Page 134 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“You ready?” I ask.

She grins. “For baseball? Always.”

And before I know it I cup her cheek and pull her face towards me so I can kiss her hello properly.

She moans and kisses me back—and isn’t that a fucking miracle?

This pretty creature is letting me, me, touch her like I have any right.

Like maybe she does belong to me.

And the second I think it, I can’t seem to let that thought go.

Mine.

She tilts her head as we end our kiss. “You look serious.”

“I’m just thinking about logistics,” I lie.

She snorts. “Sure you are.”

I lean closer, lowering my voice. “So, you write today?”

Her eyes light up.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I did.”

Pride surges through me, unexpected and fierce.

“Good,” I reply. “Keep going.”

She studies me like she’s trying to read what I’m not saying.

Maybe one day I’ll tell her.

That every time she chooses to write, it feels like watching a flower push through concrete.

That every minute she stays, even if she doesn’t put a name on it, it feels like something in me taking root.

For now, I open the passenger door.

And I help her climb in with my hand on her hip.

I give her a gentle squeeze before I go to my side of the truck.

Next, we head toward the Little League field, toward the sound of aluminum bats and kids yelling and a world that feels—just for today—simple.

I don’t know what happens next.

I just know I’m not sitting this one out.

Chapter 27

Clara

The weather is perfect for baseball.

Blue sky. Soft breeze.