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“Works for me.”
After putting my box on the kitchen counter near the fancy espresso machine, I put my phone beside it, switching to speaker phone.
“Antique mixing bowls,” the first items I pull from the box, the unspoken question being, where the heck do I put them.
“Bottom drawer to the left of the sink,” Maxwell answers quickly. “There should be enough room for two sets down there.”
“Two sets? I only have the one.” I’m met with silence onMax’s end, so much so that I’m afraid we’ve been disconnected, and then I open the drawer he instructed me to open and find a set of antique mixing bowls nearly identical to mine. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Move it all in, Sutton. For however long you need.”
“Maxwell…”
“Goodnight, Duckling. I’ll see you soon.” His parting words are laced with promise. A promise of what, I don’t know.
But I can’t wait to find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Opening Day Eve
SUTTON
The morning before Opening Day,I wake to sunlight streaming in from the balcony door, and the shimmering waters of Puget Sound. One glance at the clock nearby confirms that I did, in fact, have the best sleep of my life last night, and I am running very,verylate.
I hop out of bed and trip over Loretta on my way into the bathroom, leaving a snarling ball of fluff in my wake as I quickly brush my teeth and tame my hair before slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater that will keep me warm on the plane and in whatever weather Michigan will throw at me once I get there.
“Do you want to eat here,” Elise asks as I hurry down the stairs and into the kitchen, “or do you want to pick something up at the airport?”
“It’ll be almost dinner time by the time I land in Detroit, I’ll make do with airline pretzels and get real food once I’m there.”
“Humor me and take a protein bar,” Elise gives me a look eerily similar to the same one her brother gives me when he’s annoyed with me, and I do as she says because while Elise Harrison may be small, her disapproving gaze is mighty. “And a cheese stick.”
Elise tucks a cheese stick and two protein bars in my carry-on, and I know better than to argue with her, so I accept them and a bottle of water on my way to the car. Once we’ve boarded the ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle, I relax as much as I can when I’m running behind schedule. Levi Brooks, the Olympian’s travel secretary, very graciously made the arrangements for my travel today, and has already sent me my boarding pass so my usual travel anxiety is slightly lessened.
As the ferry traverses The Sound, I grow more and more impatient. It’s not that I’mlatelate. I’m just late…for me. I like to be at the airport a few hours early, even for domestic flights, that way if anything unforeseen happens, I have time for contingencies. Oversleeping this morning was definitely unforeseen, and I blame Max for having a mattress in his guest room that all but swallowed me up last night. Add to that a half hour on the ferry, and mid-morning traffic on the way to the airport, and the protein bar sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach.
My nerves settle a bit once I’m seated on the plane and we’ve taken off, though some credit for that should go to the in-flight ginger ale. I accept the pretzels because I still haven’t learned the art of saying no without the fear of disappointing the flight crew, and leave them untouched on my tray table while I try to read my notes for the game tomorrow, but end up sleeping through the flight instead, waking up with a jolt when we touch down in Detroit.
With my bags in hand, I find my way through the airport, to the young woman standing on the sidewalk at passenger pickup, leaning against the passenger door of her car and typing furiously on the phone in her hands. Charlotte Sullivan is one of my dearest friends, and a fellow woman in baseball, in her third year as travel secretary for the Mustangs.
“Sutton!” She squeals as I approach, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. “You made it!”
“I made it,” I can’t quite match her enthusiasm, but I try. “It’s good to be here. Even if just for a few days.”
“Well, it’s always nice to have you here, your team too, even if it means they’re playing the Mustangs.” Charlotte loops her arm through mine as we find our way to her car. “Do you want to pick up dinner before I drop you at the hotel?”
“No thanks, Char. I think I’ll order to the room tonight. I need to get to the team meeting and I’m already cutting it close.”
“No problem,” she responds, navigating away from the airport and onto the expressway. “We’ve got about twenty minutes, and we haven’t seen each other since October. Catch me up.”
“Let’s see,” I lean my head against the headrest and watch the familiar city roll by outside my window. “We made it to the playoffs.”
“I know that,” she smirks, “you decimated us to get there, not that I’m bitter or anything.”
“Do you remember the rain delay? The last night of the league championship series?” I ask quietly, picking at the fuzz pilling my sweater.
“Yeah, that game got completely rained out. What about it?”
