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“See you in a few hours, Sutton.”
When I wake in the morning, it’s to the sound of pop music filtering through the house from down below my room. Elise must be awake. I peel myself out of bed, stretching out my muscles, and loosening my joints, taking care with my throwing elbow as I do. The smell of coffee wafts up the stairs, and in an instant, I’m awake. Elise doesn’t use my machine. She says the whole thing is too fancy for her, so I make the coffee in the morning.
Not bothering with a shirt, I throw open the door and jog down the stairs where I find Sutton emptying ground coffee into the portafilter and distributing it before tamping it down. I watch as she expertly pulls a shot of espresso and steams milk with the steamer wand, even purging it before and after use. Elise grins at me from the nearby couch like that cat that got the cream. And then I remember.
“You were a barista in the student union.”
“All four years,” Sutton grins, as she passes me a perfectly made latte. Her cheeks flame red as her eyes travel up my arm and across my chest, a small furrow in her brow as her fingersreach for the spot just above my heart, whispering, “I thought I knew all of them.”
Her fingers trace lightly over the stem of a flower, a chrysanthemum.
“It’s beautiful.” Her fingers burn a path from the flower’s petals down to the stem. “When did you get it? It looks new.”
“It is. I got it during the off season.”
After the playoffs.
After the kiss.
“A chrysanthemum?” Her eyes search mine.
“Yes.” My voice is thick in my throat.
A chrysanthemum. I wasn’t kidding when I told her it’s my favorite flower. Even if I didn’t tell her why.
The chrysanthemum is November’s birth flower.
I got it for the woman whose birthday is November first.
The woman who is currently working on another shot of espresso, dancing to the music as she does. Singing along in a low voice. The woman whose mood has turned a corner since last night. And then she turns to me again, her eyes glistening with tears. Her voice laced with emotion.
“They were my mom’s favorite,” Sutton’s voice is a husky whisper and I notice tears glistening in her eye. She clears her throat and shakes her head as if shaking away the cobwebs of memory. “My birthday is in November, and Mom was into flowers and flower language; the chrysanthemum is November’s birth flower.”
“You don’t say.” I take a step closer to her, her eyes straying back to the lightly shaded purple petals. I settle one hand at her waist as recognition starts to take hold. “Who do you think I got it for?”
“For me?”
“Yeah, Sutt. For you.”
“Why, Maxwell?” She whispers, and I want to answer her, but I can’t. Not yet. I don’t exactly know how.
“That’s a conversation for another time.” She accepts this as an answer, for now. I know she’ll bring it up again, and maybe by then the timing will be right.
Maybe by then I’ll be ready to talk about it.
And her.
And the feelings I’ve had…
She turns up the music, pulling me out of the thoughts in my head as she finishes her own latte, while singing along to a song that I love, but know if I told anyone they’d give me a hard time about it. And then I accidentally sing the chorus out loud and Sutton turns around like a flash, her eyes wide as they meet mine, a slow grin forming.
“Need a new walk-up song, Maxwell?” She asks, eyes dancing as she watches me, our earlier conversation largely forgotten. “I’ve got connections in the public address booth.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” My voice is a low growl as I take a step closer to her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close.
“No,” her smile softens and she leans back in my arms. “This’ll be our little secret.”
Elise joins us for the ferry ride across The Sound, and as Sutton and I walk toward the stadium, Elise waves goodbye and wishes us luck. It’s a quick walk from the ferry terminal to the stadium, Sutton takes my hand as we walk, and for just a minute I forget the ground rules and we’re just a couple of people holding hands as they walk through the city. It’s a gorgeous day; mid fifties, the sun is shining, and the sky is a perfect baseball sky.
