things running through my head at once. My ex-husband butting into our lives after years of nothing. Mitch asking me to suddenly be a bigger part of his life, albeit under false pretenses. And, of course, that ever-present list of things I needed to do, according to the real estate agent, to bring the house up to date before selling it.

She’d given me a long list. Refresh the paint on the walls with a neutral color, which I’d expected. New flooring, I’d expected that too. Stain the back deck, which made sense. Update appliances . . . no. What was the point of that? I may as well stay in the house if I was going to drop thousands of dollars on new appliances. The list went on, and I got tired just reading it. I was going to have to hire an army of handymen to help me get it done.

All those things tumbled through my head until two of them collided, halfway through a profit and loss statement at work. I dug my phone out of my purse to send Mitch a text. You around tonight?

Baseball practice till 6, he texted back almost right away. You asking me out, Mama?

Oh for fuck’s sake. No. I’ll drop by the school around 6:15 if that’s ok.

You know where the practice field is?

I’ve lived in this town a long time, I texted back. I think I can find it.

A thumbs-up emoji was my only response, and although I waited a few minutes just in case, no other answer was forthcoming. I clicked my phone off and went back to my spreadsheet.

That evening I drove home as usual. But once I hit the city limits I glanced at the clock and turned left toward the high school instead of continuing straight home. The sun had started to dip on the horizon, but there was plenty of daylight left. I’d made good time; it was only a few minutes past six.

When I pulled into the high school parking lot, baseball practice was filtering out. I didn’t even need to venture back toward the fields. Kids milled around the parking lot, some heading toward their cars in the senior lot while the younger kids waited for parents to pick them up. Mitch was out front in an intense discussion with one of the kids. Each of them held a baseball, and Mitch demonstrated different ways to grip it, which the boy beside him tried to emulate. His fingers were long and his grip was good from what I could see, and Mitch nodded in satisfaction. He raised his head as I approached.

“Hey, Mama!”

I rolled my eyes and did not take the proffered fist bump. “Seriously? In front of the kids?”

He shrugged. “They’re not listening.” He was right; even the boy he’d been coaching on his grip had wandered off. Boys scrolled through their phones as they waited for parents and talked to each other in small clumps here and there. “So what’s up?”

“Well, I was thinking about your . . . you know, that thing you asked me to do.” God, that sounded even worse than just coming out with it.

“Oh, the thing?” His eyes lit up, and joy suffused his face. But joy always suffused his face: Mitch was a joyful guy. “Are you in?”

I sighed. “Yeah. I’m in. But I have a condition.”

“A condition?” His brow furrowed. “You mean a medical condition? Like allergies? Or like a food thing? Because I can find out what we’re having if that’s the—”

I snorted. “No, a condition. As in, if I do this for you, you do something for me.”

“Oh.” The concern cleared off his face. “Sure. What do you need? Don’t worry, I’ll be the best boyfriend you ever had.” He shot me a wink and I laughed despite myself. I usually tried not to laugh around Mitch; it only encouraged him.

“I’m sure you will.” Not a lot to compare to, but I didn’t need to go there right now. “I need some help.”

His eyebrows shot up, and his gaze turned teasingly appraising. “With what?”

How? How did he turn those two words into an innuendo? “With my house,” I said. “I need to get some work done on it before I put it on the market, so—”

“Wait, you’re moving?” His face fell, and I felt his frown in my solar plexus. It hadn’t occurred to me that someone else might give a shit that I was planning to leave Willow Creek. My own sister had hardly reacted when I’d first told her. Why did Mitch care?