“You’re right, which is why I want you there.”
She searched his face. There was no pressure. No obligation. Just him wanting to be with her. She felt the same way.
“Okay,” she said.
His lips twitched, and he echoed, “Okay.”
He kissed her, deliberate and unhurried, with enough pressure and passion to promise more. She leaned into it, her fingers in his shirt, chasing the warmth of him.
She felt the loss of his mouth before she fully understood it.
He cleared his throat. “As much as I hate to, we should probably stop there.”
She looked past him at the passing traffic. “Yeah.”
They resumed walking, hand in hand.
At the gallery door, he looked like he might go in for seconds, but a customer walked up.
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
Erica watched him walk away, desire humming through her. And suddenly, she couldn’t wait for a backyard barbecue with a bunch of Rangers.
Chapter 17
Long shadows from the late-afternoon sun stretched across the yard. The scent of charcoal and grilled burgers lingered in the air, mingling with sunscreen and freshly cut grass. Someone had already stacked graham crackers and marshmallows near the fire pit for later.
The lawn behind McNabb’s house sloped gently toward a wooden fence. Lawn chairs formed a loose semicircle around the makeshift softball diamond scratched into the grass. Erica sat cross-legged on a blanket, pleasantly full of potato salad and lemonade but debating whether she could manage a s’more after the game.
Coop walked up to the plate.
A few of the women whistled.
One Ranger shouted, “I’ve got a case of Shiner riding on this game, Lieutenant. Don’t let me down.”
He rolled his shoulders, took a practice cut, and settled into the batter’s box.
The first pitch came in low and away. He watched it go by.
The second pitch had more heat. He drove it, the crack of the bat echoing through the yard. Not a line drive but a clean launch that cleared the fence.
Cheers erupted from half the spectators, including her. The other half groaned because Coop had tied it up, and the winning run was coming to the plate.
She clapped as he rounded the bases at an unhurried jog. When he crossed home, his teammates swarmed him.
Taller than most, he glanced over their heads and found her. A slow grin curved his lips.
“Oh, that man,” a woman sighed. “If I weren’t married…”
“You mean if you were fifteen years younger and didn’t have two grandchildren and a third on the way, don’t you, Marian?” someone called.
“All trivial matters,” she said dreamily to snickers and laughter.
The next batter stepped up, and they all settled.
First pitch. Swing and a miss.
Second pitch. Popped up foul. Relieved murmurs as the first baseman ran for it, but not fast enough.
